"Can we not think of something to console him? Let us go in the morning to Barbarina; perhaps we may learn from her what has happened." "Think you we can do nothing more to-day to withdraw the king from his painful solitude?" "I think the king is a warrior and a hero, and will be able to conquer himself." While the king, in solitude, strengthened only by his genius, struggled with his love, Barbarina, with all the passion of her stormy nature, endured inexpressible torture. She was not alone--her sister was with her, mingled her tears with hers, and whispered sweet words of hope. "The king will return to you; your beauty holds him captive with invisible but magic bonds. Your grace and fascinations will live in his memory, will smile upon him, and lure him back humble and conquered to your feet." Barbarina shook her head sadly. "I have lost him. The eagle has burst the weak bonds with which I had bound his wings; now he is free, he will again unfold them, and rise up conquering and to conquer in the blue vaults of heaven. In the rapturous enjoyment of liberty he will forget how happy he was in captivity. No, no; I have lost him forever!" She clasped her hands over her face, and wept bitterly. Then, as if roused to extremity by some agonizing thought, she sprang from her seat; her eyes were flashing, her cheeks crimson. "Oh, to think that he abandoned me; that I was true to him; that a man lives who deserted Barbarina! That is a shame, a humiliation, of which I will die--yes, surely die!" "But this man was, at least, a king," said her sister, in hesitating tones. Barbarina shook her head fiercely, and her rich black hair fell about her face in wild disorder. "What is it to me that he is a king? His sceptre is not so powerful as that of Barbarina. My realm extends over the universe, wherever men have eyes to see and hearts to feel emotion. That this man is a king does not lessen my shame, or make my degradation less bitter. Barbarina is deserted, forsaken, spurned, and yet lives. She is not crushed and ground to death by this dishonor. But, as I live, I will take vengeance, vengeance for this monstrous wrong--this murder of my heart!" So, in the midst of wild prayers, and tears, and oaths of vengeance, the day declined; long after, Barbarina yielded to the tender entreaties of Marietta, and stretched herself upon her couch. She buried her head in the pillows, and during the weary hours of the night she wept bitterly. With pale cheeks and weary eyes she rose on the following morning. She was still profoundly sad, but no longer hopeless. Her vanity, her rare beauty, in whose magic power she still believed, whispered golden words of comfort, of encouragement; she was now convinced that the king could not give her up. "He spurned me yesterday, to- day he will implore me to forgive him." She was not surprised when her servant announced Duke Algarotti and General Rothenberg.