“Fritz Kober is my name,” said the grenadier.
“And yours?”
“Charles Henry Buschman,” said the other.
“You are not mistaken, sir king! we have met and spoken before, but it was on a better night than this.”
“Where was it?” said the king.
“The night before the great, the glorious battle of Leuthen,” said Fritz Kober, gravely; “at that time, sir king, you sat at our tent-fire and ate dumplings with us. Charles Henry knows how to cook them so beautifully!”
“Ah! I remember,” said the king; “you made me pay my share of the costs.”
“And you did so, like a true king,” said Fritz Kober. “Afterward you came back to our tent-fire, and Charles Henry Buschman told you fairy tales, nobody can do that so beautifully as Charles Henry, and you slept refreshingly throughout.”
“No, no, grenadier,” said the king, “I did not sleep, and I can tell you to-day all that Charles Henry related.”
“Well, what was it?” said Fritz Kober, with great delight.