Once only was her solitude in the midst of this great company pleasantly interrupted, for the Bishop of Arras, without troubling himself about the separation of the sexes, had sought her out and whispered that he had something to ask of her, whose details they would discuss later.  On the evening of the day after to-morrow his Majesty’s most distinguished guests, with their ladies, were to assemble at his house.  If she desired to place him under the deepest obligations, she would join them there and adorn the festival with her singing.  Barbara asked in a low tone whether the Emperor would also be present, and the statesman, smiling, answered that court etiquette prohibited such things.  Yet it was not impossible that, as a special favour, his Majesty might listen for a short time in the festal hall, only he feared that the gout might interpose—­the evil guest was already giving slight warnings of its approach.

Then, without waiting for a reply, the young minister went back to his royal master; but his invitation exerted a disturbing influence upon Barbara.  She would have been more than glad to accept, for the entertainments of the Bishop of Arras were unequalled in varied attractions, magnificence, and gaiety, and what a satisfaction to her ambition it would be to sing before such an audience, dine at the same table with such ladies and gentlemen!  She knew also how heavily this man’s favour would weigh in the scales with the Emperor, yet to appear at the banquet without her lover’s knowledge was utterly impossible, and just now she felt reluctant to ask his permission.  What heavy chains loaded the favoured woman who possessed the love of this greatest of sovereigns!

However, reflections concerning Granvelle’s invitation passed away the time until the lighting of the Lindenplatz was completed.  Then the shrill blare of trumpets again rent the air, the city pipers in the towers struck up a gay march, and the entertainment began.

The gods of Olympus, led by Fame and Fortune, offered their homage to the Emperor.  A youth from the school of poets, attired as the goddess of Fame, bewailed in well-rhymed verses that for a long time no one had given her so much to do as the Emperor Charles.  His comrade, who, bearing a cornucopia in his arms, represented Fortune, assured her companion, in still more bombastic verse, that she should certainly expect far more from her, the goddess of Fame, in favour of his Majesty.  This would continue until her own end and that of all the Olympians, because the Emperor Charles himself was an immortal.  He had made them both subject to him.  Fortune as well as Fame must obey his sign.  But there was another younger friend of the gods for whom, on account of the shortness of his life, they had been able to do less, but for whom they also held in readiness their best and greatest gifts.  He, too, would succeed in rendering them his subjects.  While speaking, Fortune pointed with the cornucopia and Fame with the trumpet to Duke Maurice, and besought their indulgent lord and master, the Emperor Charles, to be permitted to show some of their young favourite’s possessions, by whose means he, too, would succeed in retaining them in his service.