The prince arose as he concluded his story; his toilet was completed, and he was released from his tormentors. I was sorry to behold the morning conference thus breaking up, for I could have listened on until sunset. I dared, however, to hazard one single question. “Did you ever see Madame de Krudener after this?” The prince bit his lip slily. “Never so close as on that night,” returned he; “but from a distance, as such great luminaries should only be gazed at by vulgar mortals like ourselves. It was at the review of Alexander’s troops in the _plaine des Vertus_, a ceremony of which she has left us such a flaming description. But alas! already was she no longer the object of exclusive adoration to the ‘white angel of the north,’ for I observed that his head was often close under the pink bonnet of Madame du C——, while the yellow ringlets and broad straw hat of Madame de Krudener were left to float unheeded in the wind. The purpose for which he had been playing the comedy of such assiduous attendance at her prayer-meetings was evidently answered, and he cared no longer to expose himself to ridicule for her sake. Soon after this, she left Paris for ever, and I beheld her no more. But my niece, who, like many of her sex, was infatuated with the eloquence and talents of Madame de Krudener, followed her to the Greuzacher Horn, whither she had retired. Here she sank lower in the scale, and no longer preached to kings and emperors, but to an immense army of ragged proselytes, whom her generosity in alms-giving, more than her pious exhortations, had drawn around her. This same army followed her, I believe, in all her wanderings, and I am told that at her death the little colony established itself at Karasoubazar, where it is flourishing still, and where almost divine honours are paid to her remains; pilgrimages are performed to her tomb to this very day, and miracles are wrought as freely as at many other shrines.