rgin.

In the Benedictio Mensae she remained silent, but at the first effective
passage joined in the singing of the boys.

Not until the 'Tu pulchra es' did she display the full power of her art.

From the commencement she took part in the execution of this magnificent
composition eagerly and with deep feeling, and when the closing bars
began and the magic of her singing developed all its heart-thrilling
power, the watchful lady in waiting perceived that his Majesty forgot the
food and hung on Barbara's lips as though spellbound.

This was something unprecedented. But when the monarch continued for some
time to display an abstemiousness so unlike him, the marquise cast a
hasty glance of inquiry at Malfalconnet. But the affirmative answer which
she expected did not come. Had the baron's keen eye failed to notice so
important a matter, or had his Majesty taken him into his confidence and
commanded him to keep the secret?

That Malfalconnet was merely avoiding making common cause with the old
intriguer, was a suspicion which vanity led her to reject the more
positively the more frequently her countryman sought her to learn what he
desired to know.

Besides, she soon required no further confirmation, for what now happened
put an end to every doubt.

Barbara had to sing the "Quia amore langueo" again, and how it sounded
this time to the listening hearer!

No voice which the Emperor Charles had ever heard had put such pure,
bewitching melody into this expression of the deepest yearning. It seemed
as though the longing of the whole world was flowing to him from those
fresh, young, beautifully formed red lips.

A heart which was not itself languishing for love could not pour forth to
another with such convincing truth, overwhelming power, and glowing
fervour the ardent longing of a soul seized by the omnipotence of love.

The mighty pressure of rising surges of yearning dashed against the
monarch's heart, and with tremendous impetuosity roused on all sides the
tender desires which for a long time had been gathering in his soul. It
seemed as though this "Because I long for love" was blending with the
long-repressed and now uncontrollable yearning that filled his own
breast, and he was obliged to restrain himself in order not to rush
toward this gifted singer, this marvellously lovely woman, whose heart
was his, and, before the eyes of all, clasp her in his embrace.

The master of dissimulation forgot himself, and--w