"I know it."
"No. I have a courage that you do not know."
"A courage that I do not know?"
"And never will know. I have courage enough to appear weak and vacillating; but, Kurt, you will not misjudge me on that account?"
"Pray speak more plainly, and with fewer preliminaries."
"I am determined," continued the queen, "I hardly dare utter that word, now--but you will not misjudge me? I shall remain in the faith in which I was born, and we shall nevertheless be as one."
The king thanked her quite cordially, and only regretted that the canon knew of the matter. He hoped, however, to be able to silence his tongue.
The queen was surprised to find that he manifested so little joy; but, on second thought, this seemed quite natural to her, for why should that which had been nothing more than a passing cloud, leave great results in its wake? Others could know nothing of the bitter struggle it had cost her.
She felt sensible that it would be a long while before any expression or resolve of hers would obtain weight or authority, for it would not soon be forgotten that she had once shown herself weak.
While she was in the Protestant court chapel, on the following Sunday, she scarcely ventured to raise her eyes. She was thinking of how it would have been if she now were in the other church, and of how the eyes of the congregation would have been directed to the pew that was thenceforward to remain vacant. In spirit, she had already deserted this church and its congregation. Her soul trembled when she thought of the resolve she had entertained, and, from the bottom of her heart, she thanked her husband, whose strong arm had held her back.