ly and
whispered to each other that this was a room entirely unfit for a king,
and that one might purchase better and more tasteful furniture of any
second-hand dealer in Paris. Napoleon, perhaps, had overheard their
words, or at least noticed their whisperings, for he bent an angry
glance on them. "Gentlemen," he said, "this is a place which deserves
our profound respect. Here lived one who was a greater general than
Turenne, and from whose campaigns we all might derive instruction.
Alexander the Great himself would have admired Frederick's battle of
Leuthen."

The aged castellan, who was standing at the door, raised his head, and
with a kind glance seemed to thank Napoleon for the tribute he had paid
to the manes of the heroic dead.

The emperor's eyes were now fixed on the large clock placed on a gilded
pedestal. It was a master-piece of the period of Louis XV., and adorned
in the most brilliant roccoco style. The large dial, with the figures of
colored enamel, rested in a frame and case of splendidly-wrought gold,
and this was surmounted by a portrait of the Emperor Titus, with the
inscription, "_Diem perdidi_."

"Is that the clock which the king caused to be purchased from the heirs
of the Marquise de Pompadour?"

"Yes, sire, it is. It has always stood in this room, since he purchased
it. Frederick the Great prized it very highly, and consulted it
exclusively until his death. And it seemed to know that he liked it, for
when he closed his eyes, the clock stopped and never went again."

"Ah," exclaimed Napoleon, quickly, "since the death of Frederick the
government of Prussia, it seems, really did not know the time any more.
And what about that ragged old easy-chair? Did the king use it, too?"

"Sire," said the castellan, solemnly, laying stress on every word he
uttered--"sire, the great king died in that chair; his head rested on
the pillow now lying on the seat, and he was covered with that blanket."

The emperor rapidly approached; the marshals followed his example and
walked toward it on tiptoe. He stood before it; his arms folded, his
lips compressed, contemplating it. Behind him stood the marshals, whose
indifferent countenances and curious glances contrasted strangely with
the pale face of their master. Not far from them, near the door, stood
the white-haired castellan; his hands clasped, and his head bowed
mournfully on his breast.

Suddenly the room was filled with light; the sun, which had hitherto