d the soul and corroded the existence of the poor deserted
girl, the bereaved mother, the unfortunate one torn from her own sphere
in life!

At last, toward the end of March, the message so ardently desired
arrived. A special courier brought it, but how it was worded!

A brief expression of his Majesty's gratification at the birth of the
healthy, well-formed boy; then, in blunt words, the grant of a small
annual income and an additional gift, with the remark that his Majesty
was ready, to increase both generously, and, moreover, to give her
ambition every support, if Barbara would enter a convent. If she should
persist in remaining in the world, what was granted must be taken from
her as soon as she broke her promise to keep secret what his Majesty
desired to have concealed.

The conclusion was: "And so his Majesty once more urges you to renounce
the world, which has nothing more important to offer you than memories,
which the convent is the best place to cherish. There you will regain the
favour of Heaven, which it so visibly withdrew from you, and also the
regard of his Majesty, which you forfeited, and he in his graciousness,
and in consequence of many a memory which he, too, holds dear, would
gladly show you again."

This letter bore the signature of Don Luis Quijada, and had been written
by a poor German copyist, a wretched, cross-eyed fellow, whom Wolf had
pointed out to her, and whose hand Barbara knew. From his pen also came
the sentence under the major-domo's name, "The Golden Cross must be
vacated during the month of April."

When Barbara had read these imperial decisions for the second and the
third time, and fully realized the meaning of every word, she clinched
her teeth and gazed steadily into vacancy for a while. Then she laughed
in such a shrill, hoarse tone that she was startled at the sound of her
own voice, and paced up and down the room with long strides.

Should she reject what the most powerful and wealthy sovereign in the
world offered with contemptible parsimony? No! It was not much, but it
would suffice for her support, and the additional gift was large enough
to afford her father a great pleasure when he came home.

Pyramus Kogel's last letter reported that his condition was improving.
Perhaps he might soon return. Then the money would enable her to weave a
joy into the sorrow that awaited him. It had always been a humiliating
thought that he had lost his own house and was obliged to liv