French dressmaker could have told the Duchess of violent scenes over
gowns made to the measurements of former years, which could not fit her
Excellency; but the courtesan pays a homage to Venus, offering up the
tribute of powder, paint, and gorgeous clothes, and Venus responds by a
gift of seeming youth; while the virtuous woman is punished for her
virtue and her neglect of the Goddess of Appearance, by a shorter span of
beauty and youth. Yet there is an unerring justice in the world. When
Time has worked his inexorable will, and powder, paint, and crafty
clothing can no longer hide his ravages, then the virtuous woman
triumphs, probably for the first time in her life. They are both old, she
and the courtesan, but she is sometimes beautiful--old, grey, and sere,
but venerable, charming--and little children love her, and younger women
bring their troubles--ay, and their joys, reverently to her, feeling a
benediction in the touch of the pure, withered hand. While the
courtesan--alas! a ridiculous garish absurdity, a grim ghost of past
merriment, a horrid relic of forgotten debauches, a painted harridan at
whom the boys jeer when she passes down the street. Here is one of God's
great judgments and one of Nature's object-lessons.

But Johanna Elizabetha did not think of all this as she sat waiting at
the gates of Ludwigsburg Palace; her mind was centred upon the
probability of Madame de Ruth's kind heart prompting her to assist her
erstwhile mistress. The minutes dragged on. Old and infirm, he had said;
perhaps she came slowly down the stairs? Ah! at last! the Duchess heard
the well-remembered voice in the distance talking ceaselessly. Then she
saw Madame de Ruth, leaning on the arm of the Captain of the Guard,
coming slowly towards her.

A deep courtesy, and Madame de Ruth stood at the coach door. In a
tremulous voice the Duchess informed her that she would speak with
Serenissimus on urgent business, but that the guard refused her
admittance and she had therefore begged her to come to her assistance.

'Aha! your Highness craves the assistance of a Dame de Deshonneur? Nay,'
she added in a gentler tone, 'I fear I have not the power to admit your
Highness save to my own apartments.'

The Duchess bent forward. 'Madame de Ruth,' she said solemnly, 'you are
an old woman and so am I; we have not many years before God judges us at
His Eternal Tribunal. I pray you, by your hope of His mercy, to have
mercy on me, help me this onc