sing the stairs on
her way into the dancing hall, where the rehearsal was to take place.

What an artless delight in the fairest, most pleasing thing in Nature to
a sensitive young human soul this simple sentence voiced to the
Netherland musicians! It seemed to them as if the song filled the dim,
cold corridor with warmth and sunlight. Thus Gombert had heard within his
mind the praise of spring when he set it to music, but had never before
had it thus understood by any singer, reproduced by any human voice.

The excitable man stood as if spellbound; only a curt "My God! my God!"
gave expression to his emotion. The blunter Appenzelder, on the contrary,
when the singer suddenly paused and a door closed behind her, exclaimed:
"The deuce, that's fine!--If that were your helper in need, Sir Wolf, all
would be well!"

"It is," replied Wolf proudly, with sparkling eyes; but the honest old
fellow rushed after Barbara, held out both hands to her in his frank,
cordial way, and cried:

"Thanks, heartfelt thanks, my dear, beautiful young lady! But if you
imagine that this drop of nectar will suffice, you are mistaken. You have
awakened thirst! Now see--and Gombert will thank you too--that it is
quenched with a fuller gift of this drink of the gods."

The Netherlanders found the table spread, and this rehearsal of the
Convivium musicum brought Barbara Blomberg the happiest hours which life
had ever bestowed.

She saw with a throbbing heart that her singing not only pleased, but
deeply stirred the heart of the greatest composer of his time, whose name
had filled her with timid reverence, and that, while listening to her
voice, the eyes of the sturdy Appenzelder, who looked as if his broad
breast was steeled against every soft emotion, glittered with tears.

This had happened during the execution of Josquin de Pres's "Ecce tu
pulchra es'."

Barbara's voice had lent a special charm to this magnificent motet, and,
when she concluded the "Quia amore langueo"--"Because I yearn for
love"--to which she had long given the preference when she felt impelled
to relieve her heart from unsatisfied yearning, she had seen Gombert look
at the choir leader, and understood the "inimitable" which was not
intended for her, but for his fellow-artist.

Hitherto she had done little without pursuing a fixed purpose, but this
time Art, and the lofty desire to serve her well, filled her whole being.
In the presence of the most famous judges she impo