When Franz again opened his eyes it was to see a little figure sitting near by with her knitting.

"Am I crazy?" He gazed about the room in which he found himself lying.

He saw a huge porcelain stove of green and white and blue and yellow, with a pelican on top for an ornament. A chest of drawers boasted a vase of roses, and there were pretty white curtains to the window.

"Bettina," he said, "Bettina!"

She ran to him, her blue eyes eager.

"Ach ja," said Franz, "but it is the same Bettina."

Yes, it was the old Bettina with the bright, eager eyes, the golden hair, but it was Bettina grown older.

"God be praised," she said, her eyes dancing; "I will call your Frau Mother."

He was home, but how had he come there?

There was Madame von Stork, the tears flowing; there was his father; Pauline, too; how handsome she was! And Marianne; but how serious she had grown! And the twins.

"Come here, Ilse. The other hand, Elchen! And Carlchen, how big you are!"

The children, hanging their heads, were pushed to the bed by Marianne.

Franz's eyes sought other figures.

"Wolfgang?" he said. "And Otto; where is Otto?"

It was days before he heard all the news, and it was days before he learned all that had happened.

Wolfgang was dead.

The Herr Lieutenant turned his face away.

Otto had run off, and no one knew where he was.

The rascal! That was exactly like Otto.

As for the Herr Lieutenant himself, the peasant boy had come for the Professor. The French soldiers had fired the house and the peasants had fled at once to Memel.

It was all very simple. Peace was made now, and his father had brought him in a carriage. He for days had remained unconscious. They were all soon to move to KÖnigsberg, and Franz was to go also, and Otto must come home now, for the war was over.

Then Marianne, who came in often and sat with her tent stitch, told him how the poor Queen had been deceived by Napoleon, how she had believed in his promise and had not been well from the shock of disappointment since she had returned from Tilsit.

And when Marianne was gone, in came his mother and she wept over Wolfgang and Otto and told him how Ludwig Brandt, who was soon to be betrothed to Pauline, was always at KÖnigsberg, for there were great plans among the students in which Ludwig was helping, plans for rousing the nation against Napoleon.

Then she told of Marianne, and of how she was now a great comfort.

"And it is all because of our good Queen," she assured him, and related how Marianne now adored her instead of Goethe, and of how she had gone all winter to make lint and to read aloud to her Majesty.

"And she has now a longing to be useful," said Madame von Stork, her face brightening. "At first it was to be useful in some high-flown way," she added.

At that Franz laughed merrily.

"That is like Marianne," he said, "exactly, dear mother."

"She wanted to nurse the soldiers," continued Madame von Stork, "but our good Queen assured her that she was far too young and that home is the true place for a German maiden. She told her how she herself had never interfered in politics, but had been content to be a good wife and mother.

"And so," concluded Madame von Stork, "each day she becomes more of a comfort. God be praised," she added, "that we came to Memel. Our Queen is an example to all German women."

"She is an angel," said Franz, who like all the soldiers adored Queen Louisa.

The very first day Franz asked about Hans.

"We had thought him dead," explained his father. "The King had news of his disappearance and believed him to have been shot as a spy. But when you were brought home the peasant told me the soldiers had marched him away with them and I could do nothing."

"He will probably soon arrive in Memel," said Franz, "now peace is made."

"The soldiers about Tilsit knew nothing of him. Why they took him prisoner I have no idea, but can only wonder," added his father.

But the days passed, and no Hans came, and the weeks went by and turned into months.

Bettina, though, was sure that he would come to her.

"He promised," she said, "that when peace was made we should go back to our dear Thuringia."

She had wept bitterly when Elsa had come out with the news of his death, but only for a moment.

"That is my grandfather's writing," she had said, "and so he must be living."

And now she still believed in his coming.

Nothing, however, could make Marianne happy, for the Queen's health seemed to fail entirely.

As the summer advanced to autumn, and autumn marched into winter the winds of Memel grew fiercer and fiercer. With their coming the Queen lost her colour, her cheerfulness was forced, and she drooped like a flower.

One thing alone comforted both her and the King, a letter from the people of Westphalia, who must now belong to Napoleon.

