at her belt
to give him a gold piece; but Gombert nudged her, and in his broken
Netherland German repeated the verse which he had just heard:

"'Tis stern necessity that forced
The sword into his hand;
'Tis not for questions of the faith
That he doth make his stand."

So the soldiers believed that their commander had only grasped the sword
when compelled to do so, and that religion had nothing to do with the
war, but the leader of the orchestra knew better. The conversations of
the Spaniards at the court, and the words which De Soto had uttered
lauding the Emperor, "Since God placed my foes in my hands, I must wage
war upon his enemies," were plain enough.

Gombert repeated this remark in a low tone but, ere Barbara could answer
him, the carriage, with its fresh relay of horses, stopped in the road.

It was time to get in again, but Barbara dreaded the ride over the rough,
crowded highway, and begged her companion to pursue their journey a
little farther on foot. He consented and, as the girl now flung a gold
gulden to the blond leader of the voices, cheers from the soldiers
followed them.

Leaning on Gombert's arm, Barbara now moved on more cheerfully until they
were stopped by the vivandiere's counter.

The portly woman stood comfortably at ease behind her eatables and
drinkables, rested her fists on her hips, and glanced toward her
assistant, who stared boldly into the musician's face, and asked him to
take some refreshment for himself and his sweetheart.

She was a young creature, with features prematurely haggard, cheeks
scarlet with rouge, and eyebrows and lashes dyed black. The infant which
a pale little girl nine years old was tending belonged to her. She had
had her hair cut close, and her voice was so discordantly hoarse that it
hurt Barbara's ears.

As the bold young woman tapped Gombert lightly on the arm and, with fresh
words of invitation, pointed toward the counter, a shiver ran through
Barbara's limbs. Even her worst enemy would not have ventured to compare
her with this outcast, but she did herself as she thought of her own
cropped hair and injured voice. Perhaps the child in the arms of the pale
nine-year-old nurse was disowned by its father, and did not the greatest
of sovereigns intend to do the same to his, if the mother refused to obey
him?

These disagreeable thoughts fell upon her soul like mildew upon growing
grain, and after Gombert had helped her into