'Impossible! Why, the man I mean will be sixty years old by now, and he disgraced himself and squandered a fortune. No; that man cannot be your husband, dear Madame! I heard he had made a fearful marriage--some adventuress who had amassed money and wished for an old and honourable name. It interests me much; pray ask your husband if that Wuerben was a cousin of his. A disagreeable subject though, for, of course, no nobleman would care to own so vile a person as cousin.' Wilhelmine threw up her head proudly. 'Your Highness, Count Nepomuk Wuerben is my husband, and I must request you not to criticise him in my presence.' Her spirit pleased the Duchess-mother, who replied in a different tone: 'That then, Madame, is your misfortune. We will not mention it again.' Eberhard Ludwig during this painful scene stood in embarrassed, angry silence. He durst not interfere, for knowing his mother's character, he was well aware that any intervention on his part would only draw down upon Wilhelmine a flood of free-spoken remarks. Meanwhile the other members of her Highness's intimate circle had entered from a small withdrawing-room, leading out of the larger apartment. The Stafforths, Madame de Gemmingen, a young gentleman of the household, Monsieur de Roeder, and the Erbprinz's governor, Monsieur le Baron de Walchingen, his tutor, and various other unimportant persons. The Duke's mother and Wilhelmine stood together in the centre of this group. The older woman wore the sombre garb of a widow's mourning, which she had never put off since Duke Wilhelm Ludwig's death thirty years ago. Wilhelmine was dressed, as usual, in delicate yellow brocade with profusely powdered hair and flashing jewels. They made a striking contrast--sober sadness and old age, radiant youth and brilliant, lavish joy. And near by was Johanna Elizabetha, clad in dull, unnoticeable garments of grey blue silk. To Eberhard Ludwig the group was symbolic of his life's history, and he sighed heavily as he turned to greet Madame de Stafforth.