ed grief, for every one who had the happiness to approach loved
and admired her for her many virtues--for her great kindness. And I
feel, I know, that sorrow for the ruin of Prussia has caused her death.
She was too noble a princess, too tender a mother, to outlive Prussia's
destruction and her son's misfortune."

"But your majesty knows that the queen was suffering from an incurable
disease."

"It is true I know it," said the king, sinking slowly upon his
camp-stool. "I feared that I might never see her again, and still this
news comes totally unexpected."

"Your majesty will overcome this great grief as a philosopher, a hero."

"Ah, my friend," said the king, sadly, "philosophy is a solace in past
and future sufferings, but is utterly powerless for present grief; I
feel my heart and strength fail. For the last two years I have resembled
a tottering wall. Family misfortune, secret pain, public sorrow,
continual disappointment, these have been my nourishment. What is
there wanting to make of me another Job? If I wish to survive these
distressing circumstances, I must become a stoic. For I cannot bring the
philosophy of Epicurus to bear upon my great sorrows. And still," added
the king, the dejected look disappearing from his countenance, and
giving place to one of energy and determination, "still, I will not be
overcome. Were all the elements to combine against me, I will not fall
beneath them."

"Ah!" cried Le Catt, "once more is my king the hero, who will not only
overcome his grief, but also his enemies."

"God grant that you are a true prophet!" cried the king, earnestly.
"This is a great era; the next few months will be decisive for Prussia:
I will restore her or die beneath her ruins!"

"You will restore!" cried Le Catt, with enthusiasm.

"And when I have made Prussia great," said the king, relapsing into his
former gloom, "my mother will not be here to rejoice with me. Each
one of my home--returning soldiers will have some one--a mother, a
sweetheart--to meet them with tears of joy, to greet them tenderly. I
shall be alone."

"Your people will advance, gladly, to meet you; they will greet you with
tears of joy."

"Ah, yes," cried the king, with a bitter smile, "they will advance to
meet me joyfully; but, were I to die the same day, they would cry: 'Le
roi est mort--vive le roi!' and would greet my successor with equal
delight. There is nothing personal in the love of a people to its
sovereign; they l