The storm of applause from below, in which Lienhard also joined, fanned the flames of desire for admiration in Kuni’s breast to a fiery glow.  She would show him, too, what she could do—­compel him to applaud her.  She would force him away from the little temptress, and oblige him to gaze up at her whose art—­she learned this daily—­possessed the power to fix the attention of spectators like the thrall of the basilisk’s eye.  When on the rope she was no insignificant personage.  He should tremble for her as did the gray-haired, scarred captain of the foot soldiers, Mannsbach, the day before yesterday.  He had told her that his heart had throbbed more anxiously during her daring feats than on the bloodiest field of battle.

She moved forward more swiftly to the time of the lively dancing tune which the city pipers were playing.  Midway along the rope she turned, ran back to the cross-shaped trestle at the steeple window, handed the balancing pole to Loni, and received a cage filled with doves.  Each one bore around its neck a note containing an expression of homage to the Emperor Maximilian, and they were all trained to alight near the richly decorated throne which was now occupied by the chivalrous monarch.  The clown who, with a comical show of respect, offered her what she needed for her next feat, told her this.

Loni, sure of being heard by no unbidden ear, called to her from the window: 

“Art is honoured to-day, my girl.”

The clown added jocosely: 

“Who else was ever permitted to walk over the anointed head of our lord the Emperor?”

But Kuni would not have needed such encouragement.  Doubtless she felt flattered by the consciousness of attracting even the sovereign’s glance, but what she intended to do immediately was for the purpose of compelling another person to watch her steps with fear and admiration.  Crossing her feet, she threw back her garlanded head and drew a long breath.  Then she hastily straightened herself, and with the bird cage in one hand and the winged staff of Mercury, which the clown had handed to her, in the other, she advanced to the centre of the rope.  There she opened the cage as steadily as if she had been standing on the floor of her own room.  The birds fluttered through the little door and went, with a swift flight, directly to their goal.  Then, below and beside her, from every place occupied by spectators, and from hundreds of windows, rose thunders of applause; but it seemed to her as if the roaring of the surging sea was in her ears.  Her heart throbbed under her pink silk bodice like an iron hammer, and in the proud consciousness of having probably attained already what she desired, and, besides thousands of other eyes, fixed Lienhard’s upon her as if with chains and bonds, she was seized with the ambitious desire to accomplish something still more amazing.  The man to whom her heart clung, the Emperor, the countless multitude below, were all at this time subject to