Princess Tour hopes she shall lodge this unparalleled Prince in her Palace: "You, Madame ?" answers the Du Chatelet, privately, with a toss of her head: "His Majesty, I hope, belongs more to M.de Voltaire and me: he shall lodge here, please Heaven!" Voltaire, I can observe, has sublime hostelry arrangements chalked out for his Majesty, in case he go to Paris; which he does n't, as we know.

Voltaire is all on the alert, awake to the great contingencies far and near; the Chatelet-Voltaire breakfast-table,--fancy it on those interesting mornings, while the post comes round! [Voltaire, xxii.

238-256 (Letters 22d August-22d September, 1740).] Alas, in the first days of September,--Friedrich's Letter is dated "Wesel, 2d" (and has the STRASBURD DOGGEREL enclosed in it),--the Brussels Postman delivers far other intelligence at one's door; very mortifying to Madame: "That his Majesty is fallen ill at Wesel; has an aguish fever hanging on him, and only hopes to come:" VOILA, Madame!--Next Letter, Wesel, Monday, 5th September, is to the effect: "Do still much hope to come; to-morrow is my trembling day; if that prove to be off!"-- Out upon it, that proves not to be off; that is on: next Letter, Tuesday, September 6th, which comes by express (Courier dashing up with it, say on the Thursday following) is,--alas, Madame!--here it is:-- KING FRIEDRICH TO M.DE VOLTAIRE AT BRUSSELS.
"WESEL, 6th September, 1740.

"MY DEAR VOLTAIRE,--In spite of myself, I have to yield to the Quartan Fever, which is more tenacious than a Jansenist; and whatever desire I had of going to Antwerp and Brussels, I find myself not in a condition to undertake such a journey without risk.
I would ask of you, then, if the road from Brussels to Cleve would not to you seem too long for a meeting; it is the one means of seeing you which remains to me.

Confess that I am unlucky; for now when I could dispose of my person, and nothing hinders me from seeing you, the fever gets its hand into the business, and seems to intend disputing me that satisfaction.
"Let us deceive the fever, my dear Voltaire; and let me at least have the pleasure of embracing you.