Then, rising quickly, she again read the violet-scented missive, written on the finest parchment.
“Your son,” ran the brief contents—“your son, who has so long been separated from his mother, at last desires to look into her eyes. If the woman who gave him birth wishes to make him feel new and deep gratitude, let her hasten at once to Luxemburg, where he has been for several hours in the deepest privacy. The weal and woe of his life are at stake.”
The letter, written in the German language, was signed “John of Austria.”
Panting for breath, Barbara gazed a long time into vacancy. Then, suddenly drawing herself up proudly, she exclaimed to Lamperi: “I’ll dress my hair myself. Yesterday Herr De la Porta offered me his travelling carriage. The major-domo must go to him at once and say that Madame de Blomberg asks the loan of the vehicle. Let the page Diego order post and courier horses at the same time. The carriage must be ready in an hour.”
“But, Madame,” cried the maid, raising her hands in alarm and admonition, “the Rassinghams are expecting you. The honour! Every one who is well disposed in the States-General will be there. Who knows what the party has in store for you? And then the banquet! What may there not be to hear!”
“No matter,” replied Barbara. “The chaplain—I’ll speak to him-must send the refusal. No summons from Heaven could be more powerful than the call that takes me away. Bestir yourself! There is not an instant to lose.”
Frau Lamperi retired with drooping head. But when she had executed her mistress’s orders and returned, Barbara laid her hand upon her shoulder, whispering: “You can keep silence. I am going to Luxemburg. He who calls me is one whom you saw enter the world, the hero of Lepanto. He wants his mother. At last! at last! And I—”
Here tears stifled her voice, and obeying the desire to pour out to another the overflowing gratitude and love which had taken possession of her soul, she threw herself upon the gray-haired attendant’s breast, and amid her weeping exclaimed: “I shall see him with these eyes, I can clasp his hand, I shall hear his voice—that voice—His first cry—A thousand times, waking and sleeping, I have fancied I heard it again. Do you remember how they took him from me, Lamperi?
“To think that I survived it! But now—now If that voice lured me to the deepest abyss and called me away from paradise, I would go!”
The maid’s old eyes also overflowed, and when Barbara read her son’s letter aloud, she cried: “Of course there can be no delay, even if, instead of the Rassinghams, King Philip himself should send for you. And I—may I go with you? Oh, Madame, you do not know what a sweet little angel he was from his very birth! We were not allowed to show him to you. And it was wise, for, had you seen him, it would have broken your poor mother heart to give him up.”