One morning, soon after the news of Eylau, the Major told the children that an English ship had arrived in the harbour.

"Mother, mother," they cried, "may we go and see it?"

Poor Madame von Stork, who was almost ill from worry over Franz and Wolfgang, rejoiced at the thought of a morning free from noise and questions.

"Yes, yes," she agreed very quickly. "Put on your wraps and furs, and Pauline and Marianne shall take you."

In a few moments the whole party set forth, Pauline and Marianne in dark red dresses, fur hoods, and great baggy white muffs, the children wrapped to the tips of their noses, Otto and Carl in huge cloaks and fur caps.

Reaching the bridge, whom should they come upon but the Queen and her party, who, also, were there to see the great ship. The Crown Prince was there, handsome, clever-looking, clinging to the arm of his mother, to whom he seemed entirely devoted, little William with such a clear good look in his face that it was impossible not to love him, and beautiful little Princess Charlotte keeping shyly at the side of the Countess Voss, who was guarding with watchful eyes the merry Maids of Honour.

When the Princes saw Otto and Carl, their faces lighted, and they whispered to their mother, who at once begged the Countess to have them sent for.

"My little boys, the Crown Prince and Prince William, would like to know you," she said, and then she sent the four to the side of the bridge that they might talk without grown people listening.

Princess Charlotte at once flew to her mother's side, the joy in her face proving that she had not the cold nature that seemed to show in her face.

Then the Queen, with one of her bright smiles, asked Pauline and Marianne if they could not come and assist in making lint for the soldiers. The ladies of the court, she said, worked busily in her rooms. Then she turned away, and, with Charlotte, joined the boys, whose laughter soon rang as if they were enjoying themselves. At once the Maids of Honour began to amuse themselves with Marianne, and, some of the gentlemen soon joining them, they turned the talk to Goethe, and then laughed behind their hands when Marianne rolled her eyes and clasped her hands and spoke of Frau Rat, and vowed she would never marry because there was but one man in Germany, and that one, Goethe!

The Countess von Voss did not like this conduct.

"I beseech you, dear ladies," she said with great dignity to the Maids, "let Mademoiselle von Stork alone. Young girls are better unnoticed." But the Maids of Honour tossed their heads and would not stop their nonsense.

"Do you not pity us, Mr. Jackson," they cried to a handsome young Englishman, "that we have but one man in Germany?"

But Mr. Jackson, being very devoted to the old Countess, only remarked:

"Oh, greatly, ladies," and began conversing about the ship with his favourite, and the Maids of Honour were left to Marianne.

Meanwhile Bettina and the twins had been amusing themselves.

Bettina was so happy that her eyes did nothing but gaze at the face of her dear, beautiful Queen.

Never was anyone so lovely, so patient. With a kind word for all she put aside her troubles and showed the boys how the ship was manned, told them what this meant and that, and now and then patted Charlotte's hand, that she might not feel neglected. Never for a moment did she seem to think of herself or her own pleasure. She smiled at the twins, asked their names, and then tried to tell them apart, and laughed quite like a girl when she called "Ilse," "Elsa."

Suddenly she gazed at Bettina as if puzzled.

"Dear Voss," she touched the arm of the Countess, "do we not know this child? Where have we seen her?"

The Countess called Marianne.

"It's a sad story," said the girl, glancing at Bettina, whose eyes were fixed on the Queen.

Then the Countess commanded Bettina to run away with the twins and watch the sailors, and taking Marianne to the Queen, told her to relate the child's history.

More than once, as Marianne told the story, the Queen's eyes filled with tears.

"Poor child," she said, "poor little Bettina!"

When she had heard it all, she had Marianne bring Bettina back again.

"Dear child," she said, "surely I have seen you before. Is it not true?"

And she smiled at the little girl most enchantingly.

Now, nobody had ever told Bettina that a little girl must be afraid of a Queen, so she smiled back at her with the eager, bright look which made her so pretty.

"Ja, ja, dear Queen," she said, for no one had told her to say "Majesty," and then she told of the inn on the road from Jena.

A look of pain banished the brightness from Queen Louisa's face. Very gravely she asked Bettina question after question, and she heard of the cruel journey, and of how Bettina's grandfather had left her.

"Yes, yes," she nodded to the Countess, "I remember the old man. It was of him that we spoke to the Professor, your father," and she glanced at Marianne with a look of warning.

"But, dear Queen," said little Bettina, nodding her head in her bright, fairy way, "my dear grandfather will come back soon, and we will go to Thuringia when the Kaiser Barbarossa comes from the cave and with his great sword kills the Emperor!"

The Queen did not laugh.

"God grant it, dear child. God grant it," she said. "Let us pray that the ravens will wake him, the old Red-Beard."

When Bettina had danced away to the twins, she turned with a saddened face to the old Countess.