Frederick William had bade them farewell, telling them that he felt like a father separating from his children, that it was only necessity which made him yield them to their new ruler.

The Westphalians answered him like children.

"When we read thy farewell," they wrote, "our hearts were breaking; we could not believe that we should cease to be thy faithful subjects, we who have always loved thee so much. As true as we live, it is not thy fault that after the battle of Jena thy scattered armies were not led to our country to join with our militia in a fresh combat. We would have staked our lives and have saved the country, for our warriors have marrow in their bones and their souls are not yet infested with the canker.

"Our wives nourish their children with their own milk, our daughters are no puppets of fashion, we desire to keep free from the pestilential spirit of the age. Yet we cannot change the decrees of Providence. Farewell, then, thou good old King. God grant that the remainder of thy country may furnish thee with wise ministers and truer generals than those which have brought affliction on thee. It is not for us to struggle against our fate, we must with manly fortitude submit to what we cannot alter. May God be with us and give us a new ruler who will likewise be the father of the country, may he respect our language, our manners, our religion, and our municipalities as thou hast done, our dear, good King. God grant thee peace, health, and happiness."

Such a letter was a great comfort to the Queen, and though her heart was very heavy, she occupied herself first in the sale of her jewels, then she and the King sent all their golden dishes to the mint to be turned into money. She bought only simple dresses and tried to set all the people of the Court an example of patience and cheerfulness. She talked much with good Bishop Eylert and Bishop Borowsky.

One Sunday the Bishop found her alone in her sitting-room reading her Bible.

When he entered she greeted him with a smile and they sat and talked over the 120th Psalm.

In a firm, clear voice the Queen repeated aloud all its verses.

"In thy light," she said, "shall we see light." And then she told the Bishop how, though her foe had conquered her and taken away her kingdom, she firmly believed that God would send His light and show to all the reasons of the wars of Napoleon.

"I think," she said, "it is wise to study a portion of Scripture each day, really study it." The King, coming in, agreed.

Then the Bishop suggested that each should choose a book.

"I," said the Queen, "choose Psalms."

"And I," said the King, "select the book of Daniel, because it teaches that kingdoms do not rise and fall by chance. God's ways may often seem to us dark and mysterious, but we may feel assured that they are always holy, wise, and salutary. By His wisdom and mercy this world is so ordered that evil works out its own destruction, and good,—that is, all that agrees with the will of God,—must avail at last."

When Marianne heard of this study of the Queen, she, too, selected a book, and decided upon Psalms because the Queen had selected it for her study.

Now and then, however, pleasant things happened.

The house where the King and Queen lived was so small that there was no room for the children. Therefore Prince Frederick and Prince William lived in the house of a wealthy merchant named Argelander.

"To-day," said the Queen one morning, "is Frau Argelander's birthday. We hear that for fear of disturbing the Princes she has gone to the country to have her feast with her friends. Come, then, let us decorate her house and send a message for her to come and enjoy it."

Everyone was delighted to see the Queen again lively. Marianne ran to the Stork's Nest and sent all the children for evergreens, the ladies hurried to the shops and purchased little gifts, and the great work began.

A servant flew about Memel with invitations, and by late afternoon all was ready and a messenger departed to fetch Frau Argelander.

"My goodness, oh, Heaven!" cried the ladies when he returned with the message that Frau Argelander begged to be excused, as she was enjoying her feast with her friends, and did not need in the least her house, which the Princes were free to use as they would.

Nobody knew what to do, but the Queen arranged a plan.

"You go, Fritz," she said to the Crown Prince, "take the carriage and fetch Frau Argelander."

And this time the lady appeared with many apologies to find lights streaming from her windows, decorations everywhere, garlands wreathing the doors, and presents spread on a table. Beneath the chandelier in the Saal stood the Queen, lovely in white, a Prince on each side, Charlotte and Carl and Alexandrina grouped about all holding bouquets in their hands to present to the lady who had been so kind to them in their trouble.

"Dear Frau Argelander, dear Birthday Child!" cried the Queen, and slipped on the lady's plump arm a bracelet containing the hair of the two Princes.

Then did the Queen begin the festivities, part of the fun being the reading of a poem on each present, written at the command of the Queen by a Memel poet.

