For the religious service, which was directed by her own chaplain, she had had a chapel fitted up in the house, according to the Ratisbon fashion.  The poor were never turned from her door without alms, and where she encountered great want she often relieved it with a generosity far beyond her means.  Under the instruction of Maestro Feys, she eagerly devoted herself to new exercises in singing.  Doubtless she realized that time and the long period of hoarseness had seriously injured her voice, but even now she could compare with the best singers in the city.

Thus Barbara saw her youthful dreams of fortune realized—­nay, surpassed—­and in the consciousness of liberty which she now enjoyed, elevated by the success gained by the person she loved best, she again followed her lover’s motto.  With the impelling “More, farther” before her eyes, she took care that she did not lack the admiration for which she had never ceased to long, and to which, in better days, she had possessed so well-founded a claim.

Now a lavish and gracious hospitality, as well as her relationship to the greatest and most popular hero of his time, must give her what she had formerly obtained through her art; for she rarely sang in large companies, and when she did so, no matter how loudly her hearers expressed their delight, she could not regain the old confident security that she was justly entitled to it.  But she could believe all the more firmly that the acknowledgments of pleasure which she reaped from her little evening parties were sincere.  They even gained a certain degree of celebrity, for the kitchen in her house was admirably managed, and whatever came from it found approval even in the home of the finest culinary achievements.  But it was especially the freedom—­though not the slightest indecorum was permitted—­with which people met at “Madame de Blomberg’s,” as she now styled herself, that lent her house so great an attraction, and finally added the more aristocratic members of her party to the number of her guests.

The very different elements assembled in her home were united by Barbara’s unaffected vivacity and frank, enthusiastic temperament, receptive to the veriest trifle.  These evening entertainments rarely lacked music; but she had learned to retire into the background, and when there were talented artists among her guests she gave them the precedence.  The way in which she understood how to discover and bring out the best qualities of every visitor rendered her a very agreeable hostess.

Maestro Feys made her acquainted with his professional friends in Ghent, and her opinion of music was soon highly valued among them.  Where women choirs were being trained, she was asked to join them, and often took a part which seemed to the others too difficult.  Thus Barbara was heard and known in larger circles, and she had the pleasure of hearing her admirable training and excellent method of delivery praised by the director of the choir of the Cathedral of Saint Bavon, one of the greatest musicians in the Netherlands.  But it afforded her special gratification when a choir of Catholic women chose her for their leader.  She devoted a large portion of her time and strength to it, and felt honoured and elevated by its progress and admirable performances.