best, this tragedy comes.

Wilhelmine, who arrived in Wirtemberg a strong, passionate creature,
generous, vital, was too responsive to remain unaltered by the
alchemising touch of the world. Had she been met with tenderness and
purity, and by noble men and women, she might have become a power for
good; as it was, she was received by intrigue, contending interests,
disapproval, distrust, the lust of love. As a good woman there was no
place for her at Wirtemberg's court, so all the evil, lying dormant in
every human heart, rose up in her, and she became a Queen of Wickedness.
Monsieur Gabriel would have mourned another lost illusion, had not Death
taken him from this world a few months after Wilhelmine's departure from
Guestrow. He bequeathed to her his well-worn books, _Les Pensees de
Pascal_, _Le Roman de la Rose_, the poems of the singers of La Pleiade,
and the few other volumes wherefrom he had instructed his beloved pupil.
He left, besides, a little sealed packet, in which she was surprised to
find several beautiful jewels, among them a white enamel cross, in the
centre whereof was the image of a dove with outspread wings.

Eberhard Ludwig told her these were the insignia of a high order in
France, and she was thereby confirmed in her notion that her beloved old
schoolmaster's great air and immense refinement were those of a grand
seigneur. She often pondered on why a Huguenot had been permitted to bear
the holy order of the St. Esprit upon his breast, but she remembered that
Monsieur Gabriel had spoken of the court festivities with that sure
accent which told that he had been of the caste which took part in those
scenes. She never learnt his secret; to her credit, she never sought to
unravel it. The Graevenitz was what the world calls wicked, but vulgarity
and vulgarity's attendant, curiosity, could not touch her, and she
respected the silence of her friends, though she ever spied upon her
enemies. The news of Monsieur Gabriel's death was brought to Wilhelmine
soon after her advent at the Jaegerhaus, and for many days the favourite
refused to see any one save Eberhard Ludwig. She mourned her old friend
sincerely, and wept bitterly when she saw the worn volumes he had
bequeathed to her. The cross she fastened round her neck on a thin gold
chain, and this badge of a sacred order rested for many years on the
heart of the strange, evil woman. You can see the tiny line of this chain
in the few known portraits of Wilhelm