CHAPTER I.THE LONELY KING.
"Well, so let it be!" said the king, sighing, as he rose from his arm-chair; "I must go forth to the strife, and these old limbs must again submit to the fatigue of war.

But what matters it?
The life of princes is passed in the fulfilment of duties and responsibilities, and rarely is it gladdened with the sunny rays of joy and peace! Let us submit! "Yes, let us submit!" repeated the king, thoughtfully, slowly pacing his cabinet back and forth, his hands folded upon his staff behind him, and his favorite dog, Alkmene, sleepily following him.
It was a melancholy picture to see this bowed-down old man; his thin, pale face shaded by a worn-out, three-cornered hat, his dirty uniform strewn with snuff; and his meagre legs encased in high-topped, unpolished boots; his only companion a greyhound, old and joyless as his master.

Neither the bust of Voltaire, with its beaming, intelligent face, nor those of his friends, Lord-Marshal Keith and the Marquis d'Argens, could win an affectionate glance from the lonely old king.
He whom Europe distinguished as the Great Frederick, whom his subjects called their "father and benefactor," whose name was worthy to shine among the brightest stars of heaven, his pale, thin lips just murmured, "Resignation!" With downcast eyes he paced his cabinet, murmuring, "Let us submit!" He would not look up to those who were gazing down upon him from the walls--to those who were no more.

The remembrance of them unnerved him, and filled his heart with grief.

The experiences of life, and the ingratitude of men, had left many a scar upon this royal heart, but had never hardened it; it was still overflowing with tender sympathy and cherished memories.