But the expression of their features was already changing.  Duke Maurice had been recognised, and now all who felt entitled to do so approached him, among them her foes, at their head Bernhard Trainer, who were obliged to bend low before him, and therefore before her also.

Just then the city pipers struck up a gagliarde, and the music was the air of the dancing-master’s song by Baldassaro Donati, which had roused the Emperor’s indignation a few days ago.  In imagination she again heard his outburst of anger, again saw him rise from his seat in wrath at the innocent “Chi la gagliarda vuol imparare.”

The time of reckoning had come, and he should pay her for the bitterness of that hour!  Yonder malevolent fellows, who now looked bewildered and uneasy, should be forced to retreat before her and perceive what power she had obtained by her beauty and her art.

With fevered blood and panting breath she listened to the gay music of the enlarged band of city pipers, and watched the movements of the couples who had already commenced the gagliarde, and—­how was it possible in such a mood?—­a passionate desire to dance took possession of her.

Without heeding the many persons who stood around them, she whispered softly to the duke, “It would be a pleasure to keep time to the music of the gagliarde with you, your Highness.”

An ardent love glance accompanied this invitation, and the bold Saxon duke was a man to avail himself of every advantage.

He instantly expressed to the Ratisbon gentlemen his desire to try the gagliarde himself to such excellent music, and at a sign from the master of ceremonies the dance stopped.

Several members of the Council requested the couples to make way, and Maurice took his partner’s hand and led her on the stage.

The sudden cessation of the music attracted the Emperor’s attention also.  In an instant he perceived what was about to take place, and looked at Barbara.  Her eyes met his, and such a glow of indignation, nay, wrath, so imperious a prohibition flashed from his glance that her flushed cheeks paled, and she strove to withdraw her hand from the duke’s.

But Maurice held it firmly, and at the same moment the city pipers began to play again, and the music streamed forth in full, joyous tones.

The wooing notes fell into her defiant soul like sparks on dry brushwood.  She could not help dancing, though it should be her death.  Already she had begun, and with mischievous joy the thought darted through her mind that now Charles, too, would perceive what anguish lay in the fear of losing those whom we love.

If this grief brought him back to her, she thought, while eagerly following the figures of the dance, she would tend him all her life like a maidservant; if his pride severed the bond between them—­that could not be done, because he loved her—­she must bear it.  Doubtless the conviction forced itself upon her superstitious mind that Fate would be ready to ruin her by the dance, yet she executed what must bring misfortune upon her; to retreat was no longer possible.