'I think they had better stay there,' said Moszynski. 'When the Prince becomes King----'
'My dear Count, send me also Corregio's Madonna! Take it from the Saxony Palace and send it! It is a masterpiece!'
Moszynski bowed.
'Any further orders?' asked he.
'Greet the musketeers; my father was very fond of them.'
The remembrance of his father made him gloomy, he sat down. Sulkowski, always anxious that his master should have that of which he was fond, went to tell a lackey to bring a fresh pipe. The Prince seized it quickly and began to smoke.
All were silent. Guarini looked attentively at Frederick; Moszynski waited in vain, for the Prince was so much absorbed in his pipe that he forgot about everything else.
At length Moszynski kissed the Prince's hand and took his leave. Frederick smiled on him affectionately, but said not a word more.
Sulkowski conducted Moszynski to the ante-room; the Prince remained with Guarini. Hardly had the door closed when the Prince turned to the Jesuit.
'That's nothing,' he whispered, 'when they only show each other their tongues, but when Frosch begins to abuse Horch, and the latter begins to kick, and then when both go under the table and fight, then one can die of laughter.'