"I will do it," said the Queen; "the King wishes it." And then the whole room relaxed from its tension.
"Perhaps," added the Queen, folding the letter with trembling fingers, her lips quivering, "I can do good, be of some service."
"Most certainly, Majesty," urged General Kalreuth, following the courier, his face eager to have his way.
He had brought her a second letter.
It was from the Czar, entreating her to come, and setting before her all that she with her talents and beauty might accomplish.
"To do my full duty, dear General," said the poor Queen, the tears in her voice, "is my only wish. As the loved wife of the King, as the mother of my children, as the Queen of my people."
She swayed, as if faint. Then sudden strength seemed to come, and a smile, like sunlight after clouds, suddenly illumined her face, which was even lovelier in her sadness.
"And, dear friends," she gazed kindly at the people about her, "I believe firmly in God. And, dear General," again she smiled, "I do not believe Napoleon will be secure on his throne. Truth and righteousness only abide. Napoleon is only politically clever."
So the good Queen, who loved everybody better than her own ease or comfort, kissed the lively, handsome Crown Prince; simple, honourable, sensible little William; shy, beautiful Charlotte, and answered jolly little Carl's many questions as to when she was going, and, loosening baby Alexandrina's arms from her neck, set forth with the old Countess and her Maids of Honour to meet her foe in Tilsit.
She knew that she must smile when her heart was weeping for her country; she knew that she must be pleasant and beg favours of the man who had treated her as no woman has ever before been treated in history.