"If she were not mine," he said, "she might recover."
The old Duke joined him. In the night they had called him from his sleep.
The Princess Frederika was at the door.
"Is my daughter in danger?" he asked.
She pressed his hand.
"Lord," said the poor old father, "Thy ways are not our ways."
With trembling hands he now led the King to the room.
Propped up on pillows, the bed curtains looped back to give her air, lay poor Queen Louisa.
On one side was the old Countess von Voss, Frau von Berg held one hand, and Princess Frederika the other.
The poor "Rose of the King," whose stem had been so roughly handled, had drooped forever.