ery much out of humor," said General von
Saldern; "he has not left his study to-day, and doubtless he is
occupied with very serious plans."

"Perhaps even with the plan of a battle," said another of the
gentlemen, "for it is said that Lacy has advanced his army, and even
that Landon has left Dresden. A battle is therefore imminent, and the
king is evidently drawing up his plan."

At this moment the door of the study was opened, and the adjutant
motioned to Gotzkowsky to enter. As the latter was traversing the
hall, the generals cast an eager glance through the open door, anxious
to see the countenance of the king, and find out from its expression
whether this intolerable armistice was to be interrupted by the
violent clash of arms.

In the mean time, Gotzkowsky entered the chamber of the king, and
the door closed after him. He was now alone in the presence of the
monarch, who was still sitting at his writing-table, making rapid
strokes with his drawing-pencil on the paper before him.

"He is writing," said Gotzkowsky to himself, "and is perhaps in the
act of drawing out the plan of the battle which the generals out there
are awaiting with such joyous impatience. Yes, he is writing, and
perhaps each stroke of the pen may cost the lives of hundreds of human
beings." And he did not venture by a single word or a loud breath to
draw attention to his presence. On his entrance, the king had cast
on him one of his sharp, penetrating glances, before whose commanding
power many a general and many a brave man had quailed, and had then
bent his head again over the paper.

Absolute silence prevailed for a while. Suddenly the king interrupted
it, and motioned to Gotzkowsky with his hand to draw near. "Just look
and see whether that pleases you," said he, in a friendly tone. "You
are known as a connoisseur in art, and you have proved to me that you
understand painting. Look at that, and tell me whether you like it."

What was it that the king had drawn on the paper? Was it really, as
his brave generals wished, the plan of a battle soon to be fought,
was it a philosophical treatise, or one of those witty and piquant
epistles to which the king treated his friends? None of all these.

"A nosegay!" cried Gotzkowsky, as with unconcealed astonishment he
looked now on the paper, now on the king. "Your majesty is drawing a
bouquet of flowers, and out there the gentlemen have just told me in
confidence that you were busied with a plan