[Enter the GRAND-DUCHESS, a girl of sixteen.] ANNE Alas! the news is that poor Prussia's queen, Spirited Queen Louisa, once so fair, Is slowly dying, mother! Did you know? ALEXANDER [betraying emotion] Ah!--such I dreaded from the earlier hints. Poor soul--her heart was slain some time ago. ANNE What do you mean by that, my brother dear? EMPRESS-MOTHER He means, my child, that he as usual spends Much sentiment upon the foreign fair, And hence leaves little for his folk at home. ALEXANDER I mean, Anne, that her country's overthrow Let death into her heart. The Tilsit days Taught me to know her well, and honour her. She was a lovely woman even then!... Strangely, the present English Prince of Wales Was wished to husband her. Had wishes won, They might have varied Europe's history. ANNE Napoleon, I have heard, admired her once; How he must grieve that soon she'll be no more! EMPRESS-MOTHER Napoleon and your brother loved her both. [Alexander shows embarrassment.] But whatsoever grief be Alexander's, His will be none who feels but for himself. ANNE O mother, how can you mistake him so! He worships her who is to be his wife, The fair Archduchess Marie. EMPRESS-MOTHER Simple child, As yet he has never seen her, or but barely. That is a tactic suit, with love to match! ALEXANDER [with vainly veiled tenderness] High-souled Louisa;--when shall I forget Those Tilsit gatherings in the long-sunned June! Napoleon's gallantries deceived her quite, Who fondly felt her pleas for Magdeburg Had won him to its cause; the while, alas! His cynic sense but posed in cruel play! EMPRESS-MOTHER Bitterly mourned she her civilities When time unlocked the truth, that she had choked Her indignation at his former slights And slanderous sayings for a baseless hope, And wrought no tittle for her country's gain. I marvel why you mourn a frustrate tie With one whose wiles could wring a woman so! ALEXANDER [uneasily] I marvel also, when I think of it! EMPRESS-MOTHER Don't listen to us longer, dearest Anne. [Exit Anne.] --You will uphold my judging by and by, That as a suitor we are quit of him, And that blind Austria will rue the hour Wherein she plucks for him her fairest flower! [The scene shuts.] SCENE VIII PARIS. THE GRAND GALLERY OF THE LOUVRE AND THE SALON-CARRE ADJOINING [The view is up the middle of the Gallery, which is now a spectacle of much magnificence. Backed by the large paintings on the walls are double rows on each side of brightly dressed ladies, the pick of Imperial society, to the number of four thousand, one thousand in each row; and behind these standing up are two rows on each side of men of privilege and fashion. Officers of the Imperial Guard are dotted about as marshals.