He threw himself with impetuosity on Jordan’s breast, and clasped him passionately in his arms.  Jordan returned the king’s embrace, and silently raised his moist eyes to heaven.  A prayer to “Our Father” spoke in that eloquent eye, a heart-felt, glowing prayer for this man now resting upon his bosom, and who for him was not the all-powerful and commanding sovereign, but the noble, loving, and beloved friend, this poet and philosopher, before whose mighty genius his whole soul bowed in wonder and admiration; but suddenly, in this moment of deep and pious emotion, a cold, an icy chill, seemed to shiver and play like the breath of death over his features, and the hot blood, like liquid metal, rushed madly through his veins; he gave a light, short cough; with a quick, abrupt movement, he released himself from the arms of the king.  Withdrawing a few steps, he turned away, and pressed his handkerchief to his lips.

“Jordan, you suffer, you are sick,” said the king, anxiously.

Jordan turned again to him; his face was calm, and even gay; his eyes beamed with that strange, mysterious, and touching fire of consumption which hides the shadow of death under the rosy lip and glowing cheek; and, less cruel than all other maladies, leaves to the soul its freshness, and to the heart its power to love and hope.

“Not so, sire,” said Jordan, “I do not suffer.  How can I be otherwise than well and happy in your presence?” As he said this he tried to thrust his handkerchief in his pocket.

The king looked earnestly at this handkerchief.  “Jordan, why did you press that handkerchief so hastily to your lips?”

Jordan forced a smile.  “Well,” said he, “I was obliged, as your majesty no doubt saw, to cough, and I wished to make this disagreeable music as soft as possible.”

“That was not the reason,” said Frederick; and, stepping hastily forward, he seized the handkerchief.  “Blood! it is drenched in blood,” said he, in a tone so full of anguish, that it was evident he recognized and feared this fatal signal.

“Well, yes, it is blood; your majesty sees I am blood-thirsty!  Unhappily, I do not shed the blood of your enemies, but my own, which I would gladly give, drop by drop, if I could thereby save my king one hour’s suffering or care.”

“And yet you, Jordan, are now the cause of my bitterest grief.  You are ill, and you conceal it from me.  You suffer, and force yourself to seem gay, and hide your danger from me, in place of turning to my physicians and demanding their counsel and aid.”

“Frederick the Wise once said to me, ’Physicians are but quacks and charlatans, and a man gives himself up to a tedious suicide who swallows their prescriptions.’”

“No, it was not ‘Frederick the Wise,’ but ‘Frederick the Fool,’ who uttered that folly.  When the sun is shining, Frederick has no fear of ghosts; but at the turn of midnight, he will breathe a silent ‘Father in heaven,’ to be protected from them.  We have no use for confidence in physicians when we are healthy; when we are ill we need them, and then we begin to hold them in consideration.  You are ill, your breast suffers.  I entreat you, Jordan, to call upon my physician, and to follow his advice promptly and systematically.  I demand this as a proof of your friendship.”