“If your grace will give me the money, I will run after the messenger.  I know where to find him; he has gone to General Rothenberg’s.”

“Leave the room, scoundrel, and spare me your folly!”

Pollnitz raised his arm to strike, but the lackey fled and left him alone with his golden dreams of the future.

He hastily broke the seal and opened the letter.  “Not from the king, but from Fredersdorf,” he murmured impatiently.  As he read, his brow grew darker, and his lips breathed words of cursing and scorn.

“Refused!” said he passionately, as he read to the end, and cast the letter angrily to the floor.  “Refused!  The king has no money for me!  The king needs all his gold for war, which is now about to be declared; and, if I wish to convince myself that this is true, I must go to-night, at eleven o’clock, to the middle door of the castle, and there I will see that the king has no money.  A curious proposition, indeed!  I would rather go to discover that he had money, than that he had it not.  If he had it, I would find a means to supply myself.  At all events, I will go.  A curious rendezvous indeed—­a midnight assignation between a bankrupt baron and an empty purse!  A tragedy might grow out of it.  But if Frederick has really no money, I must seek elsewhere.  I will make a last attempt—­I will go to Trenck.”

The trusty baron made his toilet and hastened to Trenck’s apartments.  The young officer had lately taken a beautiful suite of rooms.  He had his reception-rooms adorned with costly furniture and rare works of art.  He had an antechamber, in which two richly-liveried servants waited to receive his orders.  He had a stable and four splendid horses of the Arabian breed, and two orderlies to attend to them!  From what quarter did Trenck obtain the money for all this livery?  This was an open question with which the comrades of the young lieutenant were exercised; it gave them much cause for thought, and some of them were not satisfied with thinking; these thoughts took form, some of their words reached the ears of Trenck, and must have been considered by him very objectionable.  He challenged the speaker to fight with the sword, and disabled him effectually from speaking afterward. [Footnote:  Frederick von Trenck’s Memoires.] Trenck was at dinner, and, contrary to custom, alone; he received Pollnitz most graciously, and the baron took a seat willingly at the table.

“I did not come to dine with you, but to complain of you,” said Pollnitz, cutting up the grouse with great adroitness and putting the best part upon his plate.

“You come to complain of me?” repeated Trenck, a little embarrassed.  “I have given you no cause for displeasure, dear friend.”

“Yes, you have given me good cause, even while I am your best friend!  Why have you withdrawn your confidence from me?  Why do I no longer accompany you on that most romantic midnight moonlight path to virtue?  Why am I no longer watchman and duenna when you and your lady call upon the moon and stars to witness your love?  Why am I set aside?”