"He promised," she said, "that when peace was made we should go back to our dear Thuringia."
She had wept bitterly when Elsa had come out with the news of his death, but only for a moment.
"That is my grandfather's writing," she had said, "and so he must be living."
And now she still believed in his coming.
Nothing, however, could make Marianne happy, for the Queen's health seemed to fail entirely.
As the summer advanced to autumn, and autumn marched into winter the winds of Memel grew fiercer and fiercer. With their coming the Queen lost her colour, her cheerfulness was forced, and she drooped like a flower.
One thing alone comforted both her and the King, a letter from the people of Westphalia, who must now belong to Napoleon.
Frederick William had bade them farewell, telling them that he felt like a father separating from his children, that it was only necessity which made him yield them to their new ruler.
The Westphalians answered him like children.
"When we read thy farewell," they wrote, "our hearts were breaking; we could not believe that we should cease to be thy faithful subjects, we who have always loved thee so much. As true as we live, it is not thy fault that after the battle of Jena thy scattered armies were not led to our country to join with our militia in a fresh combat. We would have staked our lives and have saved the country, for our warriors have marrow in their bones and their souls are not yet infested with the canker.