The queen smiled.
Walpurga went on talking. The more she talked, the more the child prattled and crowed and clapped its hands; the sound of his nurse's voice pleased him, and Walpurga said:
"He's just like a canary-bird; when there's lots of chattering in the room, he joins in with his merry song. Isn't it so, you canary-bird?" said she, shaking her head at the child, while it crowed yet more lustily than before.
Buried in thought, the queen passed her hand over her face several times. Walpurga's words had transported her into another world. And so, thought she, there are other beings, beneath me and far away, who pass their days in work and care and yet are happy.
"What makes you look so sad?" asked Walpurga.
Her question had recalled the queen to herself. No one had ever read her face in this way. No one could, or would have questioned her thus.
The queen made no answer, and Walpurga continued:
"Oh, my dear queen, I can't help thinking you must have a hard time of it. To have plenty of everything isn't so good for one after all. It's like having your heaven on earth. Have you never felt lonely and lorn? When one wakes to sorrow and thinks that one still has sound limbs, and can work, and can see the sun and know that there are still good people in the world--it's then that you really feel at home in the world. Oh, my dear queen, don't be sad. You couldn't, if you knew how happy you ought to feel."
The queen was silent for a long while. There must have been something in Walpurga that suggested the thought, for she at last said: "They play William Tell to-night. I would like you to go to the theater, for once."
Walpurga said: