As the door closed, the expression of her face changed. The smile died from her lips, and her eyes were dim with tears.
"Poor boy!" murmured she, "he loves me, and I—I suffer him to believe that I return his love, while—But I am right," said the devoted girl, and she clasped her hands convulsively together.
"O my Saviour!" cried she "in mercy give me grace while I live, to be true to the vows, that before thine altar, I have sworn to the Archduke of Austria! It were cruel in me to wound his noble heart—cruel to awake him from his dream of love! Let him at least be happy while I live; and Lord give me strength that I faint not under my burden!"
CHAPTER XVI.
GLUCK.
The sun had risen, flooding the earth with light, and the people of Vienna had already begun their labors for the day. But the curtains had not yet been drawn from a richly-furnished room, whose walls were lined with books; and in whose centre stood a table covered with papers, whereon the lights, not yet extinguished, were dropping their waxen tears from two lofty silver candelabra. At this table sat a man, looking earnestly at a paper covered with notes of music. He had sat there the whole night long, and his countenance gave no indication of the exhaustion that follows upon night-watching. His large, dark, gray eyes flashed whenever he raised his head thoughtfully, as he frequently did; and when music was born of his thoughts, a smile illuminated his otherwise plain face, and a wonderful light played about his magnificent forehead; the glory of that genius which had made it her dwelling-place.
The form of this man was as striking as his face. Tall and commanding in stature, his wide shoulders seemed proudly to bear the weight of the head that towered above them, and in his lofty bearing there was a dignitv that betokened either rank or genius.
He had both; for this man was Christopher von Gluck, son of a huntsman of Prince Eugene, who was born in 1714 in the village of Weidenwang.
This son of the poor huntsman was known throughout all Europe; and in Italy, the nobles in their palaces and the people on the streets sang the melodies of Phedra, Antigone, Semiramide, and Telemacco. In Germany he was less known; and in Vienna alone, was he truly appreciated.
There he sat, unconscious of the daylight. On a chair at his side lay a violin and a flute; near them, a violoncello leaned against the wall and within reach of his hand stood one of those upright pianos just then coming into fashion.