He admired her beauty, but her sorrows were absolutely nothing to him. In a short time he was to divorce the wife who had borne with his weaknesses and who loved him through many long years of both joy and trouble. So he was not likely to treat the Queen of Prussia very gently, merely because she was a woman who loved her husband and her country.
"How could you think of making war upon me?" he demanded.
Though his manner and tones were irritating, the Queen took no offence, but answered politely:
"We were mistaken in our calculations on our resources," she said.
"And you trusted in Frederick's fame and deceived yourselves—Prussia, I mean." Napoleon swung his riding whip to and fro as she talked, and stared steadily.
The Queen's blue eyes met his bold ones, though they filled a little as she continued:
"Sire, on the strength of the great Frederick's fame we may be excused for having been mistaken with respect to our own powers, if, indeed, we have entirely deceived ourselves."
Napoleon's face softened quickly. He tried to change the subject, but the Queen, treating him as a kind man and a friend, told him in an almost girlish way of all her sufferings, of all she had endured, and why she had come to Tilsit. He tried again and again to change the subject, but she persisted, beseeching him to be kind and merciful, for the love of man and because of the laws of justice with which God rules all the kingdoms.
Napoleon's answer was all kindness. He had never seen such a woman. She had not a thought for herself, and when she spoke of her husband the tears splashed down her cheeks on the crêpe dress the Emperor had admired so openly.
"Sire," implored the sweetest voice that ever had fallen on his ears, "be kind, be generous, be merciful to your fallen foe. Sire," the Queen gazed like a child in his face, "give us Magdeburg, only Magdeburg."