True, Barbara could not understand what they were saying, but it was easy enough to perceive in what way they were talking about her.

Yet what gave these women the right to condemn her?

They bore her a grudge because she had distinguished herself by her art, while their little geese were idle at home or, at most, busied themselves in the kitchen, at the spinning wheel, in dancing, and whatever was connected with it while waiting for their future husbands.  The favour which the most illustrious of mortals showed her they imputed to her as a crime.

How could they know that she was more to the Emperor than the artist whose singing enraptured him?

The girls yonder—­her Woller cousins certainly—­merely held aloof because their mothers commanded them to do it.  Only in the case of a few need she fear that jealousy and envy had taken possession of them.  Yet what did she care for them and their behaviour?  She looked over their heads with the air of a queen.

But what was the meaning of this?

As soon as the dance was over, a pretty young girl, scarcely seventeen years old, with blue forget-me-nots in her fair hair and on her breast, left her partner and came directly toward Barbara.

Her head drooped and she hesitated shyly as she did so, but her modest timidity was so charming that the dissolute courtier at Barbara’s side felt a throb of sympathy, and gazed down at her like a benevolent fatherly friend as she held out her hand to his companion.

He did not think Martina Hiltner actually beautiful as she stood close before him, but, on the other hand, inexpressibly charming in her modest grace.

That it was she who came to Barbara so confidingly increased his good opinion of the self-reliant, hot-blooded girl who had won the Emperor’s love, and therefore he was deeply angered when the latter answered Martina’s greeting curtly and coldly, and, without vouchsafing her any further words, requested him to summon one of the attendants who were serving refreshments.

Malfalconnet glanced significantly toward Martina, and, while offering Barbara a goblet of lemonade, said, “There is candied lemon and other seasoning in it, so it will probably suit your taste, exacting beauty, since you appear to dislike what is pure.”

“Only when poison is mixed with it,” she answered quickly, tossing her head arrogantly.  Then, controlling herself, she added in an explanatory tone:  “In this case, Baron, your far-famed penetration deceived you.  It gave me more pain than you will believe to reject the friendly advances of this lovely child, but her father is the head of the Lutheran heresy here, and the almoner——­”

“Then that certainly alters the case,” the other interrupted.  “Where the Holy Inquisition threatens, I should be capable of denying a friend thrice ere the cock crew.  But what a number of charming young faces there are on this Lindenplatz!  Here one can understand why Ratisbon, like the French Arles, is famed for the beauty of her daughters.  It was not easy for you to earn the reputation of the greatest beauty here.  You have also gained that of the most cruel one.  You make me feel it.  But if you wish to cast into oblivion the poisoned cup proffered just now, do me the favour to trust yourself to my guidance in the next dance.”