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Updated: June 13, 2025
Wilhelmine is a girl whom I love with all my heart; the baron is an amiable man, all kindness and attention.... It is true that I am now a kind of companion, in an 'inferior' position, as you choose to put it in your absurdly vain and jealous way of looking at things; but, my dear man, there are ways and ways, and I assure you I am treated as one of the family.
"That is to say, you are determined to snap your fingers at them! Your plan is a good one, but you will find no one to aid you in a sham marriage!" "I have already found one," whispered Wilhelmine, smiling. "Your valet de chambre Rietz is willing to stand with me in a sham marriage." "My body-servant!" "Yes, Frederick William!
Wilhelmine dared not enter the saloon when visitors were there; only when Sophie was alone, or her artistic hand was needed to arrange her sister's beautiful hair, was she permitted to stay with the future countess. Every rough touch was resented with harsh words, blows, and ill-treatment.
"Take this cloak, and cover yourself, that no one can recognize you," whispered a person near Wilhelmine, and threw a soft covering over her. "Will you now depart, or seek further in the way of knowledge?" "I will seek further," answered Wilhelmine, firmly. "You wish to enter the sixth grade, and learn the secrets of Nature?" "I do!" "Then I will give you the watchword of the order.
This was unfortunate, for, as ill luck would have it, Weber fell into the hands of a Leipsic blue stocking, Wilhelmine von Chezy, whose literary gifts were not of the most brilliant order.
Just as merrily they quaffed the champagne in the little cosy dining-room at Charlottenburg, where the prince and Wilhelmine were rejoicing over a reconciliation, no one being present but the two children. Their joyous laugh and innocent jests delighted the father, and the beaming eyes, sweet smile, and witty conversation of his favorite, filled his heart with pleasure.
This statement of the girl he knew as Wilhelmine de Naarboveck, far from impressing him favourably, seemed to him an improbable story invented, every bit of it, for the sole purpose of putting him on the wrong track.
In none of them is this characteristic more apparent than in the works of Wilhelmine von Hillern, which bear also in a marked degree the stamp of a mind at once vigorous and sympathetic, and are thus calculated to awaken the interest of readers in regard to the author's personal history.
Cagliostro turned proudly away, and disappeared in the bushes. Wilhelmine placed the ring upon her finger, turning it to watch the play of colors. "I do not know why," said she, "but it has not the same brilliancy as formerly. I will take it to the jeweller Wagner, and ask him if it is the same stone. Perhaps the Great Kophta has tried some of his miracles upon it.
"I may be able to forgive you, Monsieur, but that is all you can hope for." "Will you never be able to love me again?" begged Henri, with the humble simplicity of a boy. "No, Monsieur." Wilhelmine's voice was hard. It was all Henri could do not to burst into tears of humiliation and despair. "Wilhelmine you are cruel!... If you could only know how you are making me suffer!
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