Frederick was right; from the end of the street there came a long procession of men, headed by the two mayors, dressed in black robes, trimmed with broad red bands. They were followed by the senators, clothed in the same manner. A great number of the rich aristocrats of the city accompanied them.
Madame Blaken had stepped from the house, and was looking curiously at the approaching crowd, and while she and her maids were wondering what this could mean, the two Mr. Zollers entered the carriage, and their servant had mounted the box. “May I speak now?” said Deesen, turning to the king.
“Yes, speak,” said the king, “but quickly, or the crowd will take your secret from you.”
“Hostess!” cried Deesen, from the box, “do you know what that crowd means?”
“No,” she said, superciliously.
“I will explain; listen, madame. The magistrates are coming to greet the King of Prussia!”
“The King of Prussia!” shrieked the hostess. “Where is the King of Prussia?”
“Here!” cried Deesen, with a malicious grin, as he pointed to the king, “and I am his majesty’s cabinet-hussar! Forward, postilion!—quick, forward!”
The postilion whipped his horses, and the carriage dashed by the mayors and senators, who were marching to greet the King of Prussia. They never dreamed that he had just passed mischievously by them.
Two days later, the king and his companions stood on the Prussian border, on the spot where, in the beginning of their journey, the king had written the words “majesty” and “sire.”