The hunt over, Aurora and her ladies are conducted to the leafy heart of the island, where, as by the touch of a magician’s wand, a gorgeous Eastern tent has sprung up, and here another sumptuous entertainment is prepared for them.  Seated on soft-cushioned divans, in the many-hued environment of Oriental luxury, rare fruits and delicacies are brought to them in silver baskets by turbaned Turks.  The island Sultan now appears, ablaze with gems, with his officers little less gorgeous than himself, and with deep obeisances craves permission to seat himself by Aurora’s side, a favour which she was not likely to refuse to a Sultan in whom she recognised her lover, the Elector.  Troupes of dancing-girls follow, and the moments fly swiftly to the twinkling of dainty feet, the gliding and posturing of supple bodies, and the strains of sensuous music.

Another hour spent in the gondolas, dreamily gliding under the light of the moon, and horses are again mounted; and Aurora, with Augustus riding proudly by her side, heads the splendid procession which, with laughter, and in the gayest of spirits, rides forth to the Mauritzburg Castle at the close of a day so full of delights.

“Here,” was the Elector’s greeting, as he conducted his bride to her room with its furnishing of silver and rich damask, and its pictured Cupid showering roses on the silk-curtained bed, “you are the Queen, and I am your slave.”

Such was the beginning of Aurora’s reign over the heart of the Elector of Saxony—­a reign of unclouded splendour and happiness for the woman in whom pity for her lover was soon replaced by a passion as ardent as his own.  Fetes and banquets and balls succeeded each other in swift sequence, at all of which Aurora was Queen, the focus of all eyes, and receiving universal homage, won no more by her beauty and her position as the Elector’s favourite than by her sweetness and graciousness to the humblest.  No mistress of a King was ever more beloved than this daughter of Sweden.  Even the Elector’s mother, a pattern of the most rigid propriety, had ever a kind word and a caress for her; his neglected wife made a friend and confidante of the woman of whom she said, “Since I must have a rival, I am glad she should be one so sweet and lovable.”

We must hasten over the years that followed—­years during which Augustus had no eyes for any other woman than his “uncrowned Queen,” and during which she bore him a son who, as Maurice of Saxony, was to win many laurels in the years to come.  It must suffice to say that never was Royal liaison conducted with so much propriety, or was marked by so much mutual devotion and loyalty.

But it was not in the nature of Augustus the Strong to remain always true to any woman, however charming; and although Aurora’s reign lasted longer than that of any half-dozen of her rivals, it, too, had its ending.  Within a month of the birth of her son, Augustus, now King of Poland, was caught in the toils of another enslaver, the beautiful Countess Esterle.  Aurora realised that her sun had set, and relinquishing her sceptre without a murmur, she retired to the convent of Quedlinburg, of which Augustus had appointed her Abbess.