rook?
Who talks of brooks? Ah, well, I talk too much!--well, well!--An account
on the Last Day of my words? I pity the angel who adds up the sum! But
come, coffee! and a moment's silence, my friends!'

They all laughed. Madame de Ruth's vivacity was infectious; and even
Marie Graevenitz was smiling, as the party passed through the living-room
and into the garden. They went down the red-tiled path, and, turning to
the left, came to a stone bench before which, on a square table, the
servant had placed the coffee and seven tiny porcelain cups. Madame de
Ruth busied herself preparing the coffee for her guests, and Zollern
watched her, seated near on the bench. Marie Graevenitz walked a short
distance away, her demure figure harmonising well with the peace of the
formal garden; Graevenitz leaned against the back of the bench and looked
with complacency at the good brown coffee, which his hostess was pouring
into the little cups. Coffee was expensive, and being regarded as a great
luxury, was only dispensed in very small quantities. Reischach and
Monsieur de Stafforth were dallying with Wilhelmine, who stood listening
to their compliments with a smile on her lips.

'Mademoiselle,' Stafforth was saying, 'the court will rejoice in your
presence. We crave for youth--more still, we crave for beauty! His
Highness will welcome you, though, I trow, Madame the Duchess may not
prove so gracious! But when will you come to Stuttgart? It will be my
privilege to herald your arrival.'

'Monsieur, I am guided by my brother in these matters. He is my
protector, as is fitting,' she said, a trifle haughtily. Monsieur de
Stafforth's obsequious, yet patronising tone displeased her, and somehow
she desired him to know that her brother stood at her side in the world.

'Mademoiselle is right,' said Reischach shortly, 'these things will be
arranged. The coffee waits you, Monsieur; it would be a pity should your
portion get cold.' He spoke lightly, but Wilhelmine recognised the man of
breeding in the covert hint to Stafforth. It pleased her, and she smiled
at him. Stafforth, for his part, apparently paid no heed to the rebuff,
though Wilhelmine surprised an ugly glance and a faint deepening of the
hue of his coarsely chiselled, handsome face. At this moment Madame de
Ruth called them, and they gathered round the table. They drank their
coffee, listening to a highly coloured story of the wars which Friedrich
Graevenitz was recounting. His Grace the