e hardships and necessities of war, that he should
have lost nothing of the fulness of tone or the power and energy of
execution. It worried him that the notes no longer flowed so clearly;
it vexed him to hear a sharp, whistling sound, that seemed to
accompany the melody as with a painful sigh. He threw the flute
aside, and stepped to a looking-glass, which he took up with evident
unwillingness.

It was very seldom that the king held it worth his while to consult
the mirror about his personal appearance, and when he did so, it
was usually to inquire for some failing or evidence of frailty which
restricted him in the freedom of his being. And while he thus looked
at himself, his features assumed a sad expression, and his eyebrows
became contracted.

What was it, which thus put out of humor the brave hero, the
victory-crowned king?

He became aware that his second front tooth had broken off. The gap
thus caused was the natural explanation of the want of clearness in
his playing. He threw the mirror angrily aside, and with a frown on
his brow paced rapidly up and down the room two or three times.

But gradually another expression succeeded, and a sarcastic smile
played around his mouth. Again he stepped to the writing-table, on
which lay several unfinished letters. Looking for the one he had
commenced to the Countess Camas, he said to himself: "The good
countess inquires after my personal appearance. Well, now that I am in
the humor, I will draw my portrait for her."

Again he took up the hand-glass and regarded himself long and
attentively; but this time not with vexation or ill-humor, but with
the cheerful smile and dignified calm of a philosopher. He then
applied himself to his writing: "You ask how I look, dear mother. The
disorder of war has made me so old, that you would hardly recognize
me. My hair is quite gray on the right side of my head; my teeth break
off and fall out; my face is as full of wrinkles as the furbelow of a
woman's frock; my back as bent as that of a monk of La Trappe. Only
my heart is unchanged; and, as long as I have breath, will preserve
feelings of esteem and the most tender friendship toward you, good
mamma."[1]

As the king read over this description of his appearance once more, he
broke into a loud, merry laugh. He then pushed the letter aside, and
took up another piece of paper, and a drawing-pencil.

Silence prevailed now in the cabinet of the king. Outside was heard
the monotono