ems to have been delayed. That is the
reason, your majesty, that Deesen is not in the anteroom."

"Very well," said the king; "as soon as Deesen returns he must come
to my library. I forbid you, however, to repeat one word of this
conversation."

"Ah, your majesty, I am well pleased that I need not do it, for Deesen
is very passionate, and if he learns that I have betrayed his secret he
is capable of giving me a box on the ear."

"Which would, perhaps, be very wholesome for you," said the king, as he
turned toward his library.

A quarter of an hour later, Deesen entered the library with a heated,
anxious face.

The king, who was reading his beloved Lucretius while he paced the
floor, turned his great, piercing eyes with a questioning expression on
the anxious face of his attendant. "I called for you, and you did not
come," said the king.

"I beg your majesty to pardon me," stammered Deesen.

"Where were you?"

"I was in my room writing a letter, sire."

"Ah, a letter. You were no doubt writing to that beautiful barmaid at
the hotel of the Black Raven at Amsterdam, who declined the attentions
of the servant of the brothers Zoller."

This reference to the journey to Amsterdam showed Deesen that the king
was not very angry. He dared, therefore, to raise his eyes to those of
the king, and to look pleadingly at him.

"Sit down." said the king, pointing to the writing-table. "I called you
because I wished to dictate a letter for you to write. Sit down and take
a pen."

Deesen seated himself at the table, and the king began walking up and
down as before, his hands and book behind him.

"Are you ready?" asked the king.

"I am ready, sire," returned Deesen, dipping his pen into the ink.
"Write then," commanded the king, as he placed himself immediately in
front of Deesen--"write, then, first the heading: 'My beloved--'"

Deesen started, and glanced inquiringly at the king. Frederick looked
earnestly at him, and repeated, "'My beloved--'"

Deesen uttered a sigh, and wrote.

"Have you written that?" asked the king.

"Yes, sire, I have it--'My beloved.'"

"Well, then, proceed. 'My beloved, that old bear, the king--' Write,"
said the king, interrupting himself as he saw that Deesen grew pale and
trembled, and could scarcely hold the pen--"write without hesitation, or
expect a severe punishment."

"Will your majesty have the kindness to dictate? I am ready to write
every thing," said Deesen, as he wiped his