“Nothing more than to warn you to prudence.  I do not believe all the world is deceived by your comedy with Marwitz.  The king, who appears to see nothing, sees all.  He has his spies everywhere, and knows all that happens in his family.  Be careful, be ever on your guard.”

“I thank you for your warning,” said Trenck, pressing the hand of the master of ceremonies.  “We must soon separate; you know that in a few weeks we go to Silesia.  The king is silently preparing for war.”

“I know it, and I pity you.”

“Pity me!  Ah, you do not understand me.  I long for my first battle as a lover does for his first sweet kiss.  The battle-field is for me a consecrated garden, where my laurels and myrtles grow.  I shall pluck them and weave wreaths for my bride-wedding wreaths.  Pollnitz, on the other side, beyond the bloody battle-ground, lies my title of prince, and Amelia’s bridle-wreath.”

“Dreamer, fantastic, hopeless dreamer!” cried Pollnitz, laughing.  “Well, God grant that you do not embrace death on the battle-field, or on the other side find a prison, to either of which you have a better claim than to a prince’s title.  Make use, therefore, of your time, and enjoy these charming interviews.  Is one arranged for this evening?”

“No, but to-morrow.  The reigning queen gives a ball to-morrow.  Immediately before the ball I am to meet the princess.  Oh, my friend, to-morrow evening at five think of me!  I shall be the happiest and most amiable of mortals.  I shall be with my beloved!”

“Alas! how strange is life, and how little do the fates of men resemble!  To-morrow, at the hour when you will be so unspeakably happy, I shall be walking in a thorny, a cursed path; I shall be on my way to the usurer.”

“To the usurer?  That is indeed a sad alternative for a cavalier like the Baron von Pollnitz.”

“But that is still better than imprisonment for debt, and I have only the choice between these two, unless you, dearest friend, will take pity upon me and lend me a hundred louis d’ors.”

Frederick Trenck said nothing.  He stepped to his desk.  The eyes of the baron glittered with joy as he saw Trenck take out a pocket-book, in which he knew by pleasant experience that the young officer sometimes kept gold.  His joy was of short duration.  No gold was seen.  Trenck took out a small, modest, unsealed paper and handed it to him.

“Look at this draft,” said he.  “Had you come yesterday I could have accommodated you joyfully.  To-day it is impossible.  I have this morning lent my colonel two hundred ducats, and my purse is empty.”

“Well, you must soon fill it,” said Pollnitz, with a coarse laugh.  “To-morrow at five you will enjoy your rendezvous, and you will not only speak of God, and love, and the stars, but also a little of earthly things—­of pomp and gold, and—­Farewell!”

With a gay laugh Pollnitz took leave, but he no sooner found himself alone upon the street than his face grew black arid his eye was full of malice.