r. Every eye was turned toward this street;
all were awaiting with loudly-beating hearts the appearance of that hero
whose brow was decked with so many costly laurels. No heart was more
impatient, no one gazed so eagerly at the Frankfort gate as the good
Marquis d'Argens; he stood at the head of the burghers, near the arch of
triumph; he had organized the citizens for this festal reception; he had
left his cherished retirement for love of his royal friend; to welcome
him, he had ventured into the cutting wind of a cold March morning. For
Frederick's sake he had mounted a horse, a deed of daring he had not
ventured upon for many a year; in his lively impatience, he even forgot
the danger of being run away with or dragged in the dust.

The marquis knew well that nothing could be more disagreeable to the
king than this public reception, but his heart was overflowing with hope
and happiness, and he felt the necessity of shouting his vivats in
the sunny air. In the egotism of his love, he forgot to respect the
preferences of the king.

Perhaps Frederick suspected this triumph which his good Berliners had
prepared for him. Perhaps it appeared to his acute sensibilities and
noble heart altogether inappropriate to welcome the returned soldiers
with wild shouts of joy, when so many thousand loved ones were lying
buried on the bloody battle-field. Perhaps he did not wish to see
Berlin, where his mother had so lately died, adorned in festal array.

Hour after hour passed. The sun was setting. The flowers which had been
taken from the greenhouses to decorate the arch of triumph, bowed their
lovely heads sadly in the rough March winds. The fresh, cool breeze
whistled through the light draperies and displaced their artistic folds.
Notwithstanding the enthusiasm of the citizens, they began to be hungry,
and to long greatly for the conclusion of these solemnities. Still the
king came not. The Berliners waited awhile longer, and then one after
another quietly withdrew. This bad example was speedily imitated, and
the gay cortege of riders grew small by degrees and beautifully less. At
sunset but a few hundred citizens remained at the gate, and even these
heroic Spartans showed but little of the enthusiasm of the morning.

Marquis d'Argens was in despair, and if Frederick had arrived at this
moment he would have heard a reproachful phillipic from his impatient
friend instead of a hearty welcome. But fortune did not favor him so
far as