Repand sur l’horizon une douce lumière,
Et ses derniers rayons qu’il darde dans les airs
Sont ses derniers soupirs qu’il donne à l’univers.”
He extended his hand to the count with a smile, and, when the latter bowed down to kiss it, a tear fell from his eyes on Frederick’s cold, bony hand.
The king felt this warm tear, and shook his head gently. “You are a strange man, and a very extravagant one. The idea of throwing away brilliants on an old man’s hand! It would be far better to keep them for handsome young people. Now you may go, and I hope to find you well when I return from my ride.”
Having intimated to the count, by a gesture of the hand, that he might withdraw, he turned slowly to his greyhound, Alkmene, which lay on a chair near the sofa, regarding the king with sleepy eyes.
“You are also growing old and weak, Alkmene,” said the king, in a low voice; “and your days will not be much longer in the land. We must both be up and doing if we wish to enjoy another ray of sunshine. Come, Alkmene, let us go and take an airing! Come!”
The greyhound sprang down from the chair and followed the king, who walked slowly to his chamber to prepare himself for the ride.
A quarter of an hour later the king, assisted by his two valets, walked slowly through his apartments to the door which opened on the so-called Green Stairway, and at which his favorite horse, Condé, stood awaiting him. The equerry and the chamberlain of the day stood on either side of the door, and at a short distance two servants held the horses of these gentlemen.
The king’s quick glance took in this scene at once, and he shook his head with displeasure. “No foolishness, no pomp!” said he, imperiously. “My servants alone will accompany me.”