ster's spacious office,
where he was now entirely alone with the Councillor Viglius.

The Bishop of Arras had scarcely altered since their last meeting, only
his appearance had become somewhat more stately, and his clever, handsome
face was fuller.

The Councillor Viglius, whom Barbara looked directly in the face, did not
exactly profit by the contrast with Granvelle, for the small figure of
the Frieslander barely reached to the chin of the distinguished native of
tipper Burgundy, but his head presented a singular and remarkably vivid
colouring. The perfectly smooth hair and thick beard of this no longer
young man were saffron yellow, and his plump face was still red and white
as milk and blood. It was easy to perceive by his whole extremely
striking appearance that he was rightly numbered among the Emperor's
shrewdest councillors. Barbara had heard marvellous tales of his
learning, and it was really magnificent in compass and far more important
than his keen but narrow mind. This time the loquacious man was allowing
the Bishop of Arras to speak, and Barbara listened to his words and the
councillor's answers with eager attention.

They were talking about the approaching abdication, and who knew the
Emperor Charles better than these far-seeing men, who were so near his
person?

If only she had not been obliged to believe this, for what she heard from
them showed in sombre lines what her heart had clothed with golden
radiance.

Everything Wolf had told her concerning the motives which induced Charles
to devote himself for the remainder of his life to quiet contemplation
seemed to her as credible as to the knight himself. But he had received
what he knew from Queen Mary of Hungary, who interpreted her royal
brother's conduct like an affectionate sister, or thought it advisable to
represent it in the most favourable light.

It had not occurred to the warm-hearted, straightforward Wolf to doubt
the royal lady's statement; but Barbara had regarded her friend's
explanation of the Emperor's wonderful act of renunciation as she would
have gazed at a citadel founded on a rock with towers rising to the
clouds, and in imagination had followed to his solitude the world-weary
philosopher, the father yearning for the child he had missed so long. But
how pitilessly what she heard here overthrew the proud edifice! how
cruelly it destroyed what she had deemed worthy of the greatest
admiration, what had rendered her happy and reani