“I breathe better,” cried Von Bulow, snuffing the chill, clear air, “out of the quarters of that wretch.”
“Think what we have endured since this morning,” added his brother lieutenant. “We would have died where we sat rather than have acquiesced in murder; but we did not know whether our men would obey us or Dreisel.”
“Never mind, gentlemen,” quietly remarked Bohlen, “wait until I make my report to his Majesty. Dreisel then will rue the day he was born.”
It was late in the cold March afternoon, and the village inn looked very inviting. In it they went, and spent a long evening together. Great was the jollity of all of them, except Gavin, in whom all saw the signs of a reaction. He sat silent for the most part, and his eyes, when they met those of the others, were filled with tears of gratitude. When they separated for the night, St. Arnaud demanded but one room for himself and Gavin. Alone together, Gavin broke down utterly. St. Arnaud spent the night soothing and cheering him. And this was the man who had gone calmly to sleep while the question of hanging him was being debated!
Next morning, St. Arnaud announced that they would return to Breslau, for the purpose of expressing their thanks to the King and saying farewell. As for the report of the affair, Bohlen might be trusted to attend faithfully to that. Gavin submitted to the delay without a word. They reached Breslau in the afternoon, went straight to their old quarters, and at eight o’clock—the King’s usual hour for seeing them—they were sent for. Frederick received them with more than his usual grace; but neither St. Arnaud nor Gavin justly appreciated until then the true extent to which this man should be feared. He said but little of Dreisel; but the tones of his ringing voice and the sombre fire that shone in his steel-blue eyes would have made a braver man than Dreisel tremble. Frederick did not long dwell on the subject, which was necessarily a painful and embarrassing one for him, and soon turned the conversation into lighter and more playful channels.
“Bohlen tells me you wish to start very early to-morrow morning,” he said to St. Arnaud. “I can well believe that this young gentleman is a vast responsibility. I wish to express to you the pleasure I have had in the company of both, but especially of Captain St. Arnaud. I fear that history will say of me that I took no pleasure in anything but beating my enemy in the field. How great a mistake! I was formed for the pursuits of a peaceful but not inactive life. The reorganization of my country, the improvement of my people, a steady progress of the arts and sciences, a little recreation in the way of poetry and music, and the society of accomplished men—these would constitute my happiness. I have known but little of it. Instead I spend my summers in the saddle and my winters in planning for the summer campaign. Did but the Empress Queen command her armies in the field, as I do, she would make peace with me forever.”
St. Arnaud, not caring to discuss the only terms on which Frederick would make peace, contented himself with replying:
“The world, your Majesty, is loath to credit a man with more than one kind of excellence, and because you are a master of the art of war, it will always grudgingly admit what you have done or might do in the arts of peace. I can, sire, tell you truly, without the smallest flattery, that the hours I have spent with your Majesty are among the most valuable of my life; for I never failed to learn something from you that I did not know before.”
Frederick smiled graciously; he knew St. Arnaud to be a sincere man, and that his phrases, although courtier-like, were from an honest heart. And when, as they shook hands cordially, St. Arnaud said:
“And have I no message for the Prince of Bevern?”