streamed in at the window.

"Have you slept well?" inquired the queen. Walpurga was glad that the
queen had asked a question, for now she could answer. Casting a hurried
glance at Mademoiselle Kramer, she said:

"Yes, indeed! Sleep's the first, the last, and the best thing in the
world."

"She's clever," said the queen, addressing Doctor Gunther in French.

Walpurga's heart sank within her. Whenever she heard them speak French,
she felt as if they were betraying her; as if they had put on an
invisible cap, like that worn by the goblins in the fairy tale, and
could thus speak without being seen.

"Did the prince sleep well?" asked the queen.

Walpurga passed her hand over her face, as if to brush away a spider
that had been creeping there. The queen doesn't speak of her "child" or
her "son," but only of "the crown prince."

Walpurga answered:

"Yes, quite well, thank God! That is, I couldn't hear him, and I only
wanted to say that I'd like to act toward the--" she could not say "the
prince"--"that is, toward him, as I'd do with my own child. We began
right on the very first day. My mother taught me that. Such a child has
a will of its own from the very start, and it won't do to give way to
it. It won't do to take it from the cradle, or to feed it, whenever it
pleases; there ought to be regular times for all those things. It'll
soon get used to that, and it won't harm it either, to let it cry once
in a while. On the contrary, that expands the chest."

"Does he cry?" asked the queen.

The infant answered the question for itself, for it at once began to
cry most lustily.

"Take him and quiet him," begged the queen.

The king entered the apartment before the child had stopped crying.

"He will have a good voice of command," said he, kissing the queen's
hand.

Walpurga quieted the child, and she and Mademoiselle Kramer were sent
back to their apartments.

The king informed the queen of the dispatches that had been received,
and of the sponsors who had been decided upon. She was perfectly
satisfied with all the arrangements that had been made.

When Walpurga had returned to her room and had placed the child in the
cradle, she walked up and down and seemed quite agitated.

"There are no angels in this world!" said she. "They're all just like
the rest of us, and who knows but--" she was vexed at the queen: "Why
won't she listen patiently when her child cries? We must take all our
children bring us, whether