.'

So saying, the Duke of Zollern rose to depart. 'Berga!' laughed Madame de
Ruth, 'there is the very man we want for the end of our intrigue! When
his Highness has plucked the flower and enjoyed its sweetness, we will
give it to Berga to dry between the leaves of his Bible! He shall marry
Mademoiselle de Graevenitz in a few years' time; it will be a pious act
for him, and a small reward to us for having borne his lectures with such
good grace this twenty years.' Zollern smiled. He knew his austere old
friend too well, and he could not picture him in the ridiculous role of
husband of a cast-off courtesan. With a profound salute the old beau took
leave of the company, and followed his hostess into the ill-lit corridor.

'A fine plan, dear friend, a very fine plan! By the way, let us hope this
Graevenitz girl talks a little better French than does her sister-in-law.
I verily believe Madame Friedrich de Graevenitz prefers peasant German to
our own speech, and at court no word of that inelegant language could be
tolerated.'

Once more he bent over Madame de Ruth's hand, murmuring, 'Merci de mes
souvenirs, amie bien chere,' and then he climbed back into his heavy
coach and drove out into the stormy darkness. Madame de Ruth watched the
lights of the carriage disappearing, and with a sigh re-entered the
salon, where she found Graevenitz writing a letter to his sister, helped
by suggestions from Oberhofmarshall Stafforth.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Wuerttemberg was formerly and more correctly spelt Wirtemberg. This
ancient spelling has been retained in the present work.

CHAPTER II

THE AVE MARIA

A ROOM with rudely bulging plaster walls, once painted a harsh blue, now
toned by time and damp to a hundred parti-coloured patches. A rough,
uneven floor; for furniture a narrow, oaken bedstead, a heavy chair lamed
by four legs of various heights, a rickety table steadied by a pad of
rags beneath one foot, a long chest of painted wood: such was the
sleeping-room of Wilhelmine von Graevenitz, in her mother's house at
Guestrow in Mecklemburg. And here on a December morning of the year 1705
Wilhelmine sat disconsolately on the edge of the narrow bed. A feeble ray
of winter sunshine crept through the small lattice window and made the
dust twirl in a straight shaft of haze. The sunbeam kissed a cheerfulness
into the dreary chamber, but the girl evidently felt no answering thrill
of gladness, for she remained in her dejected attitu