ittle figure
seemed instinct with joy and life while gazing at the horseman at the
side of the street who was having a hard struggle with his refractory
stallion!

No one knew this boy better than she, for it was her own son, the
imperial child she had given to the Emperor. At the same time she
thought of her other two boys, and her face again wore a compassionate
expression. Not they, but this little prince from fairyland was her
first-born, her dearest, her true child.

But where were they taking her John? What had Massi to do with him? Why
should the boy be in Philip's train?

There was only one explanation. Her child was being conveyed to Spain.

Had the father heard that she had discovered his abode, and did he wish
to remove it from the mother whom he hated?

Was it being taken there merely that it might grow up a Castilian?

Did Charles desire to rear it there to the grandeur and splendour for
whose sake she had yielded him?

Yet whatever was in view for John, he would be beyond her reach as soon
as the ship to which he was being conveyed weighed anchor.

But she would not, could not do without seeing him! The light of day
would be darkened for her if she could no longer hope to gaze at least
now and then into his blue eyes and to hear the sound of his clear,
childish tones.

"This too! this too!" she hissed, as if frantic; and as the guards
forced her out of the procession she followed it farther and farther
through the heat and dust, as though attracted by some magnetic power.

Her feet moved involuntarily while her gaze rested on the litter, and
she caught a glimpse sometimes of a golden curl, sometimes of a little
hand, sometimes of the whole marvellously beautiful fair head.

Not until the train stopped and the lords, ladies, and gentlemen who
were escorting Philip turned their horses and left him did she recollect
herself. To follow these horsemen, coaches, carts, litters, and
pedestrians just as she was would have been madness. Her place was
at home with her husband and children. Ten times she repeated this to
herself and prepared to turn back; but the force which drew her to her
child was stronger than the warning voice of reason.

At any rate, she must speak to Massi and learn where he was taking the
boy. He had not yet seen her; but now, as the train stopped, she forced
her way to him.

Amazed at meeting her, he returned her greeting, and granted her request
to let her speak with him a f