king stood still, and gazed around him, and then
a bright smile illumined his countenance, and his eyes beamed with
pleasure. Then hastening onward, he turned his head toward the house
that looked so still and peaceful, and seemed, with its open doors,
ready to welcome him.

At length, having reached the summit, he turned once more with beaming
eyes to look at the lovely landscape which was spread before him
in smiling luxuriousness. He then hastily entered the house and the
beautiful room in which he had spent so many gay and happy hours with
his friends. Now his footsteps echoed in the lonely room, and none of
his friends were there to welcome the returning king--none but D'Argens,
the dearest, the most faithful of all.

The king now turned to him, and a shadow overspread his countenance,
which had been so bright.

"D'Argens," he said, "we are very poor; the most of our friends have
left us forever. The prior of Sans-Souci has returned, but his monks
have all left him but you, marquis!"

"Does your majesty forget my Lord Marshal, the most amiable and
intellectual of your monks? It needs but a sign from his beloved prior
to recall him from Neufchatel!"

"It is true," said the king, smiling; "I am not so deserted as I
thought. Lord Marshal must return to us, and he must live here in
Sans-Souci, as you will. I must surround myself with those who deserve
my confidence; perhaps, then, I can forget how bitterly I have been
deceived by others. Come, marquis, give me your arm, and we will make a
tour of these rooms."

He placed his hand upon the arm of the marquis, and they passed through
the silent, deserted rooms, which seemed to greet the king with a
thousand remembrances. Perhaps it was that he might the more distinctly
hear the whispers of memory that he had commanded that no one should
receive him in Sans-Souci, that no servant should appear until called
for. Without noise or ceremony, he desired to take possession of this
house, in which he had not been the king, but the philosopher and poet.
He wished to return here, at least, as if he had only yesterday left the
house. But the seven years of care and sorrow went with him; they crept
behind him into these silent, deserted halls. He recognized them in the
faded furniture, in the dusty walls, and in the darkened pictures. They
were not merely around, but within him, and he again felt how utterly he
had changed in these years.

As they entered the room which Vol