"Go and bring her maids to her." And so, having done all that lay with her to do, she turned away from the great silent room, where, amid the velvet and the gilding, her beautiful rival lay like a crushed flower, helpless and hopeless.
Helpless enough, for what could she do?
and hopeless too, for how could fortune aid her?
The instant that her senses had come back to her she had sent away her waiting women, and lay with clasped hands and a drawn face planning out her own weary future.

She must go; that was certain.
Not merely because it was the king's order, but because only misery and mockery remained for her now in the palace where she had reigned supreme.

It was true that she had held her position against the queen before, but all her hatred could not blind her to the fact that her rival was a very different woman to poor meek little Maria Theresa.
No; her spirit was broken at last.

She must accept defeat, and she must go.
She rose from the couch, feeling that she had aged ten years in an hour.
There was much to be done, and little time in which to do it.

She had cast down her jewels when the king had spoken as though they would atone for the loss of his love; but now that the love was gone there was no reason why the jewels should be lost too.