"I prayed to the good God, dear grandfather, when mother was there," she shuddered, "and I was with Hans and Baby in the forest. Do you think, dear grandfather," her lips quivered, "that the poor Queen has such a trouble? Did that wicked Napoleon kill her dear mother, too?"
Hans' face twitched, and he drew his arm closer about little Bettina.
"The Queen's mother, my child, died when her little girl was six, and she lived all her child life with her grandmother."
He smoothed Bettina's hair with his hand, but his thoughts were with his Annchen.
"Grandfather," Bettina patted his cheek with her hand, "grandfather, tell me, please, what is the trouble of the Queen? Why is she so unhappy?"
Then the old man explained how a Queen is the mother of all the people in her country, and of how, when a foe comes and with sword and war slays these people, it is her trouble and she must weep for her children.
"Then Queen Louisa, my Bettina, weeps for her poor husband, the King, who has lost his kingdom, and for her poor children, who are driven from their home and the palace. And now," he added, "in cold and ice and snow she has had to fly, as the landlady told you, with not enough to eat and no fit place to rest in."
Bettina sighed.
"Ach ja, dear grandfather."
Her own feet were very tired and she was certain that she understood that part of the Queen's trouble.