"Your courage must have fallen into your cuirassier boots, look for it there," I said to him in an undertone when he seemed ready to go to pieces at the entrance of the King's grand marshal, Count Vitzthum.
With that I advanced towards His Excellency and, holding out my hand to be kissed, took care to say to him with my most winning smile,
"I trust His Majesty will be pleased with me, for of course our grand reception was but a reflex of the love the people have for their King. I never for a moment took it as a personal compliment."
My smart little speech disconcerted the official completely. Maybe he had orders to say something disagreeable, but my remark disarmed him, forestalled any quarrel that might have been in the King's or Prince George's mind.
Frederick Augustus, who is no more intelligent than a future king should be, was so amazed, he had to think hard and long before he could even say "Good evening" to the Count. As for the latter, he hawed and coughed and stammered and cleared his throat until finally he succeeded in delivering himself of the following sublime effort:
"I will have the honor to report to His Majesty that during the time of your Imperial Highness's entry, your Imperial Highness thought of naught but the all-highest approval of His Majesty."
Whereupon I shook his hand again and dismissed him. "It will please me immensely, Count," I said, "immensely."