"Long life to the king! Long life to Frederick the Great!"
The carriage came nearer and nearer, and now myriads of lights
danced around it. The citizens had returned with their torches, and
the carriage of Frederick rolled on as if in a sea of fire. It drew
up at the arch of triumph. The king rose and turned his face toward
his people, who were shouting their glad welcome. The light from the
torches fell upon his countenance, and their red lustre gave his
cheek a fresh and youthful appearance.
His subjects saw once more his sparkling, speaking eye, in which
shone the same energy, the same imperial power, as in days gone by.
They saw the soft, sympathetic smile which played around his
eloquent lips--they saw him, their king, their hero, and were glad.
They laughed and shouted with rapture. They stretched out their arms
as if to clasp in one universal embrace their dear-loved king, who
was so great, so beautiful, so far above them in his bright
radiance. They threw him fond kisses, and every utterance of his
name seemed a prayer to God for his happiness.
But one stood by the carriage who could not speak--whose silent,
trembling lips were more eloquent than words.
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