For
Frederick's sake he had mounted a horse, a deed of daring he had not
ventured upon for many a year; in his lively impatience, he even
forgot the danger of being run away with or dragged in the dust.
The marquis knew well that nothing could be more disagreeable to the
king than this public reception, but his heart was overflowing with
hope and happiness, and he felt the necessity of shouting his vivats
in the sunny air. In the egotism of his love, he forgot to respect
the preferences of the king.
Perhaps Frederick suspected this triumph which his good Berliners
had prepared for him. Perhaps it appeared to his acute sensibilities
and noble heart altogether inappropriate to welcome the returned
soldiers with wild shouts of joy, when so many thousand loved ones
were lying buried on the bloody battle-field. Perhaps he did not
wish to see Berlin, where his mother had so lately died, adorned in
festal array.
Hour after hour passed. The sun was setting. The flowers which had
been taken from the greenhouses to decorate the arch of triumph,
bowed their lovely heads sadly in the rough March winds. The fresh,
cool breeze whistled through the light draperies and displaced their
artistic folds.
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