rble to protect your husband's name, I kiss my
hand to you!

* * * * *

In the doorpost of a queer little stone house in Cologne is carved an
inscription to the effect that Peter Paul Rubens was born there on June
Twenty-ninth, Fifteen Hundred Seventy-seven. It is probably true that the
parents of Rubens lived there, but Peter Paul was born at Siegen, under
the shadow of a prison from which his father was paroled.

After a few years the discipline relaxed, for there were new prisoners
coming along, and Maria and Jan were given permission to move to Cologne.

Peter Paul was ten years of age when his father died. The next year the
widow moved with her little brood back to Antwerp, back to the city from
which her husband had been exiled just twenty years before. Five years
previous the Prince of Orange, who had exiled her husband, was himself
sent on a journey, via the dagger of an assassin. As the chief enemy of
Jan Rubens was dead, it was the hope of the widow to recover their
property that had been confiscated.

Maria Rubens was a good Catholic; and she succeeded in making the
authorities believe that her husband had been, too, for the home that
Royalty had confiscated was returned to her.

The mother of Peter Paul loved the dim twilight mysteries of the Church,
and accepted every dogma and edict as the literal word of God. It is
easier and certainly safer to leave such matters to the specialists.

She was a born diplomat. She recognized the power of the Church and knew
that to win one must go with the current, not against it. To have doubts,
when the Church is willing to bear the whole burden, she thought very
foolish. Had she been a man she would have been a leader among the
Jesuits. The folly of opposition had been shown her most vividly in her
husband's career. What could he not have been had he been wise and
patient and ta'en the tide at its flood! And this was the spirit that she
inculcated in the minds of her children.

Little Peter Paul was a handsome lad--handsome as his father--with big,
dark brown eyes and clustering curls. He was bright, intelligent, and
blessed with a cheerful, obliging disposition. He came into the world a
welcome child, carrying the beauty of the morning in his face, and form,
and spirit.

No wonder is it that the Countess de Lalaing desired the boy for a page
as soon as she saw him. His mother embraced the opportunity to let her
favorite child see