Her old music teacher, Feys, to whom she was so much indebted, had been attacked by slow fever, and she had received him in her house five days ago, and provided with loving devotion for his nursing.  The bachelor of seventy had been so ill cared for in his lonely, uncomfortable home that her kind heart had urged her to take charge of him.

She had left him only a few hours since he had been under her roof, and if the banquet at the Rassinghams, after the deliberations, lasted until a very late hour, she would, for the sake of her invalid guest, great as was the sacrifice, attend only the former.

Yet she was pleased at the thought of sharing this festal assembly, and she, her companion, and Lamperi all went into ecstasies over the dress she intended to wear, which had just arrived from Brussels.

Maestro Feys passed a restless night, and Barbara watched beside his couch for hours.  In the morning she allowed herself a little sleep, but she was obliged at noon to dress for the assembly, which was to begin before sunset.

She had just sat down to have her hair arranged, which occupied a long time, when one of the pages handed her a letter brought by a mounted courier.

She opened it curiously, and while reading it her cheeks paled and flushed as in the days of her youth.  Then it dropped into her lap, and for a moment she remained motionless, with closed eyes, as though stupefied.

Then, rising quickly, she again read the violet-scented missive, written on the finest parchment.

“Your son,” ran the brief contents—­“your son, who has so long been separated from his mother, at last desires to look into her eyes.  If the woman who gave him birth wishes to make him feel new and deep gratitude, let her hasten at once to Luxemburg, where he has been for several hours in the deepest privacy.  The weal and woe of his life are at stake.”

The letter, written in the German language, was signed “John of Austria.”

Panting for breath, Barbara gazed a long time into vacancy.  Then, suddenly drawing herself up proudly, she exclaimed to Lamperi:  “I’ll dress my hair myself.  Yesterday Herr De la Porta offered me his travelling carriage.  The major-domo must go to him at once and say that Madame de Blomberg asks the loan of the vehicle.  Let the page Diego order post and courier horses at the same time.  The carriage must be ready in an hour.”

“But, Madame,” cried the maid, raising her hands in alarm and admonition, “the Rassinghams are expecting you.  The honour!  Every one who is well disposed in the States-General will be there.  Who knows what the party has in store for you?  And then the banquet!  What may there not be to hear!”

“No matter,” replied Barbara.  “The chaplain—­I’ll speak to him-must send the refusal.  No summons from Heaven could be more powerful than the call that takes me away.  Bestir yourself!  There is not an instant to lose.”