It looked like a monstrous coffin surrounded by death-lights.
Frederick gazed long and steadily at the castle. He raised his head
once more, but not to greet his subjects. He covered his face--he
would not be looked at in his grief. D'Argens heard him murmur, "My
mother, oh my mother! Oh, my sister!"
The Prussians welcomed joyously the return of their great king, but
Frederick thought only at this moment of those who could never
return--those whom death had torn from him forever. Onward, onward
through the lighted streets! All the inhabitants of Berlin seemed to
be abroad. This was a Roman triumph, well calculated to fill the
heart of a sovereign with just pride.
The Berliners did not see that Frederick had no glance for them.
Gloom and despair veiled his countenance, and no one dreamed that
this king, whom they delighted to honor, was at this proud moment a
weeping son, a mourning brother.
At last the joyous, careless city lay behind them, and they
approached Charlottenburg.
The noise and tumult gradually ceased, and a welcome quiet ensued.
Frederick did not utter one word, and no one dared to break the
oppressive silence.
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