“Biche, my faithful little friend, is it you?” said Frederick, throwing his pen aside and taking the little animal in his arms.  Biche began to bark with delight, nestle closely to her master, and look lovingly at him with her bright little eyes.  And the king—­he inclined his face on the head of his faithful little friend, and tears ran slowly down his cheeks. [Footnote:  Muchler, “Frederick the Great,” p. 350.  Rodenbeck, Diary, p. 137.]

“You have not forgotten me, my little Biche?  Ah, if men were true, and loved me as you do, my faithful little dog, I should be a rich, a happy king!”

General Rothenberg still stood at the half-opened door.  “Sire, said he, “is it only Biche who has the grandes and petites entrees, or have I also?”

“Ah, it was then you who brought Biche?” said Frederick, beckoning to the general to approach.

“Yes, sire, it was I, but I almost regret having done so, for I perceive that Biche is a dangerous rival, and I am jealous of her.”

“You are my best gentleman-friend, and Biche is my best lady-friend,” said the king, laughing.  “I shall never forget that Biche on one occasion might have discovered me to the Austrians, and did not betray me, as thousands of men would have done in her place.  Had she barked at the time when I had concealed myself under the bridge, while the regiment of pandours was passing over, I should have been lost.  But she conquered herself.  From love to me she renounced her instincts, and was silent.  She nestled close to my side, regarding me with her discreet little eyes, and licking my hand lovingly.  Ah, my friend, dogs are better and truer than mankind, and the so-called images of God could learn a great deal from them!”

CHAPTER XIII.

The flight.

Two months had passed since Trenck’s last attempted escape; two months of anguish, of despair.  But he was not depressed, not hopeless; he had one great aim before his eyes—­to be free, to escape from this prison.  The commandant had just assured him he would never leave it alive.

This frightful picture of a life-long imprisonment did not terrify him, did not agitate a nerve or relax a muscle.  He felt his blood bounding in fiery streams through his veins.  With a merry laugh and sparkling eye he declared that no man could be imprisoned during his whole life who felt himself strong enough to achieve his freedom.

“I have strength and endurance like Atlas.  I can bear the world on my shoulders, and shall I never be able to burst these doors and gates, to surmount these miserable fortress walls which separate me from liberty, the world of action, the golden sunshine?  No, no, before the close of this year I shall be free.  Yes, free! free to fly to her and give her back this letter, and ask her if she did truly write it? if these cold words came from her heart?  No, some one has dared to imitate her writing, and thus deprive