often heard, ushered her into the apartments assigned to her.

In two hours, he said, the captain-general would be happy to receive her.
He first wished her to rest completely after the fatiguing journey.

Barbara dismissed, without making use of their services, the pages whom
he placed at her disposal. The more than luxurious meal which was served
soon afterward she scarcely touched; the impetuous throbbing of her heart
choked her breathing so that she could scarcely speak to Lamperi.

With eager zeal the maid tried to induce her to put on the fresh and
extremely tasteful Brussels gala robe. The candlesticks, with the dozens
of candles, the elegant silver dishes, the whole manner of the reception,
led her to make the suggestion. But Barbara had scarcely noticed these
magnificent things.

Her every thought and feeling centred upon the son whom she was now
actually to see with her own eyes, whose hand she would touch, whose
voice she would hear.

The splendid costume did not suit such a meeting after a long separation,
so solemn a festal hour of the heart.

A heavy black silk which she had brought was more appropriate for this
occasion. Only she allowed the pomegranate blossoms, which had remained
perfectly fresh, to be fastened on her breast, that her dress might not
look like mourning. While Lamperi was putting the last touches to her
toilet, a priest came for her, as Escovedo had arranged, exactly two
hours after her arrival. This was Father Dorante, Don John's confessor,
an elderly man with a face in which earnest piety was so happily mingled
with kindly cheerfulness that Barbara rejoiced to know that such a
guardian of souls was at her son's side.

While he was descending the stairs with her, Barbara noticed one of the
searching glances he secretly cast at her, and wondered what this man's
pure, keen eyes had probably discovered.

The spacious apartment into which she was now ushered was hung with
costly bright-hued Oriental rugs.

"Gifts from the widow of the Turkish lord high admiral," the priest
whispered, pointing to the superb textures, and Barbara nodded. She knew
how he had obtained them, but the passionate agitation of her soul
deprived her of the power to inform the monk of this knowledge, of which
probably she would usually have boasted to a friend of her son so worthy
of all respect.

The folding doors of the adjoining room were open. Surely John was there,
and how gladly she would have rushed