“Don’t try the window, my fine fellow,” said Frederick gayly, but with a warning note in his voice; “you do not suppose I am here without any escort? The fact is, however, I did not think there was a Frenchman or an Austrian in a hundred miles. What is your name and rank?” to St. Arnaud.
“Captain St. Arnaud, of the regiment of Dufour, and this is Sublieutenant Hamilton” (which he pronounced no better than Gavin) “of my regiment. We have been running away from you ever since Rosbach, and now, presto! you catch us like a couple of chickens in a barnyard.”
THE KING DRAGGED GAVIN OUT OF THE CLOSET
“And I broke up your little evening party with this lady. I suspected her of being a spy, but she charmed me so with her music and dancing that I forgot to ask her a word, and gave her the only thing of value I had about me—my snuff-box. But I must let my staff know that, single-handed, I captured a couple of tall Frenchmen.” Then calling loudly in his clear, musical voice “Steiner!” a young officer opened the door as quickly as if he had sprung from the ground. When he saw St. Arnaud and Gavin he started with amazement.
“Taken with my own hand,” said Frederick with a wave of his arm. “My compliments to the chief and the other gentlemen of my staff, and say I will not rejoin them to-night, but I shall be ready to start at daylight in the morning, and to keep a good lookout. There may be more than two Frenchmen about. You, Steiner, I will have to attend me; and keep the others well off in the other part of the house. We may have a little music while the rest are having their pipes and beer. And bring my writing-desk with you; I shall have work to do presently.”
Steiner disappeared, and Madame Ziska, St. Arnaud, and Gavin, as if realizing that they were in the presence of the greatest king of his age, remained silent and standing.
“Pray be seated,” said Frederick, with the charming manner he possessed, but did not always use. “It is not often I have either leisure or pleasure—the business of being a king requires a man to work like a galley-slave—but to-night I will indulge myself. I will imagine myself as I was twenty years ago, when, so far from fighting the French, I loved all that was French. Come, Madame, one more song.”
Madame Ziska rose, and going to the harpsichord, sang a little French chansonnette. Frederick seemed delighted with it. As he truly said, it was as if he had gone back twenty years, when music and literature made up his life, and the future great captain was the gentle and studious Crown Prince.
“And he sings,” said Madame Ziska, pointing to St. Arnaud as she rose.