Her tears fell on the marble flower-table. A little dog came up to her and she said:
"She decked you, too, with flowers. It was on my birthday. She sought to adorn everything that met her eye. And you loved her, too, poor Zephyr? every creature loved her, and now she's dead." She wept in silence for some time.
"May I wear mourning for my friend?" she inquired, looking up at Countess Brinkenstein.
"Your Majesty, it is not the custom for the queen to go into mourning alone."
"Of course; we are not alone. No, never! All must mourn with us; there must needs be a mourning livery."
She had spoken harshly, and now offered her hand to Countess Brinkenstein, as if in apology, and inquired:
"When is she to be buried, and where? I should like to lay the most beautiful garland upon her grave. I will go to her myself, and my tears shall drop upon her pale face. So fair a life, and so sudden an end! Can it be possible? I must go to her!"
Her eyes seemed fixed on vacancy, while she asked:
"Has the king gone hunting?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."