Eight days passed ere Eberhard Ludwig returned. The Landhofmeisterin's fears had grown dim, habit had resumed sway. She worked at the affairs of State each morning, and save that the business was transacted at La Favorite instead of at the palace, and that Baron Schuetz was replaced by an underling clerk, everything seemed to have lost that touch of the unusual which is part of the menace of coming disaster. True, the courtiers were scarcely assiduous in the visiting of the Landhofmeisterin, but they dared not absent themselves entirely, for they were uncertain as to her fate, and they feared both her revenge and her reputed witchcraft. So they repaired perfunctorily to La Favorite, and though her Excellency refused to receive visitors, still she was informed of the courtiers' visits. Thus the old life seemed to be unaltered, and the Landhofmeisterin forgot her anxiety in a measure, yet a deep melancholy remained over her. At length Maria reported that Serenissimus had returned, and once more a feverish unrest seized the Graevenitz. Would he come to her? Would he summon her? The night drew near, and no word came from the palace. The Landhofmeisterin's fears reawoke. She paced restlessly up and down the Favorite terrace whence she could see his Highness's windows. The lights were lit. She watched; gradually the palace grew dark. It was as though the light of her youth was extinguished when his Highness's windows grew black. She waited; perchance he would come yet? A terrible weariness fell on her. The night was very beautiful, moonlit and enchanted; the scent of the lilac smote heavy on the air--the lilac and the red thorn blossom---- How beautiful it was, how still, how divinely young it all seemed; and she was old, old and weary, and forsaken and unutterably sad! 'Your Excellency must rest; come, dear Madame!' It was Maria, the faithful friend, the only one who had not profited by her mistress's vast power; she alone who had never sought gain. 'Maria, I am too weary to sleep, and I dream so cruelly,' the Graevenitz said sadly. 'Come and rest, and I will sit beside you all night,' the good soul replied; and indeed, it seemed as though her honesty had driven away the Dream Demon, for the great Landhofmeisterin slept like a tired child watched over by this faithful peasant woman. The next day the Graevenitz was utterly deserted. No word came from the palace, no Secret Service officers came to report to her, no courtiers thronged the antehall. It was Sunday, and the bells of the palace chapel rang. Maria had heard that Serenissimus had intimated his intention of attending church twice that Sunday. The Landhofmeisterin's thoughts followed him wistfully. Would he sit in his accustomed chair in the gilded pew? Would his eyes wander to the sculptured figures in the chapel, the figures which bore her features? Would he remember how often she had sung to that organ? Alas! Change is Death, and more cruel than Death.