would soon meet the son again, and the greater affection this peerless
boy aroused in Charles, the more surely he would know how to bestow on
him honours as high or higher than he gave the daughter of Johanna Van
der Gheynst.

Five days after the assembling of the Knights of the Golden Fleece, the
solemn ceremony of the abdication would take place in the great hall
which joined the palace chapel.

She must obtain admittance to it. Her husband did what he could to aid
her and soothe her excitement by the gratification of so ardent a wish,
but his efforts were vain.

Barbara herself, however, did not remain idle, and tried her fortune
with those of high and low estate whom she had known in the past.

She could not trust to forcing her way in on the day of the ceremony of
abdication, for every place in the limited space assigned to spectators
had been carefully allotted, and no one would be permitted to enter the
palace without a pass. When, after many a futile errand, she had been
refused also by the lord chamberlain, she turned her steps to Baron
Malfalconnet's palace.

He had just swung himself into the saddle, and Barbara found him greatly
changed. The handsome major-domo had grown gray, his bright face was
wrinkled, and his smiling lips now wore a new, disagreeable, almost
cruel expression of mockery. He probably recognised his visitor at once,
but the meeting seemed scarcely to afford him pleasure. Nevertheless, he
listened to her.

But as soon as he heard what she desired, he straightened himself in the
saddle, and cried: "When I wished to present you to his Majesty--do you
remember?--at Ratisbon, you hastily wheeled your horse and vanished.
Now, when you desire to bid farewell to our sovereign lord, I dutifully
follow the example you then set me."

As he spoke he put spurs to his horse and, kissing his hand to her,
dashed away. Barbara, wounded and disappointed, gazed after the pitiless
scoffer.

She had knocked in vain where she might hope for consideration; only the
young man of middle height who, carrying a portfolio under his arm, now
approached her and raised his black secretary's cap, had been omitted,
though he, too, was one of the old Ratisbon friends, and his position
with the Bishop of Arras gave him a certain influence.

It was the little Maltese choir boy, Hannibal Melas, who owed so much to
her recommendation.

He asked sympathizingly what troubled her and, after Barbara had
confided to hi