“And permit me, sire, to say, that I apprehend I shall have no other reply to take the Prince of Bevern when I return.”
“You are a good diplomatist, Captain St. Arnaud. You know my meaning, without plaguing me with questions.”
“Thanks, sire; and as far as my errand goes I might leave to-morrow morning. But this young gentleman will not be able to move for a week at least, so the surgeon says.”
“And there is not a bridge standing within fifty miles, I hear. So make yourself satisfied, and exchange winter quarters at Breslau for winter quarters at Vienna for a little while. You will not find it gay. Last month, my sister, the Princess Amelia, was here, and there were some balls and concerts; but as the time for taking the field approaches there is work to be done. I have been wretchedly ill, and do not think I shall be well until spring opens, and I again sleep in a tent with the flap open.”
“Beating us evidently does not agree with your Majesty’s health.”
“Ah, well! This year—who knows? But, as you are a well-informed man, can you tell me of any campaign of ancient or modern times in which there have been such vast vicissitudes as in the last eight months?”
“Indeed, I cannot, your Majesty. The French and Austrians have alternated a Te Deum with a De profundis ever since this year’s leaves appeared on the trees.”
“So have I. Those two ladies I spoke of in Austria and Russia have given me no peace at all, nor do they seem likely to. I hear the Empress Queen has horsed her artillery from the imperial stables. We are quits, for I have melted up mountains of useless silver knick-knacks at my unused palaces for money for my pay chest. You see, I am frank—the wiseacres say I am too free in my talk—but I take it, that the world notes my determination to maintain my kingdom the better only for seeing how ready I am to sacrifice for my army the baubles which most kings cherish far beyond their value.”
“True, sire, her Majesty made no secret of it when she ordered the doors of the imperial stables to be thrown wide, and Field-Marshal Daun to take the best of all he saw.”
During this talk Gavin had listened with all his ears. The reflection came to him with great force, “How much more is there in personality than in words! Everything said by this great man, no matter how much it resembles the language of other men, has a deeper significance. His beautiful and eloquent eyes and his strangely musical voice make even his most ordinary conversation memorable.” And for once Gavin was willing to remain silent and a listener; so, too, was St. Arnaud; but Frederick was an admirable talker in two senses—he listened as gracefully as he talked, and his pleasure in being entertained was as strong as his pleasure in entertaining. He led St. Arnaud to speak of the French court. St. Arnaud, who had infinite tact, managed to describe it without touching on the ugly side of it—the scandals, the corruption, the weakness of the King, and the ascendancy of Madame de Pompadour. He did not once mention the favourite’s name; but when a pause in the conversation came, Frederick said suddenly: