The years marched on to another Christmas.

Much had happened.

Napoleon was still triumphant, for, conquering the Austrians, he had entered Vienna as victor.

"All is lost," Queen Louisa wrote, "if not forever, at least for the present."

As for Otto von Stork, he was not killed, but continued fighting where he could find soldiers.

"All Europe must rise," he wrote his father; "the brave Andreas Hofer is rousing the Tyrolese, and, oh, dear father, have you heard of the brave deed of Haydn in Vienna?"

"Haydn?" interrupted Marianne, and then with a smile she began singing "With Verdure Clad," from the musician's "Creation." Of course they all had heard of Haydn. Certainly the old man was a hero.

When he heard the cannon and knew that Napoleon was entering his Vienna, he went to a window and opened the sash.

"Sing!" he cried to the people in the streets, "sing, good people."

And then the old white-haired musician lifted his voice and sang his own hymn.

"God save our Emperor Franz!" rang through the streets, all the people joining. And when Napoleon entered they were singing at the tops of their voices. But the excitement was too much for Haydn. He died two days later.

Then Otto was off to fight in the Tyrol.

"He will break my heart," wept his mother, but the Herr Lieutenant's eyes flashed.

"If my arm——" he began, but his mother cried out so that he never finished his sentence.

Napoleon, in these days of gloom, divorced his wife, married the Archduchess Marie Louise of Austria, and a son was born to them, the little King of Rome, they called him.

The Czar had been again with Napoleon and there had been a famous meeting at Erfurt, and they had divided the world between them, and then Alexander had paid his friends a visit at Memel and had been shocked at the appearance of the Queen.

"Come," he said, "to St. Petersburg and see the wonders of my capital. It will do the Queen good."

And so they went on a splendid journey and met all the Royal family of Russia and received honour and rich presents.

But Queen Louisa cared no more for such things as fine clothes, crowns, banquets and jewels.

To her friend, Frau von Berg, she wrote:

"I am come back from St. Petersburg as I went. Nothing dazzles me now. Yes, I feel it more and more, my kingdom is not of this world. I have danced, dear friend," she said, "I have been agreeable to the whole world, but God Almighty have mercy upon me." So much did she feel the sorrows of her poor kingdom.

But now the French had left Berlin entirely, and, at Christmas time, the year 1809, three years after Jena, the King and Queen were returning to their capital.

Marianne and her grandmother were standing on Unter den Linden, Ludwig and Pauline, who was now his wife, not far off. Again there were flags and garlands, and again the people everywhere.

"The Berliners have sent our Queen a new carriage lined with her favourite violet," and Marianne smiled in gladness.

"Ach, ja," said her grandmother, who now spoke German. "We can do such things now, but formerly that monster Napoleon would not even permit us to celebrate her birthday."

And she told Marianne of the actor, Iffland, who had had courage on March tenth, her Majesty's birthday, to wear a bouquet of flowers in his theatre.

Marianne listened with great interest. She was altogether a changed girl, and tried always to think of other people.

"Thanks to our good Queen," her mother always was saying, "God be praised that Marianne tries now to imitate her, for she is the model for all German maidens."

At exactly the same hour that, fifteen years before, as a bride, Louisa of Mecklenburg had entered Berlin, the Queen appeared in her violet-lined carriage.

The Berliners cheered, but at the same moment their eyes filled.

It was their Queen and as beautiful as ever, some declared even lovelier, but she seemed like a rose whose stem is no longer erect. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes were washed with weeping, and about her mouth, trying so hard to smile as of old, they saw lines of sorrow.

"How we hate him! How we hate Napoleon!" and the people clenched their fists when they saw her.

With her were her niece, Frederika, the Princess Charlotte, now tall and beautiful, the old Countess, and jolly Carl.

The young princes were on horseback, the King was with his generals.

"Long life to our good King! Long live Frederick William!" shouted the Berliners, but when they saw the Queen and remembered how she had gone for their sake to Napoleon, her name rang from one side of Berlin to the other.

At the palace an old man lifted her from her carriage, folded her in his arms and led her away from the people.

"Her father, the old Duke!" cried the Berliners, and they were not ashamed to weep openly.

In a few moments Queen Louisa appeared on a balcony.

The people went frantic with joy, and her cheeks grew pink, and she tried to smile, and then, the tears flowing from her eyes, prevented her.

"It is heartrending," said a stranger to Madame von Bergman, who, herself, was making use of an embroidered handkerchief. "When, Madame, I see that poor lady, our Queen, and think of all that she has suffered, and of our kingdom divided in two, and still ruled by Napoleon, I cannot restrain my speech."

"Never mind, Herr Arndt," said Madame von Bergman, "we all feel as you do."

The stranger started in alarm.

"You recognise me? I thought," he said, "that sorrow had so changed me that no one could know my features."

"You are safe with me," said the good lady, who knew there was a price on the head of this patriotic poet. "I am the mother-in-law of Herr Professor Richard von Stork of the Tugendbund." She lowered her voice as she said this last word.

Arndt grasped her hand and then, walking away with her, told how he had been driven from land to land and torn from his son for the sake of the little one's safety.

"When I thrust the child from me," he said, "I could almost have cursed the French and the Corsican who rules them."

For a moment he was silent.

Then he gazed about gay Unter den Linden.

"But, Madame," his face looked like that of a prophet, "I see to-day in this splendour, in these loud and continued cheers for the King, a hope that all hearts may be united in one common German spirit. I see more eyes wet with sorrow than bright with joy, and who knows what will come of it for our dear Fatherland?"

Marianne's eyes sparkled.

Her one longing was to serve her country. But what could a girl do?

Her face fell.

At the corner of Friedrichstrasse and Unter den Linden she came face to face with Bettina marching homeward with the girls of the "Luisenstift."

"Come home with us, pray, my child," said old Madame von Bergman very kindly.

Permission was given and Bettina joined them. She was now a big girl, and thirteen.

"Gracious FrÄulein," she said to Marianne, "how happy I am." Then she laughed her gay little gurgle. "I think, Gracious FrÄulein, Frederick Barbarossa is waking. He is stretching himself, I think. He will rise soon and drive away Napoleon." Arndt looked at her in surprise and then nodded.

In the evening there was a grand illumination.

The Berliners had pressed the King to appear in the theatre.

"Yes, yes," he said, "but first we will go to church and thank Almighty God for his mercy."

To celebrate his return he freed many prisoners, gave money to the poor, and remembered to thank all who had been loyal.

On their part, the Berliners had the sculptor, Schadow, make a statue of the Queen and place it on an island in the Tiergarten.

The King also founded an Order of Merit, and with grand ceremony bestowed it upon many, among them the actor, Iffland, and the old clergyman who had answered Napoleon.

But, in spite of all this, Prussia had no money.

"But our King does all he can," said Ludwig to Madame von Bergman one evening when he and Pauline came to supper.

"Yes," put in Franz, who was then in Berlin, "he has ordered the Royal table to be laid with four dishes only at dinner, and at supper with two."

"And I heard," said Pauline, looking up from her embroidery, "that when a servant asked how much champagne to order, the King said none should be purchased until all his subjects could drink beer again."

Madame von Bergman shook her head sadly.

"No hope of that. Look at this coffee," and she poured out a cupful from the pot on the tray the maid had brought in for the visitors.

"Oak bark, carrots, and beans burned together, that is our coffee, thanks to Napoleon."

While they were talking, in came a visitor.

"Napoleon has shot Andreas Hofer," he announced, "at Mantua!"

The two men started from their seats.

"Impossible!" they cried out, but alas, next day they learned the truth of it. This brave innkeeper of Innsbruck, who had fought so bravely to free his people, had been betrayed by a friend to Napoleon and shot in Mantua, over the mountains.

The Queen wept tears of sorrow when she heard of this sad tragedy.

"What a man," she had written, "is this Andreas Hofer, the leader of the Tyrolese. A peasant has become a captain, and what a captain! His weapon, prayer, and his ally, God. Oh, that the time of the Maid of Orleans might return that the enemy might be driven from the land!"

It was about this time that Napoleon permitted Minister Hardenburg to return to his duties. At once affairs began to prosper.

"And the Queen," Marianne wrote to her mother, "is to take a journey. She is to go with the King and her children to all the places where she had lived as Crown Princess, to Paretz, to Oranienburg, and Peacock Island."

At Paretz the Queen walked up and down the avenues with her husband. Suddenly she turned to him very solemnly and said:

"Fritz, you have made me very happy, you and our children."

But Napoleon had no mind to add to her happiness.

"Pay your war debt!" he kept crying.

"We have no money," said the poor Prussians.

"Then I rule you until you do," was Napoleon's unchanging answer.

"And the wretch," said Madame von Stork, "has ordered our King to assist a huge Russian force through Prussia."

"And I heard," said Pauline, "that when the King heard the news he bowed his head and said that of all men he was most unlucky."

"But our Queen," put in Marianne, who was working at tent stitch, "is to have a great pleasure."

The two ladies gazed at her in curiosity.

"She is going to visit her father," answered Marianne. "The Countess told me. She has not been home for many years, and when she told the King of her great longing, he consented. She is to leave to-morrow."

Bettina, who was on her way to the "Stork's Nest," saw her depart. Catching sight of the girl, the Queen smiled a farewell. For some reason it made Bettina solemn.

"It was as if she were saying good-bye forever," she told Marianne later. Marianne laughed merrily.

"She will be back in a few days. What nonsense!"