This triumphant procession seemed changed to a
burial-march. The victor in so many battles seemed now mastered by
his memories.
The carriage drew up at Charlottenburg. The wide court was filled
with the inhabitants of the little city, who welcomed the king as
enthusiastically as the Berliners had done. Frederick saluted them
abruptly, and stepped quickly into the hall.
The castle had been changed into a temple of glory and beauty in
honor of the king's return. The pillars which supported it were
wound around with wreaths of lovely, fragrant blossoms; costly
draperies, gay flags, and emblems adorned the walls; the floors were
covered with rich Turkish carpets; the gilded candelabras shed their
variegated lights in every direction, irradiating the faces of the
court cavaliers glittering with stars and orders, and the rich
toilets of the ladies. The effect was dazzling.
In the middle of the open space two ladies were standing, one in
royal attire, sparkling in diamonds and gold embroideries, the other
in mourning, with no ornament but pearls, the emblem of tears. The
one with a happy, hopeful face gazed at the king; the other with a
sad, weary countenance, in which sickness, sorrow, and
disappointment had drawn their heavy lines, turned slowly toward
him; her large eyes, red with weeping, were fixed upon him with an
angry, reproachful expression.
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