“The same as of old, indeed!” smiled Leuchtmar.  “These two years have made an old man of me, and blanched my hair.  I not merely longed after you, I grieved for you, knowing, as I did, what your grace had to bear and suffer.  My heart was weighed down by grief and sorrow when I thought of what my beloved young master was undergoing.”

“It is true,” said Frederick William.  “I have gone through hard trials and had many humiliations to endure.  I have been treated as an adventurer and alien, unworthy of being employed or consulted.  I was forever subjected to suspicion, and accused of coveting a throne before my time.  If I asked after my father’s health, he supposed I did so because I longed for his death; and if I made no inquiries, he accused me of indifference and want of natural affection.  Alas!  Leuchtmar, in the despair of my soul I have actually thought at times that the beggar on the street had an enviable fate compared with that of the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg—­and—­But hush! hush!  I will no longer think of the past with bitterness and chagrin.  Reproach against my father shall never pass my lips.  He rests with God, and, as his soul has entered into everlasting rest, let us not stir up the ashes of memory, but let peace be between father and son, eternal peace!  And now, my friend, be the past forgotten and blotted out, with all its pains and wounds, and to the present and future only be our thoughts dedicated.  You are here; I have again my most trusted friend; and in this the very first hour of our reunion I will confess something to you, Leuchtmar, which you indeed have long since known, but which I in the arrogance of youth have sometimes denied.  I now feel that Socrates was a wise man when he said, ’Our education begins with the first day of life, nor is complete upon the last.’  Fate has indeed placed me in a difficult school, and I am conscious that I am far from possessing adequate attainments, and that there is still much for me to study and digest.  Therefore, my friend, from you I demand aid, that I may study to some purpose, and that I may at least take position in the world and among posterity as a first-class scholar.”

“Ah! most gracious sir,” said Leuchtmar, smiling, “you are already more than that, and have in these two years of trial passed your examen abiturientium with great distinction.”

“And think you I am entered now as a student in the high school of knowledge?  Yes, Leuchtmar, such is indeed the case, and since it may well be that at times I shall make false steps, and commit blunders through inadvertence or misunderstanding, I demand of you to point out to me my mistakes.”

“But, your highness, I might myself be the one in error, and in my short-sightedness attempt to teach one much better acquainted with the subject than myself.”

“In such case let us weigh and compare opinions, when, surely, we shall discover the right.  Only promise me this one thing, Leuchtmar, that on all occasions you will speak the truth to me, according to the best of your knowledge and perception—­that you will not conceal it from me, even when you may know that it will be irksome and disagreeable to me.  Will you promise me this, my friend?”