Alexander became grave; he gazed long and searchingly at the pale face of the queen, and a sigh escaped his breast. "Sire," he said, turning to the king, "can we really make peace with the man who, in the course of a few weeks, changed into the lily the red rose that once adorned the face of the noblest and most beautiful lady? Can we really forgive him for wringing tears from our august queen?"
"Fate does not ask us whether we can," said the king, gloomily. "It tells us only that we must. In my heart I shall never make peace with the man who, although a great captain, is no great man; else he would be less cruel. But God has given him the power, and we must all bow to him."
"But it is not necessary to humble ourselves before him," exclaimed the queen. "Amid our misfortunes we must keep ourselves erect; and if we perish, we ought to do so with unsullied honor."
"But why perish?" said Alexander. "We are shipwrecked, it is true, and we are now drifting on the waves, but we must save ourselves. Every one must try, to the best of his ability, to do so; he must grasp at the first thing that falls into his hands—at a plank, at a straw. Some fortunate rope may at last save us, and draw us to the shore. We shall then build a new ship, and man her with fresh hands. Do you agree with me, my dear fellow-sufferers?"
"Sire," said Louisa, in a low and mournful voice, "you are magnanimous. You call yourself our fellow-sufferer. And yet the tempest shipwrecked us alone."
"By no means," exclaimed Alexander; "I have also suffered; all my hopes, wishes, and ambition went down. But I did not wish to be drowned, and I stretched out my arms for something to support me. Do you know what I found to sustain me? The Emperor Napoleon! Oh, he is a strong support."
"I have heard, sire, your majesty has of late become an ardent admirer of Napoleon," said the queen, in a tremulous voice.
"Yes," exclaimed Alexander, enthusiastically, "Napoleon is a genius, a demi-god; the great Alexander of antiquity has risen from the dead. He realizes the myths of the ancient heroes. I repeat it to him every day, and, thank God, he believes me!"
The queen cast a surprised and inquiring glance on him. A singular smile played on his lips. "Yes," he repeated, "Napoleon believes me! He is convinced of the sincerity of my admiration, and he is right. I love him as my master—as my teacher—as the great ideal that I will endeavor to imitate!"
"Oh, sire," sighed the queen, reproachfully, "you give me pain!"