The Crown Prince and William came, hand in hand, to her bed.
"My Fritz! My William!" she said, and gave them each a smile. Then she struggled to ask about Charlotte, who had sent her a letter about her birthday full of tears that her mother was absent.
The effort brought on such pain that they sent the boys away.
They went from the castle and out into the garden where the air was fresh and cool and the dew lay on the roses.
In the room the doctors were begging the Queen to stretch her arms that she might lie higher.
"I cannot," said the poor Queen. "Only death will help me."
Holding her hand, the King sat on the bed, the old Countess knelt, and Frau von Berg supported her head.
All through her illness she had repeated over and over the texts which she loved and found comfort in, but now her lips could only flutter as the breath came slower and slower.
The poor King, with bowed head, was thinking of Jena and all his Queen had suffered.
Suddenly the Queen drew her head against the breast of Frau von Berg. Her blue eyes opened and gazed towards heaven.