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The king was alone in his study. He had just finished a letter to the Marquis d'Argens, calling upon him to give some news of his gallery at Sans-Souci, and to inform him of its progress. The king laid down his pen, and leaned back in his chair for a moment. His usually sharp, bright eye had now a soft, gentle expression, and a light smile played around his thin, nobly-formed lips.
D'Argens, poor dissolute creature, is the best of the French lot. He has married, after so many temporary marriages with Actresses, one Actress in permanence, Mamsell Cochois, a patient kind being; and settled now, at Potsdam here, into perfectly composed household life. Really loves Friedrich, they say; the only Frenchman of them that does.
At the present period he is in a prison which he will probably never leave, and his wife is happy, maybe, in a convent. My Departure Letter from Henriette Marsellies History of Nina Nice Turin Lugano Madame De As soon as I had regained my usual strength, I went to take leave of the Marquis d'Argens and his brother.
I dined with them, pretending not to observe the presence of the Jesuit, and I then spent three delightful hours in conversation with the learned and amiable Marquis d'Argens. He told me a number of interesting anecdotes about the private life of Frederick II. No doubt the reader would like to have them, but I lack the energy to set them down.
Now his footsteps echoed in the lonely room, and none of his friends were there to welcome the returning king none but D'Argens, the dearest, the most faithful of all. The king now turned to him, and a shadow overspread his countenance, which had been so bright. "D'Argens," he said, "we are very poor; the most of our friends have left us forever.
"But, sire, you love them still; for your heart is possessed of that Godlike quality mercy which overlooks and pardons the faults and failings of mankind. Intolerance is not in the nature of my king, and forgiveness and mercy are ever on his lips." "I will endeavor to verify your words, dear friend," said the king, offering D'Argens his hand.
"Let us try it," said Quantz, carelessly opening the piano. Frederick went to his room to seek his note-book, and place his letters upon the table, but, before he returned, he called the marquis to him. "D'Argens," said he, "may I not thank you for this agreeable surprise?" "Yes, sire, I proposed it, and took the responsibility upon myself. If your majesty is displeased, I am the only culprit!"
Ah! there are so many fools so few men amongst you; I have found so many faithless friends, so many traitors, so few honest men! In the hour of misfortune they all deserted me! But, no!" said he; "one remained true. D'Argens never deceived me, and I had almost forgotten to take leave of him. Well, death must wait for me, while I write to D'Argens!"
This remarkable man, in whom every one who looked upon him felt confidence; whose face, in spite of the thousand wrinkles which fifty years of an active, useful life had laid upon it, still retained an innocent, amiable, and childlike expression this man was the Marquis d'Argens, the true, unchangeable, never- faltering friend of the king.
The evening of the kingly birthday they wished to show the joy of their hearts by a brilliant illumination. The king still read, and became so absorbed that he did not hear the door gently opened. The tall, slender form of the Marquis d'Argens appeared at the threshold. Overcome with joyful emotions, he remained standing, and gazing with clouded eyes at the king.
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