Barabrina lay, still dreaming, upon the divan.  Possibly she did not know that Marietta stood by her side, and laid her hand upon her shoulder.

“Sorella,” said she, “get up; many gentlemen are in the saloon, waiting for you.”

“Let them wait.  I will see no one to-day.”

“It is the hour when you are accustomed to receive, Sorella, and if you do not come they will think you are still unwell.”

“Well, let them think so.”

“They will not only think so, Sorella; they will say so, and make malicious comments.”

“What comments?” said Barbarina, raising herself up; “what comments, Marietta?”

“It was indeed unfortunate that your sickness came upon you just as the king appeared,” said Marietta.

Barbarina’s eyes flashed.  “Do you think they will put those things together?” said she.  “They will say, perhaps, that Barbarina fainted at the unexpected appearance of the king; that the joy of seeing him overcame her; is that your meaning, Marietta?”

“Yes, that is my meaning,” said Marietta, in a low tone.

Barbarina sprang from the divan, trembling and pallid.  “They will mock at and scorn me,” she cried, raising her arms to heaven as if to call down the lightning to her aid; “they will say I love this cold king!”

“They will say that, Sorella,” replied Marietta.

Barbarina seized her hand.  “But you, sister! you will not say this; you know that I have sworn to hate him with an everlasting hatred.  You know that I have put an evil spell upon him with my tears; that I never can forgive him for the suffering and agony he prepared for me.  Think, think, Marietta, how much I have wept, how much I have endured!  My life was like a lustrous May morning, a fairy tale of starry splendor; roses and pearls were in my path:  he has obscured my stars, and changed my pearls to tears.  Woe to him! woe to him!  I have sworn to hate him eternally, and Barbarina keeps her oath.”

“Yes, you have sworn to hate him, sister, but the world is ignorant of your oath and its cause; their eyes are blinded, and they strangely mistake your hate for love.  They see that your glance is clearer, brighter, when the king is by, and they know not that it is hate which flashes from your eyes; they hear that your voice lightly trembles when you speak to him, they do not know that the hatred in your heart deprives you of self-control; they see that you dance with more enchanting grace in the king’s presence, they do not understand that these are instruments of revenge—­that you wish to crush him by the mighty power of genius, grace, and beauty.”

“Yes, yes! just so,” said Barbarina, breathing painfully; “you alone know me, you alone read my heart!  I hate, I abhor this cold, cruel king, and he richly deserves my hate!  He may be wise and great, but his heart is ice.  It is true, he is handsome and exalted; genius is marked on his noble brow; his smile is magical, and irradiates his face; his eyes, those great, inexplicable eyes, are blue as the heavens and unfathomable as the sea.  When I look into them, I seem to read the mysteries of the great deep, and the raptures of heaven.  His voice, when he pleads, is like consecrated music; when he commands, it is the voice of God in thunder.  He is great above all other men; he is a hero, a man, and a king!”