"One thing more, Pollnitz," said the king, his eye resting with a piercing expression on the smiling countenance of the courtier; "one thing more—above all things, no cheating, no bad jokes, no overrating, no accounts written with double chalk. I will never forgive any thing of this kind, remember that."
Without awaiting an answer, the king turned and re-entered his room.
Baron Pollnitz stared after him with widely-distended eyes; he felt as if a thunderbolt had destroyed his future.
This was not the extravagant, voluptuous, and confiding monarch that Pollnitz had thought him, but a sober, earnest, and frugal king, that even mistrusted and saw through him, the wily old courtier.
CHAPTER XV.
WE ARE KING.
Two days and nights had passed, and still no news from the prince royal. King Frederick William still lived, and the little court of Rheinsberg was consumed with impatience and expectation. All means of dissipation were exhausted. Time had laid aside its wing, and put on shoes of lead. She flew no longer, but walked like an aged woman. How long an hour seems, when you count the seconds! How terribly a day stretches out when, with wakeful but wearied eyes, you long for its close!
Kaiserling's wit and Chazot's merry humor, where are they? Why is Bielfeld's ringing laugh and the flute of Quantz silenced? All is quiet, all are silent and waiting, dreaming of the happiness in store for them, of the day of splendor, power, and magnificence that will dawn for the favorites and friends of the prince royal when he ascends the throne.
Is it not a proud and delightful thing to be the confidant and companion of a king—to spend with him his treasures and riches, to share with him the devotion and applause of the people?