"Before I do that I must know your conditions," said the king, with difficulty subduing his rage.
"I demand for myself a major's commission, and the hand of Mademoiselle von Schwerin."
In the beginning the king looked at the bold speaker with angry amazement; soon, however, his glance became kind and pitiful. "I have to do with a madman," thought he; "I will be patient, and give way to his humor. I grant you your price," said he; "speak on."
So Fritz Wendel began. He made known the engagement of the prince; he explained the plan of flight; he was so clear, so exact in all his statements, that Frederick soon saw he was no maniac; that these were no pictures of a disordered brain, but a threatening, frightful reality.
When the gardener had closed, the king, his arms folded across his back, walked several times backward and forward through the room; then suddenly stopped before Fritz Wendel, and seemed, with his sharp glance, to probe the bottom of his soul.
"Can you write?" said the king.
"I can write German, French, English, and Latin," said he, proudly.
"Seat yourself there, and write what I shall dictate in German. Does Mademoiselle von Schwerin know your hand?"
"Sire, she has received at least twenty letters from me."
"Then write now, as I shall dictate, the one-and-twentieth."