“God, God!” said he, in low tones; “who can doubt that He is, and that He is from everlasting to everlasting?  Who, that looks upon the beauty, the harmony, and order of creation, can doubt of His wisdom, and that His goodness is over all His works? [Footnote:  The king’s own words.  “OEuvres posthumes,” page 162.] O my God, I worship you in your works of creation and providence, and I bow my head in adoration at the footstool of your divine Majesty.  Why cannot men be content with this great, mysterious, exalted, and ever-enduring church, with which God has surrounded them?  Why can they not worship in Nature’s great cathedral?  Why do they confine themselves to churches of brick and mortar, the work of men’s hands, and listen to their hypocritical priests, rather than listen to and worship God in His beautiful world?  They cry out against me and call me an infidel, but my heart is full of love and faith in my Creator, and I worship Him, not in priestly words, but in the depths of my soul.”

And now Frederick cast a smiling greeting to the lovely phenomena which lay at his feet.  His thoughts had been with God, and his glance upward; but now his eyes wandered over the perfumed and blooming valley which lay in the depths between the mountains; he numbered the little cities and villages, with their red roofs and graceful church-spires; he admired the straw-thatched huts upon whose highest points the stork had built her nest, and stood by it in observant and majestic composure.

“This is all mine; I won it with my spear and bow.  It is mine, and I will never yield it up.  I will prove to Maria Theresa that what was good to take was not good to restore.  No, no!  Silesia is mine; my honor, my pride, and my fame demand it.  I will never give it up.  I will defend it with rivers of blood, yes, with my own heart’s blood!”

He took his glass and looked again over the luxurious valley; he started and fixed his glass steadily upon one point.  In the midst of the smiling meadows through which the highway wound like a graceful stream, he saw a curious, glittering, moving mass.  At the first glance it looked like a crowd of creeping ants; it soon, however, assumed larger proportions, and, at last, approaching ever nearer, the forms of men could be distinctly seen, and now he recognized a column of marching soldiers.

“Austrians,” said the king, with calm composure.  He turned his glass in the other direction, where a road led into the valley; this path was also filled with soldiers, who, by rapid marches, were approaching the cloister.  “Without doubt they know that I am here,” said the king; “they have learned this in the village, and have come to take me prisoner.  Eh bien, nous verrons.”

So saying, Frederick put his glass in his pocket, descended the steps, and with cool indifference entered the room of the abbot.

“Messieurs,” said he, laughing merrily, as he looked at the good-natured and unsuspicious faces of the worthy abbot and the young officer, “we must decide upon some plan of defence, for the Austrians draw near on every side of the cloister.”