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Sire, we will greet them with reverence." He took off his hat and bowed lowly before the black and white colors of Prussia, a greeting that Deesen imitated with the fervor of a patriot. The king did not unite in their enthusiasm; he was writing with his stick upon the ground. "Come here, Balby, and read this," he said, pointing to the lines he had traced. "Can you read them?"
"I will carry them myself to the king, as I have a favor to ask him," said Fritz Kober. "Come with me, Charles Henry; you must hear what the king says." He took Charles Henry's hand and advanced to the door, but Deesen stood there, and forbade him to enter; he ordered Fritz to give him the breeches.
Their voices started the colonel, and he stepped back. "Sire, it is yourself." "Yes, it is I, Frederick not the king. Yes, I am Frederick, and this capital servant is my good Deesen, who has sworn solemnly not to betray our incognito, and to give no one reason to suspect his high dignity as royal cabinet-hussar.
Frederick looked surprised, and following the glance of his valet, he found his eyes fixed upon his knees. "You are right, Deesen," said he, laughing; "that disaster has befallen my breeches which befell me at Torgau: they are wounded, and need a surgeon." "Your majesty must therefore graciously postpone your great court till to-morrow.
"But the expression of your eyes was so changed," whispered Charles Henry; "I was obliged to turn away when their glance fell upon me. I felt that my secret was discovered, and therefore I avoided being with you." "Officer Buschman," cried Deesen, in a commanding voice from the house, "is your work finished?" "Immediately; I have but a few stitches to do," cried Charles Henry.
"Yes, sire, I have it 'My beloved." "Well, then, proceed. 'My beloved, that old bear, the king Write," said the king, interrupting himself as he saw that Deesen grew pale and trembled, and could scarcely hold the pen "write without hesitation, or expect a severe punishment." "Will your majesty have the kindness to dictate? I am ready to write every thing," said Deesen, as he wiped his brow.
"Have you finished?" asked the king. "Yes, sire, I have finished," groaned Deesen. "Then fold the letter and seal it, and write the address 'To the unmarried Maria Siegert, Yunker Street, Potsdam." "Mercy, sire, mercy!" cried Deseen, springing up and throwing himself at the feet of the king. "I see that your majesty knows all that I have been betrayed."
A quarter of an hour later, Deesen entered the library with a heated, anxious face. The king, who was reading his beloved Lucretius while he paced the floor, turned his great, piercing eyes with a questioning expression on the anxious face of his attendant. "I called for you, and you did not come," said the king. "I beg your majesty to pardon me," stammered Deesen. "Where were you?"
"But the breeches! the breeches!" stammered Deesen, turning pale; "they are torn; and those your majesty now wears, are your last and only ones." "Well, then," said the king, laughing, "I will continue to wear my last and only breeches; I will put on my general's coat, voila tout." "That is wholly impossible," cried Deesen, wringing his hands.
When I look upon you, I feel that man is indeed made in the image of God." "Were I a god, I should not be content to resemble this worn, faded face. Come, now, let us be off! Give me your instrument, Deesen, I will carry it. Now I look like a travelling apprentice seeking his fortune. The world is all before him where to choose his place of rest, and Providence his guide. I envy him.
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