“I might know that,” cried the Emperor, holding out his hand to his friend.  “Yet I refused you the leave of absence, you faithful fellow.  The world calls this selfishness.  But since it still needs me, it ought in justice to excuse me, for never have I needed you so much as during these decisive weeks, whether war is declared—­and it will come to that—­ or not.  Think how many other things are also impending!  Besides, my foot aches, and my heart, this poor heart, bears a wound which a friend’s careful hand will soothe.  So you understand, Luis, that the much-tormented Charles can not do without you just now.”

Quijada, with sincere emotion, bent over the monarch’s hand and kissed it tenderly, but the Emperor, for the first time, hastily stroked his bearded cheek, and said in an agitated tone, “We know each other.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” cried the Spaniard.  “In the first place, I will not again annoy my master with the request for a leave of absence.  Dona Magdalena must try how she can accommodate herself to widowhood while she has a living husband, if the Holy Virgin will only permit me to offer your Majesty what you expect from me.”

“I will answer for that,” the Emperor was saying, when Adrian interrupted him.

The messenger had returned from Prebrunn with the news that the singer had taken cold the day before, and could not leave the house.

Charles angrily exclaimed that he knew what such illness meant, and his under lip protruded so far that it was easy to perceive how deeply this fresh proof of Barbara’s defiance and vanity incensed him.

But when the chamberlain said that the singer had been attacked by a violent fever, Charles changed colour, and asked quickly in a tone of sincere anxiety:  “And Dr. Mathys?  Has he seen her?  No?  Then he must go to her at once, and I shall expect tidings as soon as he returns.  Perhaps the fever was seething in her blood yesterday.”

He had no time to make any further remarks about the sufferer, for one visitor followed another.

Shortly before noon the Bishop of Arras ushered in Duke Maurice, who wished to take leave of him.

Granvelle, in a businesslike manner, summed up the result of the negotiations, and Charles made no objection; but after he had said farewell to the Saxon prince, he remarked, with a smile which was difficult to interpret:  “One thing more, my dear Prince.  The beautiful singer has suffered from the gagliarde, which she had the honour of dancing with you; she is lying ill of a fever.  We will, however, scarcely regard it as an evil omen for the agreements which we concluded on the same day.  With our custom of keeping our hands away from everything which our friendly ally claims as his right, our alliance, please God, will not fail to have good success.”

A faint flush crimsoned the intelligent face of the Saxon duke, and an answer as full of innuendo as the Emperor’s address was already hovering on his lips, when the chief equerry’s entrance gave him power to restrain it.