The king halted with a sudden jerk of the reins, and the lackeys rushed forward with chairs and cushions, to form a stairway for his easy descent, as before.
But with a quick movement Frederick waved them back. “Nothing of the kind,” said he. “I can dismount with the aid of your arm. I will, however, first rest a moment.”
He stroked Condé’s smooth, tapering neck, and the intelligent animal turned his head around, as if to look at his master and thank him for the caress.
“Yes, you know the hand that strokes you,” said the king, smiling. “We two have taken many a ride, and gone through rain and sunshine together. Farewell, my faithful Condé.”
He had bowed down over the animal’s neck to stroke its mane. When he raised his head, his quick, piercing eye observed a young officer coming over the terrace with an air of embarrassment; he hesitated and stood still, as if doubting whether he might be permitted to come nearer. “Who can that be?” asked the king, gayly. “What young officer have we here?—Come up, sir, and report.”
The young man hurried forward, stepped close up to the king’s horse, and saluted him by raising his right hand to his cap.
“I have the honor to report to your majesty,” said he, in clear, joyous tones. “I have been ordered here at this hour, and punctuality is the first duty of the soldier.”
“Well replied, sir,” said the king. “Give me your arm and assist me to dismount.”
The young officer hastened to obey the command, laid his hands on Condé’s neck, and stretched his arms out as firmly as if they had been made of iron and were capable of standing any pressure. The king grasped these living supports and slowly lowered himself from the horse’s back to the ground.
“Well done, my nephew, you have a strong arm, and, for your fifteen years, are quite powerful.”