The mighty pressure of rising surges of yearning dashed against the monarch’s heart, and with tremendous impetuosity roused on all sides the tender desires which for a long time had been gathering in his soul.  It seemed as though this “Because I long for love” was blending with the long-repressed and now uncontrollable yearning that filled his own breast, and he was obliged to restrain himself in order not to rush toward this gifted singer, this marvellously lovely woman, whose heart was his, and, before the eyes of all, clasp her in his embrace.

The master of dissimulation forgot himself, and—­what a delight to the eyes of the marquise!—­the Emperor Charles, the great epicure and thirsty drinker, left the pasty and the wine, to listen standing, with hands resting on the table and outstretched head, to Barbara’s voice.

It seemed as though he feared his ear might miss a note of this song, his eye a movement of this source of melody.

But when the song ceased, and Barbara, panting for breath, returned the ardent look of gratitude and delight which beamed upon her from his eyes, the Emperor left the table, and, without noticing Count Krockow, who was just lifting the silver cover from the roast capon, the last of the five dishes ordered, went up to Barbara.

Would he really end the meal now?  The old marquise thought it impossible, but if the incredible event occurred, then things were to be expected, things——­

But ere she had imagined how this unprecedented event could take place, the Emperor himself informed her, for, half addressing Barbara, half the lady in waiting, he exclaimed in a slightly muffled tone:  “Thanks, cordial thanks for this great pleasure, my dear Jungfrau!  But we wish to add to words another token of appreciation, a token of more lasting duration.—­Do us the favour, Marquise de Leria, to conduct this noble artist to the upper rooms, that she may receive what we intended for her.”

He left the hall as he spoke; but the marquise beckoned to Barbara, detained her with words of sweet flattery a short time and then, with the young girl, ascended the stairs up which the Emperor had preceded them.

Meanwhile the old noblewoman continued to talk with her; but Barbara did not listen.  While following her guide, it seemed as though the steps her light foot trod were a heavenly ladder, and at their end the gates of Paradise would open.

She felt with inexpressible delight that she had never before succeeded so well in expressing a strong feeling in music, and what her song endeavoured to tell the Emperor—­no, the man whom she loved—­had been understood, and found an echo in his soul.

Could there be a greater happiness?

And yet, while she was approaching him, he must be awaiting her.

She had wished to arouse his attention, his approval, his delight in her singing.  All three had become hers, and now new wishes had mastered her, and probably him also.  She desired his love, he hers, and, fearing herself, she felt the great peril into which her aged companion was conducting her.