“Poor thing!” she said. “I think”—at this moment she suddenly stopped, startled by a thought which came into her mind, and remained silent quite a while. What she was thinking was something like this: “Suppose I should ask her to come up on the balcony? Then I couldn’t see the procession at all—and that wouldn’t do, after all my trouble to get a good place. I wonder if that would be doing what the man said—not pleasing myself? Maybe it would, but then it is such a little thing that I’m sure the King wouldn’t hear of it. If I could only please Him some _great_ way, how nice it would be!” But I am glad to tell you, and am sure you will be glad to hear, that after this talk with herself, the little girl made her way down to where the old lady was looking about her. “Good Frau,” she said, as the old lady turned to look at her, “I have a place for you to see the procession; will you come with me?” Through the door, up the three flights of stairs, went the little light figure, followed by the older and feeble one. “I am afraid, good Frau, these stairs will tire you,” said Gretchen, “but it is the only place there is.” A chair was then brought up from the Frau Van Cortlandt’s own kitchen, on which the old lady seated herself, after which Gretchen went to the bedroom down-stairs, and throwing herself on the bed, burst into a flood of tears. “I can’t help it,” she sobbed; “I did so want to see the procession! But I am not sorry, if the Prince knows.” Then she dried her eyes and went to the door, where she could see nothing but the backs of the people in front of it. The Ellsworths had been in Berlin some weeks, and having seen all they wanted to of the city, were about ready to go back to America, but they stayed longer than they otherwise would have done, for the purpose of seeing the procession. And then, as Amelia said, “it was just perfectly horrid,” that, after all, the soldiers were not to pass in front of their hotel. “I am determined to see the procession,” said Mrs. Ellsworth. “And so am I,” said Amelia. Nevertheless, they were acquainted with no one in Berlin who would offer them a place, and they couldn’t well stand in the streets, “with the rabble,” said Mrs. Ellsworth. “Blees, your honors,” said Hans, their guide and interpreter, “I haf zomedings teu zay. Mein schwester hab ein house in der Steinstrasse, mit ein gut—vat you gall it—palgonie, vair you kon go, if blees you.” “Let’s go, mother!” said Amelia, “anything is better than not seeing the procession, when we stayed in the city on purpose.” And Hans, not in the least minding the doubtful compliment to his “schwester’s house,” agreed to drive them around there early enough to keep out of the crowd. So it came to pass that on the balcony of the Frau Krant’s house, across the street from the Frau Van Cortlandt’s, were seated, the morning of the procession, Mrs. Ellsworth, her daughter Amelia, and her sister Julia.