'Consider, Madame,' he said, 'I am a very old man--yes, yes, old and broken--and I have travelled far to save you from your own obstinacy, for you are dear to me; you are my one remaining link with the past, with my past youth. You were Madame de Ruth's friend, and I cherish you as that. Yes; she was the love of my life--I may say it now, for it is ancient history--and she loved you. Would she not have counselled prudence? Fly now, that you may return later.' At this moment a lackey brought a folded paper to the Graevenitz. 'Unknown to me, General Pruckdorff had received orders from my father to expel you by force from Favorite and Ludwigsburg if you have not left by six of the clock this evening. I pray you, Madame, fly! I shall never forget you.--FRIEDRICH LUDWIG, Erbprinz.' Without a word the Landhofmeisterin handed the paper to Zollern. 'Ah! a charming invitation!' he said loudly, so that the lackey who stood waiting could not fail to hear. 'I should advise you to accept. A most entertaining fete. Order your carosse, dear Madame.' Calmly the Landhofmeisterin gave the necessary commands for her coach and outriders, and summoning Maria she bade her collect some few objects of value and various papers. Then she took leave of Zollern. 'Au revoir, Monseigneur,' she said. 'Adieu, Madame; this is the last act of the comedy called the Great Intrigue,' he answered. * * * * * Yet she tarried till the last moment at La Favorite. It was a terrible leave-taking. She wandered round her pretty rooms, looking her last at the graceful devices, the slender traceries on wall and ceiling, at the things she had loved--the beautiful porcelains, the delicate, brocaded hangings. Then she passed out on to the terrace. What a wondrous summer evening it was! The sun was sinking low in the west--when the last ray had vanished the soldiers would come to drag her away. It was time, she must hasten--and yet she lingered. She leaned on the balustrade and contemplated the palace. Her thoughts travelled back to the days when Ludwigsburg was still a-building, and she and Eberhard Ludwig had planned the gardens together. 'Here should be a parterre of roses,' she had said. 'Nay, jasmine and heliotrope here; the roses must be beneath your window to sigh out their souls before your shrine,' he had answered. Could it be ended? The habit of years was too strong, she could not realise. She listened to the summer sounds in the garden: the rustle of the gentle breeze in the chestnut-trees, the chirping of the grasshoppers, the bees droning over the flowers. Spring was past, it was summer. 'Ah! winter for me; winter and sadness for ever now,' she moaned. The sun was sinking--she must fly. 'Farewell happiness!' she murmured, and with bent head she passed down the terrace steps and entered her coach. As she drove down the avenue she heard a bugle ring out from the Ludwigsburg casern.