genius that brings discord and strife into the world.
They say that if Frederick of Prussia did not exist, the entire
world would be a paradise of peace and love. I could say to them, as
Demosthenes said to the Athenians: 'If Philip were dead, what would it
signify? You would soon make another Philip.' I say to the Austrians:
'Your ambition, your desire for universal reign, would soon rouse other
enemies. The liberties of Germany, and indeed of all Europe, will always
find defenders.' We will speak no more of these sad themes; they belong
to the past and the future. Let us try to forget, friend, that we are
in winter quarters at Breslau, and imagine ourselves to be at our dear
Sans-Souci."

"In our beautiful convent," said the marquis, "whose abbot has so long
been absent, and whose monks are scattered to the four winds."

"It is true," sighed the king, gloomily, "widely scattered; and when the
abbot returns to Sans-Souci, every thing will be changed and lonely. Oh,
marquis, how much I have lost since we parted!"

"How much you have gained, sire! how many new laurels crown your heroic
brow!"

"You speak of my victories," said the king, shaking his head; "but
believe me, my heart has suffered defeats from which it will never
recover. I am not speaking of the death of my mother--although that is
a wound that will never heal; that came from the hand of Providence;
against its decrees no man dare murmur. I speak of more bitter, more
cruel defeats, occasioned by the ingratitude and baseness of men."

"Your majesty still thinks of the unworthy Abbot of Prades," said
D'Argens, sadly.

"No, marquis; that hurt, I confess. I liked him, but I never loved
him--he was not my friend, his treachery grieved but did not surprise
me. I knew he was weak. He sold me! Finding himself in my camp, he made
use of his opportunity and betrayed to the enemy all that came to his
knowledge. He had a small soul, and upon such men you cannot count. But
from another source I received a great wrong--this lies like iron upon
my heart, and hardens it. I loved Bishop Schaffgotsch, marquis; I called
him friend; I gave him proof of my friendship. I had a right to depend
on his faithfulness, and believe in a friendship he had so often
confirmed by oaths. My love, at least was unselfish, and deserved not
to be betrayed. But he was false in the hour of danger, like Peter who
betrayed his Master. The Austrians had scarcely entered Breslau, when he
not on