hers
and, like them, waved her handkerchief and her fan.

The man whom she loved was approaching! This crashing and echoing, this
wild uproar of enthusiastic shouts and cries, this flutter of flags and
waving of handkerchiefs were all in his honour and, stirred to her inmost
soul by impetuous enthusiasm and ardent gratitude, her eyes grew dim with
tears, and she joined far more loudly and freely in the cheers of the
multitude than the aristocrats around her, to whom court etiquette
dictated reserve on all occasions, even this one.

The loving woman saw nothing save the man who was advancing. How should
she have noticed the scornful glances which her unrestrained vivacity
elicited?

Her gaze was fixed solely upon the one sun to which the little stars
around her owed their paler or brighter radiance. She scarcely noticed
even the handsome young prince at Charles's side. Yet Duke Maurice would
have been well worthy of her whole attention, for with what a free, proud
step he advanced, while his imperial master used his arm as a support!

Charles also looked magnificent in the Castilian court costume, with the
chain of the Grand Master of the Golden Fleece about his neck; but the
young Saxon duke was considerably his superior in height, and the
silver-embroidered, steel-gray suit of Spanish cut and the black velvet
mantle trimmed with a border of marten fur, were extremely becoming. Both
saluted the crowd that welcomed them so warmly and loudly, gazing
meanwhile at the festal scene, the Emperor with haughty, almost
indifferent dignity, the duke with less reserve and more eager gestures.

Barbara knew the sovereign, and when she saw him thrust his lower lip
slightly forward she was sure that something vexed him.

Perhaps she ought not to venture to irritate the lion that day.

Was his anger roused by the boldness of the city magistrates, who dared
to favour the Saxon escutcheon and banners so openly? It seemed to her
exasperating, punishable insolence. But perhaps in his greatness he did
not grudge this distinction to a guest so much his inferior, and it was
only the gout again inflicting its pangs upon his poor tortured foot.

The way was strewn with leaves and green branches, and the Saxon was
leading her lord directly over the hard little boughs in the middle of
the path. Barbara would fain have called to him to look at the ground and
not up at the banners and escutcheons bearing his colours, whose number
seemed to