"Oh, that the whole world could hear the exalted and high-hearted words of my king!" cried Pollnitz, with well-acted enthusiasm. "Thrice blessed is that nation which has such a ruler!"
The king looked at him searchingly. "You flatter me; you want something, of course."
"No, sire, I swear I come with the purest intentions."
"Intentions? You have, then, intentions?"
"Yes, sire, but now that I stand here face to face with you, I feel that my courage fails, and I cannot speak what I intended."
"Now truly," said the king, laughing, "the circumstances must indeed be dangerous which deprive Baron Pollnitz of the power of speech."
"Words, your majesty, are important things. Once a few words saved me from death; it may be that a few words, spoken this day to your majesty, may bring me into disfavor, and that would be worse than death."
"What were the words which saved you from death?"
"These, sire: 'Va-t-en, noble guerrier!'"
"This took place in France?"