"Dear Voss," she said, and her voice was low and troubled, "these poor, poor children whom this cruel war has orphaned! Each day I hear a fresh story of their suffering. Alas, that I, the Queen, can do nothing for want of money. But something must be done, and I, the Queen, must do it. Such a lovely child, so trusting and, alas, so desolate."

Then, her whole mood changed, she walked back to her house in Memel, her heart heavy with the troubles of the Fatherland.

That very day Ludwig Brandt appeared. Why he travelled to and fro over the country no one knew, unless it was the Professor. It was something to do with the war, of that all were certain.

He reported that fifty thousand French and Russians lay dead in the snow of Eylau, and that Napoleon was to send General Bertrand to Memel to propose peace to King Frederick William.

In a day or two this general came—"A most disagreeable-faced Frenchman," the old Countess called him, "and with dreadful manners,"—and the story of his visit was soon known about Memel.

He had submitted an offer of peace from Napoleon, who agreed to restore his kingdom to the King of Prussia if he would break off his friendship with the Czar of Russia.

To the Queen he brought most agreeable and flattering messages from Napoleon. He sent her word that he had been deceived in her character. He wished now to be friends.

The Queen was polite, but that was all. She had no belief in the promises of the French Emperor. Napoleon had made a cruel war on a poor, helpless woman, driving her across the country, reading her letters, publishing wicked things against her, having horrid pictures drawn of her for his newspapers, and declaring her to have caused the war and all the misery to Prussia.

It was impossible to believe that he had truly repented because he had halfway lost a battle.

As for the good King, he refused to break his word to his friend to save his kingdom, merely because Napoleon commanded him.

"Let the war go on," he said, and suffering Prussia, its houses burned to the ground, without food, with the cruel French everywhere, cried:

"Hoch to our King! He is a good man, and true, and we will shed our last drop of blood in his service!"

And so General Bertrand left Memel, and the war went on.

But everywhere there was much suffering. Even the King and the Queen had little to eat and no money to buy anything, for the French had burned the farmhouses, the farmers were in the army, and this poor land must feed not only its own people, but all the enemy. Sometimes seven villages could be seen burning at once, and behind Napoleon's white horse stalked two dreadful figures. One, called Death, commanded executions in every town and slew thousands on the battlefield, and refused to spare hungry little children. Gaze where the poor Prussians would, the shadow of his great scythe was over them. The other, Famine, breathed on the poor down-trodden fields, and nothing flourished; with her fierce hands she gathered up all the wine in the cellars, the potatoes saved for winter, the meat, the fruit, all there was to eat everywhere.

The poor Prussians between them were desolate.

In those cruel days there came to the King's house in Memel two simple people of a sect of which there are some now in America, the Mennonites. Their name was Nicholls, and they asked to see the King and the Queen.

When they came before their Majesties, Abraham, the husband, holding in his hand a bag, addressed the unhappy, worried-looked King:

"Majesty," he said, "I bring you from my people, who send me as their deputy, two thousand gold Fredericks. We have collected them among ourselves, and offer them as a token of love and respect to our sovereign."

Then he laid the heavy bag in the hand of the King.

"We, thy faithful subjects," he continued, "of the sect of the Mennonites, having heard of the great misfortunes which it has pleased God to permit, have gladly contributed this little sum which we beg our beloved King and ruler to accept, and we desire to assure him that the prayers of his faithful Mennonites shall not fail for him and his."

The wife then placed a basket in the hands of Queen Louisa.

"I have heard," said this kind woman, "that our good Queen likes good fresh butter very much, and that the little Princes and Princesses eat bread and butter very heartily, so I have made some myself, which is very fresh and good, and that is very rare just now, so I thought it might be acceptable. My gracious Queen will not despise this humble gift. This I see already in thy true and friendly features. Oh, how glad I am to have seen thee once so near and, face to face, have spoken with thee!"

Queen Louisa took the basket, with tears in her lovely eyes.

"Dear Frau Nicholls," she cried, her face all warm with gratitude, "I thank you many, many times, and over and over."

Then she took off the handsome shawl she wore and threw it about the shoulders of the Mennonite woman.

"Dear Frau Nicholls," she said, "keep this in remembrance of me."

For answer the good woman burst out into speeches of pity for the misfortunes of the poor King.

But his Majesty, interrupting her with a kind smile, lifted his hand to check her.

"No, no, Frau Nicholls," he said, "I am not a poor King. I am a rich King, blessed with such subjects."

Then he and the Queen sent many messages to the poor Mennonites, and, when the two had gone, promised each other that when good times again would come they would not fail to reward them, and the King did not forget it.

To Memel, too, came Prince William, the King's brother, and his wife the Princess Marianne. They had fled from Dantzic, and their only little daughter, the tiny Princess Amelia, had died of cold on the way.

