ly denied me, but went further--he trampled upon the orders of my
house, and held a Te Deum in the dome in honor of the Austrian victory
at Collin." The king ceased and turned away, that the marquis might not
see the tears that clouded his eyes.

"Sire," cried the marquis, deeply moved, "forget the ingratitude of
these weak souls, who were unworthy of a hero's friendship."

"I will; but enough of this. You are here, and I still believe in you,
marquis. You and the good Lord Marshal are the only friends left me to
lean upon when the baseness of men makes my heart fail."

"These friends will never fail you, sire," said the marquis, deeply
moved; "your virtues and your love made them strong."

The king took his hand affectionately. "Let us forget the past," said
he, gayly; "and as we both, in our weak hours, consider ourselves poets,
let us dream that we are in my library in our beloved Sans-Souci. We
will devote this holy time of peace to our studies, for that is, without
doubt, the best use we can make of it. You shall see a flood of verses
with which I amused myself in camp, and some epigrams written against my
enemies."

"But if we were even now in Sans-Souci, sire, I do not think you would
give this hour to books. I dare assert you would be practising with
Quantz, and preparing for the evening concerts."

"Yes, yes; but here we are denied that happiness," said the king, sadly.
"I have written for a part of my band, and they will be here I hope in
eight days; but Graun and Quantz will certainly not--"The king paused
and listened attentively. It seemed to him as if he heard the sound of a
violin in the adjoining room, accompanied by the light tones of a flute.
Yes, it was indeed so; some one was tuning a violin and the soft sound
of the flute mingled with the violoncello. A flush of rosy joy lighted
the king's face--he cast a questioning glance upon the marquis, who
nodded smilingly. With a joyful cry the king crossed the room--an
expression of glad surprise burst from his lips.

There they were, the loved companions of his evening concerts. There was
Graun, with his soft, dreamy, artistic face; there was Quantz, with his
silent, discontented look--whose grumbling, even Frederick was compelled
to respect; there was the young Fasch, whom the king had just engaged,
and who played the violoncello in the evening concerts.

As the king advanced to meet them, they greeted him loudly. "Long
live our king!--our great Fr