“And old Klaus?”
“Is dead!”
“And Fritz Verder?”
“Dead! He lies with the others upon the battle-field. There are seven hundred and fifty of us in heaven, and only two hundred and fifty on earth. But those above, as well as below, still cry—‘Long live our king!’”
“Long live our king,” cried they all, rising.
The king made no reply; his eye passed from one to the other pale, exhausted countenance, and an inexpressible sorrow overcame him.
“Dead!” murmured he, “my faithful guards dead! seven hundred and fifty of my choice men have fallen.” And overpowered by his emotion, the king did not force back the tears welling to his eyes. They stole softly down his cheek, and Frederick was not ashamed. He did not blush, because his warriors had seen him weep.
“Children,” cried the old officer, after a pause, and wiping the tears from his weary eyes, “from now on it will be glorious to die, for when we are dead, our king weeps for us.”