to the frontier to do battle. The lilacs came
to a tardy bloom, and even on the cold ungenial air there floated a
divine fragrance. News came from the Duke--dull news, all detail of the
organising and improvement of troops. Passionate words intermingled in
these letters to Wilhelmine, old faded yellow curiosities now. Madame de
Ruth, Zollern, and Stafforth often visited the favourite at the
Jaegerhaus, and Wilhelmine's innate desire to please--that impulse which
must ever belong to the 'charmeurs' and especially to the 'charmeuses' of
the world--taught her to forget her sadness when she was with her
friends, and thus some brighter hours were passed. She sang, and if her
singing were more truthfully passionate and more sad than of yore, it was
surely love which had taught her greater depth. Only Madame de Ruth, the
old courtesan, realised that not love but love's sadness had given that
tone to the glorious voice; and Madame de Ruth looked at Zollern, her
eyes full of tears, but Zollern leaned his chin on the mythologically
ornamented china handle of his stick and revelled in a thrill, a spark of
youth's desire, which the younger woman's voice had rekindled. Men are
promiscuous to the end of their lives. Why blame them? God made them so.

Towards the beginning of May, shortly after his Highness's departure,
Madame de Ruth arrived one morning at the Jaegerhaus brimming over with
words and gossip. 'Imagine, ma chere,' she cried, as she rustled into
Wilhelmine's yellow salon, 'Osiander is in disgrace with the Duchess! I
heard it was coming, but did not believe it. As you know, her Highness
has given orders that, being in spiritual mourning in the absence of her
dear spouse at the war, she will see none save her personal attendants
and Madame de Stafforth. Well, well, it is quite contrary to every
etiquette; but, indeed, the court of Stuttgart has ceased to exist
nowadays, and her Highness can do as she likes.'

'Yes, yes; I know all that. Tell me what the news is!' broke in
Wilhelmine impatiently. The Duchess's entire seclusion was well known to
her, she heard it discussed by her friends daily.

'Let me tell you my story in my own way, or I shall not tell it at all!
Well, I live in the castle.'--'I know that too,' said Wilhelmine,
laughing.--'Certainly you do--I live in the castle, and really it is
ridiculous if I never see the Duchess, considering that I am her resident
Maitresse du Palais; so at last I wrote to the Duches