that our young duke and Goethe may not be exposed
to scandal, as well as your highness."

"You are right--we must take care to prevent it. Has not the countess
been absent at her estate four days?"

"Yes, your highness, it is just this that troubles me. She went away as
sound as a fish, and has suddenly fallen very ill. No physician has been
called, but, to-morrow, the count will commission his dear friend
the baron to drive to his country-seat, and bring him tidings of his
better-half."

"We must circumvent this. In the morning we will arrange a
pleasure-drive, of the whole court, to the country-seat of Count
Werther. It shall be a surprise. Let Fourier give out the invitations
early to-morrow, for a country party, destination unknown. The
distribution of the couples in the carriages shall be decided by lot.
Take care that Lieutenant Einsiedel is your cavalier, so that when we
arrive at the little Werther, he will already be appropriated, and then
we will induce her to return with us and spend some time at Belvedere.
Now, good-night, Thusnelda; I am very tired and need repose. Sleep
already weighs upon my eyelids, and will close them as soon as you are
gone. Good-night, my child--sleep well!"

The little deformed court lady kissed the extended hand, the
candlestick, with only a stump of a taper in it, and withdrew from
the princely sleeping-room, courtesying, and wishing her mistress
good-night, with pleasant dreams.

The anteroom was dark and deserted. The lights were all extinguished,
and Fraulein Goechhausen was, in truth, the only person who had not long
since retired in the ducal palace. She was accustomed to be the last,
accustomed to traverse the long, lonely corridors, and mount two flights
of stairs to her bedroom upon the third story. The gay duchess, being
very fond of society, had had the second story arranged guest-chambers
and drawing-rooms.

Why should the little court lady be afraid to-night? She had not thought
of it, but stepped forward briskly to mount the stairs. It was surely
very disagreeable for the wind to extinguish her lamp at that instant,
just at the turning of stairs, and she could not account for it, as none
of the windows were open, and there was no trace of a draft. However,
it was an undeniable fact, the light was out and she was in total
darkness--not even a star was to be seen in the clouded sky. It was,
indeed, true that Thusnelda was so accustomed to the way that it
mattered