assumed well suited the aristocratic gentleman at her side, whom every
one knew as the most brilliant, witty, and extravagant noble at the
Emperor's court. At the same time she addressed the baron, whom she had
hitherto kept at a distance, with unconstrained familiarity, and as the
eyes of the mothers also rested upon her, remarks which might have driven
the blood to her cheeks were made upon the intimate terms existing
between the "Emperor's sweetheart" and the profligate and spendthrift
Malfalconnet.

True, Barbara could not understand what they were saying, but it was easy
enough to perceive in what way they were talking about her.

Yet what gave these women the right to condemn her?

They bore her a grudge because she had distinguished herself by her art,
while their little geese were idle at home or, at most, busied themselves
in the kitchen, at the spinning wheel, in dancing, and whatever was
connected with it while waiting for their future husbands. The favour
which the most illustrious of mortals showed her they imputed to her as a
crime.

How could they know that she was more to the Emperor than the artist
whose singing enraptured him?

The girls yonder--her Woller cousins certainly--merely held aloof because
their mothers commanded them to do it. Only in the case of a few need
she fear that jealousy and envy had taken possession of them. Yet what
did she care for them and their behaviour? She looked over their heads
with the air of a queen.