Schmucker and De Catt were privately twitching up Friedrich's curiosity,--to whom also Zimmermann's name, and perhaps his late surgical operation, might be known: "Can he speak French ?"--"Native to him, your Majesty." Friedrich had some notion to see Zimmermann; and judicious De Catt, on this fortunate Saturday, "26th October, 1771," morrow after Zimmermann's arrival at Potsdam, "came to our inn about, 1 P.M.

[King's dinner just done]; and asked me to come and look at the beauties of Sans-Souci [Big Sans-Souci] for a little." Zimmermann willingly went: Catt, left him in good hands to see the beauties; slipt off, for his own part, to "LITTLE Sans-Souci;" came back, took Zimmermann thither; left, him with Schmucker, all trembling, thinking perhaps the King might call him.

"I trembled sometimes, then again I felt exceeding happiness:" I was in Schmucker's room, sitting by the fire, mostly alone for a good while, "the room that had once been Marquis d'Argens's" (who is now dead, and buried far away, good old soul);--when, at last, about half-past 4, Catt came jumping in, breathless with joy; snatched me up: "His Majesty wants to speak with you this very moment!" Zimmermann's self shall say the rest.
"I hurried, hand-in-hand with Catt, along a row of Chambers.

'Here,' said Catt, 'we are now at the King's room!'-- My heart thumped, like to spring out of my body.

Catt went in; but next moment the door again opened, and Catt bade me enter.
"In the middle of the room stood an iron camp-bed without curtains.
There, on a worn mattress, lay King Friedrich, the terror of Europe, without coverlet, in an old blue roquelaure.