king?" said he to one of the royal
servants--"the King of Prussia, who for five years has been fighting
with the empress for us?"

"Yes, it is him."

"From to-day on I am a Prussian at heart," continued the magistrate;
"yes, and a good and true one. The King of Prussia dresses badly, that
is true, but I suppose his object is to lighten the taxes." Passing
his coat-sleeve across his misty eyes, he hastened to the kitchen to
investigate dinner.

CHAPTER XV. THE PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE.

Some days had passed since the king entered Voiseilvitz. He dwelt in the
house of the magistrate, and the generals were quartered in the huts
of the village. The regiments were in the neighboring hamlets. The king
lived quietly in his house, wholly given up to anxiety and discontent.
He ate alone in his room, spoke to no one, or if he did, said only a few
grave words. All jesting was vanished from his lips; he was never seen
to smile, never heard to play the flute. The grief which oppressed his
heart was too profound to be confided to the soft and melting tones
of his flute. Even that cherished companion could now give him no
consolation. Fearful, horrible intelligence had followed him from the
encampment at trehlen. It had poisoned these days of long-denied
and necessary rest, and shrouded the gloomy future with yet darker
presentiments of evil.

Schweidnitz, the strong fortress, the key of Silesia, which had been so
long and with such mighty effort defended, had fallen!--had yielded
to the Austrians--and Frederick had thus lost the most important
acquisition of the last year, and thus his possession of Silesia was
again made doubtful. He looked sadly back upon all the precious blood
which had been shed to no purpose--upon all the great and hardly-won
battles, won in vain. He looked forward with an aching heart to the
years of blood and battle which must follow. Frederick longed for rest
and peace--he was weary of bloodshed and of war. Like an alluring,
radiant picture of paradise, the image of his beloved Sans-Souci passed
from time to time before his soul. He dreamed of his quiet library and
his beautiful picture-gallery. And yet his courage was unconquered--and
he preferred the torture of these wretched days--he preferred death
itself to the unfavorable and humiliating peace which his proud enemies,
made presumptuous by their last successes, dared to offer him. They
stood opposed to him in monstrous superiority, but Frederic