The king said nothing. He looked at the handsome, healthy, and radiant youth with a glance of profound sympathy and regret.
Frederick von Trenck saw nothing of this. "Does your majesty command me to join my regiment at Berlin?" said he, in the most unembarrassed manner.
And now the king's eyes flashed with rage. "From whence come you?" said he, sternly.
"From Berlin, sire."
"Where were you before you were sent to Berlin?"
"In arrest, sire."
"Go, then, to your old place—that is to say, in arrest!"
Frederick von Trenck remained in arrest till every preparation was completed. The army was ready to march. The king assembled his officers, and announced to them that they were bound once more to Silesia to bloody battle, and, with God's help, to glorious victory. On that day Frederick von Trenck was released from arrest. The king received him with a gracious smile, and commanded him to remain near him. Trenck's comrades envied him because of the royal favor; because of the friendly smiles and gracious words which, more than once during the day, the king directed to him. No one understood how Trenck could remain sad and silent under all these evidences of royal favor; no one understood how this gallant young officer could enter upon this campaign with bowed head and heavy brow; he should have sat upon his horse proud and erect—not dreaming, not lost in melancholy musing.
No one but the king could comprehend this; his sympathetic soul was touched by every emotion of his young officer, and he had pity for every pang he inflicted. All this vast crowd of men had taken leave of those they loved and cherished. Trenck alone had been denied this solace. They had all received a love-greeting, a blessing, and a last fond kiss—a last tear to encourage them in battle, perhaps in death. Trenck had no kiss, no blessing, no farewell. He had said farewell to fortune, to love and hope; and even now, though marching to battle, perhaps to victory, he had no future. Tears were flowing for him, and tears would be his only inheritance.