tailed.

Queen Mary's boy choir was to remain in Ratisbon some time longer, and
whenever the monarch attended their performances--which was almost
daily-the longing for Barbara awoke with fresh strength. Even in the
midst of the most arduous labour he considered the question how it might
be possible to keep her near him--not, it is true, as his favourite, but
as a singer, and his inventive brain hit upon a successful expedient.

By raising her father to a higher rank, he might probably have had her
received by his sister Mary among her ladies in waiting, but then there
would always have been an unwelcome temptation existing. If, on the other
hand, Barbara would decide to take the veil, an arrangement could easily
be made for him to hear her often, and her singing might then
marvellously beautify the old age, so full of suffering and destitute of
pleasure, that awaited him. He realized more and more distinctly that it
was less her rare beauty than the spell of her voice and of her art which
had constrained him to this late passion.

The idea that she would refuse to accept the fate to which he had
condemned her was incomprehensible to his sense of power, and therefore
did not occur to his mind.

Yet, especially when he was bearing pain, he did not find it difficult to
silence even this wish for the future, for then memories of the last
deeply clouded hours of their love bond forced themselves upon him.

He saw her swinging like a Bacchante in the dance with the young Saxon
duke; the star which had been thrown away appeared before his eyes, and
his irritated soul commanded him never to see her again.

But the suffering of a person whom we have once loved possesses a
reconciling power, and he who usually forgot no insult, even after the
lapse of years, was again disposed to forgive her, and reverted to the
wish to continue to enjoy her singing.

When, before their wedding day, he gave his nieces the diadems which
Jammtzer had made for them, his resentment concerning the ornament sold
by Barbara again awoke. He could no longer punish her for this "loveless"
deed, as he called it, but he made the marquise feel severely enough his
indignation for her abuse of the young girl's inexperience, for, without
granting her a farewell audience, he sent her back to Brussels, with
letters to Queen Mary expressing his displeasure. Instead of her skilful
maid Alphonsine, a clumsy Swabian girl accompanied her--the former had
married