"Long live the Margrave! Long live the Margravine!'* She had basked contentedly in his popularity.

There had been minor irritations. It was often difficult for a stepmother to win the love of her predecessor's children; and George Frederick, the elder of her stepchildren, his father's heir, actively disliked and resented her. This had seemed unfortunate but not disastrous when her husband had been alive; but when on his death George Frederick had become the Margrave of Ansbach, it was a different matter.

He did not exactly tell her to go, but when he took over the apartments with their brilliant frescoes and porcelain galleries which she had inhabited with her husband he made it clear that she was not welcome in his palace.

She was a proud woman and had no wish to remain where she was not wanted, so she decided that she would leave Ansbach with her children—Caroline who was then only three years old and William Frederick who was two years younger. Her old home was in Eisenach on the border of the Thurin-gian Forest and here she went with the children, although she knew it would only be a temporary refuge.

Often she thought of her kindly plump husband prematurely killed by the smallpox, and longed for the old days. There was little pleasure in spending one's life visiting other

people who, kind as they were, would not wish her to stay forever.

Sometimes she asked herself if she had been headstrong in leaving Ansbach. George Frederick was a minor, and not allowed to govern; and until he married and had a son, the heir presumptive to Ansbach was her own son William Frederick.

Her greatest friends in her misfortune were the Branden-burgs and at their suggestion she had sent William Frederick back to Ansbach—for after all it was his home—and had travelled to Berlin with young Caroline.

Here she had made the acquaintance of the Elector John George of Saxony, and both the Elector and Electress of Brandenburg had persuaded her that it was her duty to accept the proposal of marriage he would make to her.

It was for this reason that she was waiting for him now.

He was coming towards her—a young man with wild eyes, full sensuous lips, and an ungraciousness about his manner which was disturbing.

He bowed stiffly and she fancied avoided meeting her eyes.

He was thinking angrily: She's older than I thought. Already a matron and a mother of two I

"Madam," he said, "I believe you have some notion why I have asked for this ... er ... pleasure."

His voice was cold; he scarcely bothered to hide his dislike.

She looked alarmed and that angered him still further. There was no need for her to play the coy maiden. She knew very well what his purpose was; and she doubtless knew how vehemently he had had to be persuaded. He was not going to pretend to her now or at any time. He would make no secret to her or to anyone that if he was forced into this marriage it was under protest.

She inclined her head slightly, conveying that she was aware of the reason for his visit.

"I understand you are prepared to marry me."

Eleanor wanted to cry out: No! I must have time to think. I have allowed them to persuade me. I have been carried away by their arguments. She thought of herself growing older, Caroline becoming marriageable. What hope would she have

of finding a suitable husband for her daughter if she were a wandering exile? But if Caroline's stepfather was the Elector of Saxony...

She said quietly: "Your Highness does me much honour."

Much honour indeed! He wondered what Magdalen would say when he returned to Dresden. Her mother would be furious because he knew that Madam von Roohlitz dearly desired her daughter to be his wife. An exciting project! He would be willing to marry Magdalen but his ministers would never agree of course, and he had to take this poor creature instead.

He looked at her with fresh distaste but reassured himself that a wife and a mistress need not interfere with each other.

"Then you will take me as your husband?"

"I ... I will, Your Highness."

"Then that matter is settled."

He bowed turned on his heel and went to the door. The natural sequence to such a question and answer should have been an embrace, a confessing of admiration, a promise of enduring affection. But he had no intention of letting her think he cared sufficiently for her to pretend to hold her in any regard. She would have to understand that this was an arranged marriage. He might have to attempt to get an heir; she had two children already so was no doubt fertile, and once she was pregnant he need not see her unless it was necessary to get another child.

Left alone Eleanor stood staring at the door. She was trembling. He had seemed so strange. He was younger than she was —in his twenties and not without good looks. Uneasily she remembered having heard a rumour that he behaved oddly at times since he had had a blow on the head. She had heard too that he was dissolute, extravagant—in fact a libertine.

What will this marriage be like? she asked herself.

It will be like many other marriages of state, she told herself. Arranged. The surprising aspect was that she should have something to offer. If he had not been infatuated with a woman who was reputed to be a spy for the Austrians would the Brandenburgs have arranged this marriage? It was scarcely likely. Her duty was to influence him when she was married; she had to keep him aware that alliance with Brandenburg was

preferable to that with Austria. How could she persuade him when he seemed to regard her with such distaste?

She could have wept with humiliation and frustration. With the passing of the years tears had come with increasing ease.

It was a bitter choice—to wander from one friend's hospitality to that of another, becoming more and more of an encumbrance as the years passed; or marriage with a man of wealth and some power who could, if he were so inclined, make a good match for her daughter.

There can be no choice, she thought. Besides, it is the wish of the Brandenburgs. But how I wish it need not be, how I wish my dear John Frederick had lived. Never had the palace of the Margraves of Ansbach seemed so inviting; never before had she longed so fervently to be back in those baroque rooms with their porcelain galleries.

Trying to hold back her tears she went to fmd her daughter.

Caroline curtsied before the Electress Sophia Charlotte.

"Well, my dear," said the Electress. "We have some good news for you. Have you told her yet?"

"Not yet," answered Eleanor. "I thought I would consult you first."

"Come here, my child."

Sophia Charlotte stroked the auburn hair and smiled into the pink rather plump little face with the bright blue, very intelligent eyes.

"You will soon be going to a new home, my dear. I think that will please you."

"Are we coming here?" asked Caroline eagerly.

Sophia Charlotte shook her head but she looked pleased because Caroline had betrayed her desire to stay in Berlin.

"No, my dear. You are to have a father."

Caroline looked bewildered; then she saw that her mother although pretending to smile was really very frightened; but as the Electress was pleased she supposed it was a good thing.

"You will be going to live in Saxony and you will find it very agreeable to have a settled home."

"When are we going?" asked Caroline.

**You are impatient, my dear, but when you are at Dresden we must see you often. You shall visit us and we shall visit you."

*'Then," said Caroline, *1 am glad we are going to Dresden."