d during her sojourn at Freudenthal,
but it was in November at Asperg that she heard the Duchess was indeed
with child. At first she vowed she did not believe it; it was an absurd
story started by the believers in that ridiculous thorn-tree; but when
the fact of her Highness's pregnancy could be doubted no longer, the
Graevenitz fell into an agony of jealousy. She paced her small room like
some tortured tigress; she cursed all men; she sobbed in a passion of
anger. Waking or sleeping the thought never left her. Her dreams were for
ever of Eberhard Ludwig and the woman she hated. God, how she despised
her! How she shuddered at the thought of her motherhood. She told herself
that it was disgust, and even as she formulated the thought she knew that
it was envy--cruel, aching envy which tortured her. She was jealous,
then? She? The very supposition was an abasement. Could she be jealous of
that dull, heavy woman, with her reddened eyes? But she would be the
mother of his child. . . .

They told her that prayers for her Highness's safe delivery were offered
up in all the churches in Wirtemberg, and that there was immense
rejoicing in the land. There was no doubt then, and the Graevenitz's
dreams were unending of the Duchess holding out a beautiful man-child to
Eberhard Ludwig, who smiled in happiness and peace.

At length one day in December Maria told her that there were exciting
rumours in the village which nestles at the base of the fortress rock of
Hohenasperg. The Duchess was sick unto death, they said, and the doctors
were entirely puzzled. Into the Graevenitz's heart there crept a ray of
hope. God forgive her! she prayed for death to visit Stuttgart's castle.

Daily she sent Maria to the village to learn the news. One day the
governor came to her and told her he had a terrible thing to communicate.
Good, honest man, he often spent an hour with his prisoner telling her
news of the outer world.

'The Duchess has suffered a cruel disappointment, Madame,' he said; 'all
Wirtemberg will condole with her. Her hopes are ended, the doctors have
been mistaken, there will be no heir to the Dukedom. Her Highness suffers
from dropsy. Great heavens! what ails you?' he cried, for the Graevenitz
had flung herself back into her chair, convulsed in a horrible paroxysm
of mirthless laughter.

* * * * *

The plain below Hohenasperg was white with snow--a light fall, which lay
thinly on the even ground