een obliged to depart
again to an inspection in Lowen, and the musician was sorry not to find
his friend. He did not know to whom the child that had been intrusted
to his care belonged, and, as he had bound himself by a solemn oath to
maintain secrecy toward every one, he did not utter a word to Barbara
about the boy and the obligations which he had undertaken.

The parting was a sad one to the young wife, for in Massi she lost not
only a tried friend, but as it were a portion of her former life. He had
been a witness of the fairest days which Fate had granted her; he had
heard her sing when she had been justified in feeling proud of her art;
and he had been intimate with Wolf Hartschwert, whom she remembered with
affectionate interest, though he had only informed her once in a brief
letter that he was prospering in Villagarcia and his new position. While
with tearful eyes she bade Massi farewell, she gave him messages of
remembrance to Wolf; and the violinist, no less agitated than herself,
promised to deliver them. He was hopefully anticipating a cheerful
evening of life in the midst of his family. Existence had promised
Barbara higher things, but she seemed to have found the power to be
content. At least he had heard no complaint from her lips, and her
husband had often told him of the happiness which he had obtained
through her in marriage. So he could leave her without anxiety; but she,
even in the hour of parting, was too proud to offer him a glimpse of her
desolate life, whose fairest ornaments were memories.

When he left her the young wife felt still poorer than before, and
during the sleepless night which in imagination she had spent with her
imperial child in the Dubois house, and in the days of splendour and
misery at Ratisbon, she determined to clasp once more the hand of her
departing friend when he set out with the Infant Philip's train.

Although it was to start early in the morning, she was in the square in
ample time, partly because she hoped to see the Emperor in the distance.

The throng that followed Philip really did resemble an army.

Barbara had already often seen the short, slender 'Infant', with his
well-formed, fair head and light, pointed beard, who held himself so
stiffly erect, and carried his head as high as if he considered no one
over whom his glance wandered worthy of so great an honour.

It seemed strange to her, too, how well this man, naturally so
insignificant in person, succee