ived of the favour of carrying her train and
lighting her way with torches. But he knew courtiers and these saucy
scions of the noblest houses, and hoped that her father's presence would
hold their insolence in check. Therefore he had endeavoured to give to
his outer man an appearance which would command respect, for he wore his
helmet, his coat of mail, and over it the red scarf which his dead wife
had embroidered with gold flowers and mountains-his coat-of-arms.

In spite of the indispensable cane in his right hand, he wore his long
battle sword, but he would have been wiser to leave it at home.

While pacing up and down before the Golden Cross in the silent night to
wait for his daughter, the halberdiers at the entrance noticed him.

What was the big man doing here at this late hour? How dared he venture
to wear a sword in the precincts of the Emperor's residence, contrary to
the law, and, moreover, a weapon of such unusual length and width, which
had not been carried for a long while?

After the guards were relieved they had suddenly surrounded him, and, in
spite of his vigorous resistance, would have taken him prisoner. But
fortunately the musicians, among them Barbara and Wolf, had just come out
into the street, and the latter had told the sergeant of the guards, whom
he knew, how mistaken he had been concerning the suspicions pedestrian,
and obtained his release. Thus the careful father's hopes had been
frustrated. But when he learned that his daughter had not seen the
Emperor at all, and had neither been seen nor spoken to by him, he
gave--notwithstanding his reverence for the sacred person of his mighty
commander--full expression to his indignation.

Fool that he had been to permit Barbara to present herself at court with
a troop of ordinary singing boys! Even on the following day he persisted
in the declaration that it was his duty, as a father and a nobleman, to
protect his daughter from further humiliations of this sort.

Yet when, on the day of fasting, the invitation to sing came, he
permitted Barbara to accept it, because it was the Emperor who summoned
her. He had called for her again, and on the way home learned that
neither his Majesty nor the regent had been among the listeners, and he
had gone to rest like a knight who has been hurled upon the sand.

The next morning, after mass, Barbara went to the rehearsal, and returned
in a very joyous mood with the tidings that the Emperor wished to hear
h