"No, no," he answered, "Magdeburg is worth a hundred Queens."
Then he laughed, as if he had escaped a great weakness, and his eyes narrowed.
"Happily," he swung his whip, "the husband came in, and trying to put his word into the conversation, spoilt the whole affair and I was delivered."
As for the Queen, she was repeating every word of Napoleon's to Frederick William.
"He promised, Fritz," and she clung to his hand, "that he would think of it. Moreover," she added, "I shall see him at dinner. Something then may be done." And she caressed him tenderly, her whole body quivering from the strain she had been under.
In honour of Napoleon, Queen Louisa arrayed herself for the dinner in her most regal splendour. Her dress was white, most delicately embroidered, a velvet and ermine mantle flowed from her shoulders, a diamond star shone in her golden hair, and the crown of Prussia was arranged to surmount her exquisite tissue, or gauze, turban.
When her maid had given the last touch she stood before her mirror in the small Tilsit house. Near by stood her dearest friend, Frau von Berg, gazing at her in loving admiration.
But the Queen's thoughts were bitter. With a shrug she turned from the mirror to her companion.
"Do you remember, dear friend," she asked, with a sad smile, "how the old Germans of the pagan times used to dress the maidens they would sacrifice to their gods in gorgeous raiment and jewels?"
Frau von Berg nodded.