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.

Count Lanoi announced that his Highness’s travelling escort was ready, and the Emperor, with an air of paternal affection, bade the younger sovereign farewell.

As soon as the door had closed behind Maurice, Charles, turning to Granvelle, remarked, “The Saxon cousin returned our clasp of the hand some what coldly, but the means of rendering it warmer are ready.”

“The Elector’s hat,” replied the Bishop of Arras.  “I hope it will prevent him from making our heads hot, as the Germans say, instead of his own.”

“If only our brains keep cool,” replied the Emperor.  “It is needful in dealing with this young man.”

“He knows his Machiavelli,” added the statesman, “but I think the Florentine did not write wholly in vain for us also.”

“Scarcely,” observed the Emperor, smiling, and then rang the little bell to have his valet summon Dr. Mathys.

The leech had returned from his visit to Barbara, and feared that the burning fever from which she was suffering might indicate the commencement of inflammation of the lungs.

Charles started up and expressed the desire to be conveyed at once in the litter to Prebrunn; but the physician declared that his Majesty’s visit would as certainly harm the feverish girl as going out in such weather would increase the gout in his royal master’s foot.

The monarch shrugged his shoulders, and seized the despatches and letters which had arrived.  The persons about him suffered severely from his detestable mood, but the dull weather of this gloomy day appeared also to have a bad effect upon the confessor De Soto, for his lofty brow was scarcely less clouded than the sky.  He did not allude to Barbara by a single word, yet she was the cause of his depression.