tately
equipage."

"May I be permitted to ask where you come from?" asked the duke. "And
the dress, of what order do you wear?"

"We walked to Ziefurt, and intended to walk back. Thusnelda is so
delicate and weak, that she complained of her fairy feet paining her,"
answered the duchess, laughing.

"Ah, duchess, must I always be the butt?" cried the lady behind the
duchess, crouching between the straw-sacks. "Must I permit you to follow
in my footsteps, while I--"

"Hush, Goechhausen--hush, sweet Philomel," interrupted the duke, "or the
Delphic riddle of this costume will be apparent."

"It is easily explained," said the duchess. "No other conveyance was
to be had, and my good Wieland gave me his green overcoat to protect me
from the pouring rain." [Footnote: True anecdote.--See Lewes' "Goethe's
Life and Writings," vol. 1., p. 406.]

"And from to-day forth it will be a precious palladium," cried the
little man with a mild, happy face on the straw by the duchess.

"And there is Knebel too," shouted the duke to the gentleman who just
then pulled the wet hood of his cloak over his powdered hair.

"Our treasurer Bertuch, Count Werther, and Baron von Einsiedel also."

"Does not your highness ask after our bewitching countess?" asked
Goechhausen, in her fine, sharp voice. "The countess is quite ill--is
she not, Count Werther?"

"I believe so, they say so," answered the count, rather absent-minded.
"I have not seen her for some days."

"What is the matter?" asked the duke, as Goethe was engaged in a lively
conversation with the duchess. "Is the dear countess dangerously ill?"

"Oh, no," answered Goechhausen, "not very ill, only in love with genius,
a malady which has attacked us all more or less since that mad fellow
Wolfgang Goethe has raged in Weimar, and made it a place of torment to
honorable people. Oh, Goethe--oh, Wolf! with what lamb-like innocence we
wandered in comfortable sheep's clothing until you came and fleeced us,
and infected us with your 'Sturm und Dranger' malady, and made us fall
in love with your works!"

"Goechhausen, hold your malicious tongue, and do not hide your own joy
beneath jest and mockery," cried the duchess. "Acknowledge that you
are rejoiced to see your favorite, and that you will hasten to write to
Madam Aja, 'Our dear duke has returned, and my angel, my idol, Wolfgang,
also.' I assure you, Goethe, Thusnelda loves you, and was exceedingly
melancholy during your absence. If asked