t his side, and Johanna Elizabetha could see that his fingers
were clenched and reclenched with such force that the knuckles showed
bluey white; otherwise the man might have been made of stone and his eyes
of metal, so motionless and rigid was the whole figure. He had entered
her apartment, and had demanded in a voice of controlled passion, deep
with the effort he made to render it cold and courteous, 'Madame, where
is your Highness's lady-in-waiting?'

She met the question with a tremulous torrent of words. 'I have dismissed
Mademoiselle de Graevenitz. I required her services no longer; she did not
please me; she has left the castle, probably the town. I do not know
where she is.'

'I ask again, Madame la Duchesse, whither you have sent Mademoiselle de
Graevenitz? You must have been aware of her destination before you
permitted a young lady to leave the shelter of our castle,' he said. And
the Duchess replied by an angry outburst, a hailstorm of reproaches,
before which Eberhard Ludwig remained silent, cold, rigidly
self-contained. The Duchess paused; it was like beating one's hand
against some adamantine barrier. She had the sensation that all she said,
felt, suffered, passed unnoticed; the man before her was waiting for
information, that was all. It was intolerable, and the hopelessness of
any pleading came to her.

'My husband,' she said in another tone, calm and cold as his, 'I have
endured enough. I have the right to dismiss my lady-in-waiting if I think
fit. I have done so, and the lady will not enter my apartments again, nor
will she be admitted to any court festivities wherein I take part.' She
turned away; her despairing consciousness of ultimate humiliation seemed
to choke her, though her very defeat was transformed to a moral victory
by her resigned dignity. The Duke moved forward. 'At least tell me what
has occurred,' he said hurriedly. 'When I left you three days ago there
was no word of any dispute. I thought I left peace,' he added in a
puzzled tone.

The Duchess came towards him. She held out her hands in a gesture of
appeal: 'Eberhard, be just to me! I bore it as long as I could, but that
woman's presence was a daily torture to me. Have a mistress, if need be,'
this last bitterly, 'but at least do not cause her to be my companion. It
is not fitting.' The blood rushed to the Duke's face. 'Mademoiselle de
Graevenitz is fit to be the companion of saints, of angels!' he retorted
angrily. 'She will retu