Marianne was standing near the table on which were the presents when Franz, who was well, now turned towards her smiling.

"Mariechen," he said in German, for after a talk or two with Ludwig Brandt he no longer spoke the fashionable French, but always his own language, "do you remember what Schlegel wrote about our Queen?"

Marianne shook her head.

"I have never heard it."

Franz, in low tones, repeated the words:

Marianne's eyes danced.

"Oh, Franz," she cried, "oh, brother, how, how lovely!"

"And it is true," said Franz, gazing about the room, his eye resting on the handsome old Countess, looking bored because of her love of her own Saal in the evening, yet brightening if the Queen so much as looked at her, at the Princes and Princesses hanging on their mother's words, at the young poet, happy ever in the honour done his verses, at Frau Argelander, at the people of Memel.

"Ja, ja," he said, "the Angel of Prussia, the Queen of Every Heart!"

But there was one person who was determined not to let the Queen of Prussia be happy.

"Pay your war debt. Pay me what you owe," Napoleon kept crying.

The King of Prussia, who had no money, begged for time, and he would pay everything.

"Pay me, and at once," insisted Napoleon.

What was the King to do? He had no money.

Then his brother, Prince William, had an idea.

"There is no gold," he said, "how can we pay? I will go to Paris and entreat Napoleon to have mercy."

He said this in public, but his real plan, told only to his wife, was to offer himself as a hostage until Prussia could pay her debt.

"I will join you," said the Princess Marianne. "Our little Amelia died in our flight from Dantzic and I can be as happy with you in a prison as in a palace."

So the Prince departed, and the King and Queen waited.

The great scientist, Alexander von Humboldt, prepared Napoleon for his coming and he was received with both politeness and kindness.

At once, with glowing face, he offered himself as a hostage for his country.

Napoleon embraced him.

"That is very noble," he said, "but impossible." For he wanted money, not Princes.

When the news of this act spread through Germany it fired the people like a draught of strong wine.

"We will rise!" they cried. "Our Prince has set us an example! We will throw off the yoke of the oppressor!"

And so, in the darkest hour of the Fatherland, patriotism began to blaze brightly.

The French having evacuated KÖnigsberg, the Queen longed to leave Memel, whose winds had never agreed with her.

"Do, Majesty," urged Baron Stein, advising the King, "it is more dignified that you hold Court in a large city like KÖnigsberg."

While all this was being discussed, to the surprise of the von Storks, the Queen sent one day for Bettina.

"What can she want?" and Madame von Stork made Bettina ready, brushing her hair, putting on a blue dress Pauline had made her, and seeing that the elastics of her slippers were in exact order.

Bettina went alone, the Queen requiring it, and with eyes eager, her bright smile on her lips, the little girl appeared before her.

"Dear child," said the Queen, "I have sent for you because I have some news to tell you."

Then she explained that she feared Bettina's grandfather might not return to Memel, that Professor von Stork had many to care for, and that she, the Queen, meant in the future to provide for Bettina.

"My dear people of Berlin," she told her, "have founded a home for orphans in my honour. The Luisenstift, they will call it. Now, dear Bettina, I am to name and support four of these children and I have selected you as one of them."

Poor Bettina! Her little heart sank. Must she leave the Stork's Nest, must she go among strangers?

The Queen understood.

"You cannot, dear child," she said like a mother, "always live with the good Professor. Go happily, dear child, to this Home. It will help the good Professor to have you cared for. You may visit them in your holidays, and, if you are a good girl and study well, one day you may come and live at Court and be a maid to Princess Charlotte, or my little Alexandrina. Would you not like that?" And the Queen smiled enchantingly.

Bettina's eyes glowed.

To be always near her Majesty! What happiness!

"But go now," said the Queen, "and tell the Herr Professor that I will talk this over with him before he moves his family to KÖnigsberg, and after Christmas I shall send you to Berlin, to the Luisenstift. Until then, be happy!"

"My grandfather will come," thought Bettina; "the Queen is good, but we will go to Thuringia and I shall see Hans and the baby, my godmother and Willy."

And she believed this so firmly that she hardly worried over the Orphan Asylum.

But the Professor was relieved. Money was scarce. He had many children, and he thanked the Queen over and over for her goodness.