ng her cause before Friedrich
Wilhelm I., the blustering monarch who had played so unexpected a role in
her life. She accounted him as the destroyer of her happiness, for she
believed that it was he alone who had influenced Eberhard Ludwig against
her, and had induced him to banish her. Woman-like, she threw the blame
of her lover's action entirely upon the adviser.

She hankered after her beautiful Freudenthal, and she dreamed of
returning thither. Deeming herself forgotten, she believed she would be
safe in Wirtemberg. Also the fierce torrent of the people's rage had been
diverted to another channel, their hatred sated with their vengeance on
another favourite. Suess Oppenheimer, who had saved her from imprisonment,
had paid the penalty of his own crimes; in his expiation he had borne the
brunt, and, for the time, appeased the people's wrath against
favouritism.

Karl Alexander of Wirtemberg was dead, and his son, a child of some
twelve years, was Duke of Wirtemberg. He resided in Stuttgart with his
mother, a princess of the House of Thurn and Taxis.

Ludwigsburg was deserted, the palace closed; the busy crowd of merchants,
clothiers, perruquiers, dressmakers, which had flocked to the new centre
of gaiety, had vanished. The Graevenitz had heard that Ludwigsburg was
like a city of the dead, with grass-grown streets and deserted houses.
Surely she, who belonged to that forgotten past, was forgotten also? She
longed to return and once more to view the scenes of her dead glory. But
the years passed, and she lingered in Switzerland.

In 1740 she heard of the death of Friedrich Wilhelm I. of Prussia, and of
the accession of his much-tried son--that Friedrich whom the world was
justly to call Great.

A fresh hope sprang up in the Graevenitz's heart. This young man, so
noble, so just, so cultured, would he not give her justice? She would
journey to Berlin and present the Letter of Royal Protection; he would
recognise her claims, and induce the Wirtemberg government to give her
back her Freudenthal.

The headman of the canton of Schaffhausen supplied her with the necessary
travelling papers. 'A lady of quality and her serving-maid journeying to
Berlin on court business,' it was certified therein; no mention of the
names of Graevenitz or Wuerben, which might have awakened dangerous
memories.

Once more her way lay through the spring-radiant land. Fate had caused
her to wait for the blossom, it was her destiny always to