“If you would save him, be silent!  The king can be merciful when it was the mother who attempted to liberate the son; he will be inexorable if another has made this mad attempt; and, above all, if he cannot punish the transgressor, my son’s punishment will be doubled.”

“Listen to her words, princess, adopt her counsel,” whispered the weeping Ernestine.  “Preserve yourself for the unfortunate Trenck; protect his friends by your silence, and we may still hope to form a better and happier plan of escape.”

“Be it so,” said the princess with a sigh.  “I will bring him this additional sacrifice.  I will be silent.  God knows that I would willingly lay down my life for him.  I would find this easier than to veil my love in cowardly silence.  Come, I will conduct you to the king.”

“But I have not yet told your royal highness that the king is in his library, and has ordered that no one should be admitted to his presence.”

“I will be admitted.  I will conduct you through the private corridor and the king’s apartments, and not by the way of the grand antechamber.  Come.”

She seized the countess’s hand and led her away.

The king was alone in his library, sitting at a table covered with books and papers, busily engaged in writing.  From time to time he paused, and thoughtfully regarded what he had written.  “I have commenced a new work, which it is to be hoped will be as great a success in the field of science as several that I have achieved with the sword on another field.  I know my wish and my aim; I have undertaken a truly noble task.  I will write the history of my times, not in the form of memoirs, nor as a commentary, but as a free, independent, and impartial history.  I will describe the decline of Europe, and will endeavor to portray the follies and weaknesses of her rulers. [Footnote:  The king’s own words.  “OEuvres posthumes:  Correspondance avec Voltaire.”] My respected colleagues, the kings and princes, have provided me with rich materials for a ludicrous picture.  To do this work justice, the pencil of a Hollenbreughel and the pen of a Thucydides were desirable.  Ah! glory is so piquant a dish, that the more we indulge, the more we thirst after its enjoyment.  Why am I not satisfied with being called a good general? why do I long for the honor of being crowned in the capitol?  Well, it certainly will not be his holiness the pope who crowns me or elevates me to the rank of a saint—­truly, I am not envious of such titles.  I shall be contented if posterity shall call me a good prince, a brave soldier, and a good lawgiver, and forgives me for having sometimes mounted the Pegasus instead of the war horse.”

With a merry smile, the king now resumed his writing.  The door which communicated with his apartments was opened softly, and Princess Amelia, her countenance pale and sorrowful, looked searchingly into the room.  Seeing that the king was still writing, she knocked gently.  The king turned hastily and angrily.