ough she listened attentively at the
foot of the stairs. Swiftly she gained the dwelling-room, fitted the key
into the oaken press, unlocked it, and took out the rolls of gold. In
another moment she stood in the snow-covered street, the money for her
journey safe in her hand.

Wilhelmine von Graevenitz had taken the first step of an extraordinary
career.

CHAPTER IV

THE JOURNEY

'When the meadow glows, and the orchard snows,
And the air's with love notes teeming,
When fancies break, and the senses wake,
O, life's a dream worth dreaming.'

W. E. HENLEY.

A HEAVY, leaden sky hung over the small town of Cannstatt, and the people
looked with foreboding at the lowering black clouds, and the weather-wise
foretold a furious thunder-storm. For many weeks the heavens had smiled
as though summer had come, though in truth the spring was but just begun,
and May counted but few days. The trees of the forest were donning their
leafy garments, the orchards were white and pink with apple, pear, and
cherry blossom, and the young grass stood tall and feathery in an
unusually early maturity. Of course the peasants grumbled, as peasants
always do; they complained of the heat and shook their heads over a
belated frost, which they declared must come to chastise the forwardness
of the growing things; they demanded rain from the smiling blue heavens,
and contemplated gloomily the tender, green shoots of the vines. But
when, in answer to their prayers for rain, the sky lowered and the sun
vanished, they grumbled again and spoke of the hailstones, which would
come to dash the blossoms of the fruit-trees and break the young vines.
All day the thunder had menaced but had not fulfilled the threat, and
when evening fell the air was still heavily oppressive. A rumbling sound
caused the people to run to their lattice windows and look up at the sky,
wondering if the storm had come at last; but it was only the echo of
carriage-wheels rolling through the mediaeval archway, which led to the
fields beyond the town. The diligence drew up ponderously at the door of
the Hotel Zur Post, and the driver descended equally ponderously,
demanding loudly a drink of good Wirtemberg wine. Meanwhile an imperious
voice from the conveyance could be heard inquiring whether they had
arrived at Stuttgart, and if not, where they were. No one answering this
query, a hand was visible thrust out of t