nations of the earth by no means failed to produce its effect upon him to
whom it was addressed.

While Barbara listened, deeply agitated, she did not avert her eyes from
her lover's face, which was brightly illumined by a pyramid of candles on
each side of the two thrones.

Every trace of weariness, indifference, and discomfort had vanished from
Charles's features. His heart, like hers--she knew it--was now throbbing
higher. If he had just been enduring pain, this singing must have driven
it away or lessened it, and he had certainly felt gratefully what power
dwells in the divine art.

This noble composition, Barbara realized it, would again draw her near
her lover, and the confirmation of this hope was not delayed, for as soon
as the last notes of the motet and the storm of applause that followed
had died away, the Emperor, amid the renewed roar of the artillery, rose
and looked around him--surely for her.

The good citizens of Ratisbon! No matter how much more bunting they had
cut up in honour of the Saxon duke than of the Emperor, how bombastic
were the verses composed and repeated in praise of Maurice, this paean of
homage put all their efforts to shame. It suited only one, lauded a
grandeur and dignity which stood firm as indestructible cliffs, and which
no one here possessed save the Emperor Charles.

Who would have ventured to apply this motet to the brave and clever
Saxon, high as he, too, towered above most of his peers? What did the
nations of the earth know about him? How small was the world still that
was full of his renown!