“Sire, I accept, and if your majesty will dismiss me, I will go at once to the cloister,” answered Baron von Thugut, whose manner had become graver and more serious since the king’s announcement of the intended advance.
“You are at liberty to withdraw. The good and hospitable monks have already been apprised of your arrival by an express courier, and have doubtless a good supper and a soft bed awaiting you.”
“Had your majesty the grace to be convinced of my return?” asked Thugut.
“I was convinced of the tender heart of the empress-queen, and that she would graciously try once more, in her Christian mercy, to convert such an old barbarian and heretic as I am. Go now to the cloister, and when I pass by in the morning, with my army, I will not fail to have them play a pious air for the edification of the diplomats—such as, ‘My soul, like the young deer, cries unto Thee,’ or, ‘Oh, master, I am thy old dog,’ or some such heavenly song to excite the diplomats to pious thoughts, and therewith I commend you to God’s care, Baron von Thugut.”
The king charged Herr von Herzberg to play the role of grand-chamberlain, and accompany the ambassador to his carriage, smiling, and slightly nodding a farewell.
The baron was on the point of leaving, when the king called to him.
“Had your majesty the grace to call me?” asked Thugut, hastily turning.
“Yes!” answered Frederick, smiling, and pointing to the string which had served to bind the baron’s papers. “You have forgotten something, my lord, and I do not like to enrich myself with others’ property.” [Footnote: Historical. The king’s words.—See Hormayr.]
Baron von Thugut took this last well-aimed stab of his royal opponent somewhat embarrassed, and hastened to pick up the string, and withdraw.