The Duchess Johanna Elizabetha's guests were leaving the castle: a constant stream of coaches drew up, one by one, in the courtyard, and having taken up their owners rumbled away through the heavy archway and across the moat towards the town. Only Oberhofmarshall Stafforth, Madame de Ruth, his Grace of Zollern, and Friedrich Graevenitz lingered in the supper-room by his Highness's command. Stafforth was anxious and silent; Zollern sleepy; the voluble Madame de Ruth was talking rapidly, with the evident intention of making the scene appear unimportant to the flunkeys in attendance. Friedrich Graevenitz said nothing, but looked pompous, and drank ostentatiously with rounded forearm, showing off his fine muscles, in spite of the fact that no one paid any heed to him. He had been invaluable during supper itself, for he had roared out stories, under cover of whose noise those who had real things to discuss had been enabled to talk, while the outsiders imagined that his Highness's circle listened to the Kammerjunker. But now he had been silenced by a peremptory word from the Duke, and he was thus relegated to the position of onlooker, though, in truth, he evidently believed all eyes to be upon him, for he looked sulkily self-conscious and perfectly foolish. At one of the windows stood Eberhard Ludwig, beside him Wilhelmine. They were speaking together in an undertone. Madame de Ruth sometimes cast an anxious glance towards them. She wished the conversation would end; already the servants must have made comment upon so long an interview, and though the opinion of menials was a matter of little importance, the wily dame did not desire Wilhelmine's business to become the talk of the town until the intrigue was fully developed. 'Monseigneur,' she whispered to Monsieur de Zollern, 'this must end. Believe me, her Highness has many virtue-loving spies who will report to her with the exaggeration of the respectable foul-minded, and we shall be accused of having had a nocturnal carousal.' Monsieur de Zollern rose and hobbled across to the pair at the window. He had just reached them when the door opened, and Baron Forstner appeared on the threshold. 'Ah! Serenissimus!' exclaimed Zollern, 'that is indeed an excellent story! Your Highness must pardon an old invalid if he retires with the memory of that witty tale in his mind as a bonne bouche.' He bowed and took his leave, while Forstner, who had arrived on the scene hoping to find the lovers alone together, was entirely put off the scent; Zollern's quick ruse having made it appear as though the conversation had been general.