The king advanced to meet Wilhelmine with a gentle smile; and when, after a formal obeisance, she congratulated him in cold and ceremonious terms, Frederick William burst out into laughter, caught her in his arms, and pressed a kiss on her brow. Wilhelmine trembled, and tears rushed to her eyes. She felt like clasping him in her arms and conjuring him, with tender reproaches and passionate words of love, not to abandon her, and not to drive herself and his children out into the cold world. But she repressed her emotion--she knew the king could not endure sad faces, and always fled from a woman in tears. She had the courage to smile, and seem to be gay; and her countenance bore no trace of disquiet or anxiety. She conversed with perfect composure and indifference, as if no change had taken or ever could take place in their relations to each other. Frederick William's joyousness had at first been assumed, to hide his embarrassment; and he felt greatly relieved by Wilhelmine's manner. He abandoned himself wholly to the charming society of the beautiful and agreeable friend, who had always so well understood how to enliven him and banish all care from his breast. And when the two children entered the parlor, and his favorite Alexander, a boy of ten years of age, ran forward, looked wonderingly at his papa king, and then threw his arms tenderly around his neck, and kissed and hugged him, regardless of his royalty; when the lovely daughter, in the bloom of sixteen summers, the charming image of her young mother, walked forward, and seated herself on one of his knees opposite her brother, who sat on the other; and when the still beautiful mother stepped up to this group, her eyes beaming and her face wreathed in smiles, and clasped father and children in one embrace, a feeling of infinite comfort filled Frederick William's breast, and tears rushed to his eyes. He gently pushed the two children from his knees, and arose. "Go down into the garden, my pets, and wait for me in the rose-pavilion, when we will watch the sun set. But now go, as I have something to say to your mother." "But nothing unpleasant, I hope, papa?" said Alexander, anxiously. "You have nothing to say to my mamma that will make her sad?" "And if I had," asked Frederick William, smiling, "what would you do to prevent it?" "If you had," replied the boy, with a bold and defiant expression, "I know very well what I would do. I would not go away. I would remain here, even if my papa ordered me to go. But for this once I could not be obedient, although I should be scolded for it." "And what effect would your remaining here have, Alexander?" asked the king. "It would have this effect, your majesty," replied the boy, gravely. "My dear mamma would then hear nothing that would make her feel sad, or perhaps even make her cry." "But if I should tell her something in your presence that would make her feel sad?"