ld.

"Why did you not answer, Trenck?" said he.

"Answer--answer what?"

"The sentinel's call. As you swore to me you would make new attempts to
escape, I was compelled to make arrangements to prevent your succeeding.
The guards at your door are commanded to call you every quarter of an
hour during the night. If you do not answer at once, they will enter
your cell to convince themselves of your presence. Accommodate yourself
to this, Trenck. We shall now see if you are able to free yourself with
your nails and teeth!"

He left the room, the door was closed. It was night once more in the
prisoner's cell--but he did not sleep. He sat upon his pallet and asked
himself if what had passed was true, or if it was not some wild and
fearful dream.

"No, no, it cannot be true; they could not rob me of my last and only
pleasure--my sleep! soft, balmy sleep!"

But listen. There is a voice again. "Trenck, Trenck, are you there?"

He answered by a fearful yell, and sprang from his bed, trembling with
terror. It was no dream!

"It is true!--they will let me sleep no more. Cowardly thieves! may God
curse as I curse you. May He have no pity with you, who have none with
me! Ah, you cruel men, you increase my misery a thousandfold. You murder
my sleep. God's curse upon you!"

CHAPTER XI. THE KING AND THE GERMAN SCHOLAR.

It was the winter of 1760. Germany, unhappy Germany, bleeding from a
thousand wounds, was for a few months freed from the scourge of war;
she could breathe again, and gather new strength for new contests. Stern
winter with its ice and snow had alone given peace to the people for a
short time. The rulers thought of and willed nothing but war; and the
winter's rest was only a time of preparation for new battles. The allies
had never yet succeeded in vanquishing the little King of Prussia.
Notwithstanding the disappointments and adversities crowded upon
him--though good fortune and success seemed forever to have abandoned
him--Frederick stood firm and undaunted, and his courage and his
confidence augmented with the dangers which surrounded him.

But his condition appeared so sad, so desperate, that even the heroic
Prince Henry despaired. The king had in some degree repaired the
disasters of Kunersdorf and Mayen by his great victories at Leignitz
and Torgau; but so mournful, so menacing was his position on every side,
that even the victories which had driven his enemies from Saxony, and at
least assured