"Truly," she said to the old Countess, "I am like Atlas, and carry the sorrow of the world."
The Countess pressed her hand and listened while the Queen continued, for to her she might say things which might distress her husband.
"I cannot, I may not forget the King in this crisis. He is very unfortunate and possesses a true soul, but how with my broken wing"—she had not been well and was very nervous, always having to stand the noise of the children and the laughter of the Maids of Honour in the tiny house in Memel—"can I do anything? How can I do anything?" she repeated pathetically.
Full of foreboding, she and the Countess and the Maid of Honour, Countess Tauentzein, came to Tilsit, or rather to the village of Piktupöhnen, where her husband was in lodgings because of the truce with Napoleon.
The State Minister Hardenburg, General Kalreuth, and the Czar surrounded her.
"Plead with Napoleon," they urged, "for Silesia, for Westphalia, and for Magdeburg, but especially for Magdeburg."
Napoleon, who, having all he wanted, was more amiable, sent greetings at once to Louisa, explaining that according to the terms of the truce he could not come to Piktupöhnen, and therefore he entreated her to come to Tilsit that he might pay her his respects immediately.
His state carriage, drawn by eight horses and escorted by splendid French dragoons, conveyed them to a plain, two-story house in Tilsit.
An hour later a messenger announced her royal foe, the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte.
According to etiquette, the Queen awaited him at the head of the stairs, a smile of welcome forced by politeness to her lips.