ng their smiling faces towards the
gardens, the palace, and--the Landhofmeisterin.

All this, then, Eberhard Ludwig had raised to honour the whim of a
courtesan, of an unknown adventuress from Mecklemburg, while she, the
Duchess, legal wife, princess of a noble house--she was shut out,
banished to a grim haunted castle in a deserted town! She wrung her hands
together. She was helpless, hopeless.

Several courtiers, lingering in the street, stared curiously at the
shabby coach. One of the French dressmakers, hurrying from the palace,
stood stock still in surprise at seeing so inelegant an equipage in the
street of magnificent 'Louisbourg.' The Duchess, with the morbid
sensitiveness of a deeply wounded, slighted woman, winced under the
scornful inspection of the pert little dressmaker.

Now the coach entered the first gate of the palace, and once more the
outrider was obliged to proclaim and assure the identity of the
carriage's occupant. This time the sentry flatly refused to believe him,
and it was necessary to call the Captain of the Guard. Here the
Duchess's spirit asserted itself. She summoned the Captain to the door of
the coach and haughtily bid him admit her immediately. But the Captain, a
youth appointed by the Graevenitz, feared her Excellency's displeasure
more than God or man, and though he was gentleman enough to treat the
Duchess courteously, he begged her to wait while he repaired to the
Landhofmeisterin for instructions. No one was admitted to the palace
without permission from her Excellency, he said.

The Duchess inquired if Madame de Ruth was in the castle. At least, she
hoped that for the sake of old memories the grande Maitresse du Palais,
'Dame de Deshonneur,' as she had once named her, would have sufficient
humanity to help her now. Madame de Ruth was in the castle, the Captain
replied, but she was very old and infirm, and he feared to disturb her
afternoon rest. Very old and infirm? The Duchess sighed. Ah! many years
had passed since she had seen the garrulous lady. Alas! she was no longer
young herself. God in heaven! why did that sinful, triumphant wanton
alone retain her beauty? She had been told that the Landhofmeisterin,
like some evil giant tree, seemed to grow more beautiful, more
resplendent each year. It was not true; for Time had set his cruel
fingermarks upon Wilhelmine, but her wonderful health and her complaisant
knowledge of success gave her a seeming youth. True, the pert little