Sometimes the children of the "Stork's Nest" saw this poor lady walking with the Queen, and they all gazed at her with great interest because her name was the same as Marianne's.

Ludwig Brandt remained, too, in Memel, and was much with the Englishmen and went almost every day to the reception room of the old Countess von Voss, where the talk was the hottest against Napoleon.

"The Prussians," he told the Professor, "may be conquered, but never will they forgive Napoleon's treatment of the Queen. There he went too far."

He further told the Professor, but this was a secret, that the students of KÖnigsberg were forming plans by which they hoped to defeat Napoleon. He was concerned in this affair and hoped to do more that way than by joining the army.

And so the days passed at Memel. Often the children saw the Queen walking, or taking the air in one of the high-runner sleighs. Carl and Otto and the Princes were often together, and Marianne and Pauline assisted with the lint. There was no stiffness as about a court. They all had become friends in the time of trouble.

Then, presently, the Professor went to KÖnigsberg to fulfil his duties as Professor.

"But remain here with Joachim, dear wife," he said. "Who knows that the French will not advance upon KÖnigsberg? You know now that Wolf and Rudolph are safe, so you can rest here and not worry."

The Queen also went to KÖnigsberg to visit her sister, Frederika, who had married the Prince of Solms and lived in that city.

But the Professor was right.

After a brave siege the fine city of Dantzic fell. Again Napoleon was conqueror, and back in haste came the Professor and back came the poor Queen, flying again to Memel, whose cold winds so disagreed with her. With them came news so dreadful that Marianne felt that never in her life could she be happy again. Napoleon had won the bloody victory of Friedland. Not a French cannon had missed its aim. Like ninepins, the enemy had fallen. Fleeing, the Russians, weighed down by their arms and heavy uniforms, had rushed into the nearby river and the waves had been as cruel to them as Napoleon's guns.

With the dead was Wolfgang, curly-haired, merry Wolf, the one ever ready with a laugh, ever making jokes, playing tunes on his fiddle, waiting on his mother, teasing the twins, laughing at Marianne, Wolf who had been the favourite of all the family.

"Ach Gott, ach Gott, ach Gott!" wept poor Madame von Stork, and she beat the wings of her love and refused to be comforted.

When the Queen heard that the Professor had lost a fine young son and that his wife was so overcome with her sorrow, she went like a friend to see her and to comfort her.

Madame von Stork felt the honour of the visit, but not even a visit from a Queen could make her cease weeping.

With gentle words her Majesty tried to comfort her. She told her of the bravery of Countess Dohna von Finkenstein, whom she had seen in KÖnigsberg. Four sons had she sent to battle, and when they returned wounded, she had sent them forth again.

"We must trust in God, dear Madame von Stork," the Queen's eyes glowed. "I know that He will not desert us, no, not even after this dreadful battle of Friedland. Dear Madame, think what it means to me. Napoleon is in KÖnigsberg now, and I can return no more, and we must perhaps quit our kingdom and fly for safety to Riga in Russia. But in spite of this, as I have written my dear father, I beg you in the name of God, to believe that we are in the hands of God. It is my firm belief that He will send us nothing beyond what we are able to bear. All power, dear Madame, comes from on high. My faith shall not waver, though after this dreadful misfortune I can no longer hope. To live or die in the path of duty—to live on bread and salt if it must be so—would never bring supreme unhappiness to me. Let us trust then, dear Madame, in the God who sends us good and permits the evil that in all things we may be drawn nearer to Him and His love."

Though the Queen's sweet voice trembled, though her eyes said, "I sorrow with you," Madame von Stork would not be comforted.

"Majesty," she said, thinking only of her own grief, "have you lost a son?"

The Queen's eyes filled, her lips trembled like a child's.

"I have lost one son," she said, "and a dear little daughter."

Then Madame von Stork remembered, and forgot her grief for the first time.

The Queen's face changed. She looked as if the whole sorrow of Prussia had crushed her.

"But, dear Madame," she said, her figure drooping, "I am the Queen, and I have lost your son and every Prussian woman's son, also. Am I not the Mother of my People? You have lost one son. I, the Queen, have lost thousands. Each mother's grief is mine and, oh, my God, how am I to bear it? Was not your Wolfgang mine, also?"

She touched her heart beating quickly beneath her dress.

"Dear Madame, pity your Queen and believe her. Here is a wound which nothing can heal. It has ached day and night since the battle of Jena. I am Rachel, indeed, weeping for my children."

When the Professor met his wife an hour later, a new look shone in her eyes.

"I was forgetting you, dear Richard," she said, "Wolfgang is gone, Franz is gone, but I have you and the children."

Then she laid her hand on his arm.

"Our Queen has been here, dear husband, and she is an angel."