“And now,” said Lord Marshal rapidly, wishing to interrupt all praise and all remark as to his poem; “I have yet a confession to make, and if you have not laughed over my verses, you will surely laugh at what I now state.  Out of love for my lost mistress, I became a Catholic.  I thought that the faith, to which my Victoire offered up her love, must be the true religion in which all love was grounded.  I wished to be hers in spirit, in life, and in death.  In spirit, in truth, I am a Catholic; and now, gentlemen, you may laugh.”

“Sublime!” whispered Voltaire.

“No one will smile,” said the king, sternly.  “Joy and peace to him who is a believer, and can lay his heart upon the cross, and feel strengthened and supported by it.  He will not wander in strange and forbidden paths, as we poor, short-sighted mortals often do.  Will you tell us the name of your beloved mistress, or is that a secret?”

“Sire, our love was pure and innocent; we dare avow it to the whole world.  My beloved’s name was Victoire de Froulay; she is now Marquise de Crequi.”

“Ah, the Marquise de Crequi!” said Voltaire, with animation:  “one of the wittiest and most celebrated women of Paris.”

“She is still living?” said the king, thoughtfully. “would you like to meet her again, my lord?”

“Yes, your majesty, for one hour, to say to her that I am a Catholic, and that we shall meet in heaven!”

“I will send you as ambassador to Paris, my lord, and you shall bear the marquise my greetings.” [Footnote:  Lord Marshal went to Paris, as an ambassador from Prussia, in 1751.]

“Your majesty will thus be acting an epigram for George of England,” said Voltaire, laughing.  “Two of his noblest rebels will be cementing the friendship of France and Prussia.  Lord Tyrconnel, the Irishman, is ambassador from France to Prussia, and my Lord Marshal Keith is to be ambassador from Prussia to France.  All, my lord! how will the noble marquise rejoice when her faithful knight shall introduce to her his most beautiful possession—­the young and lovely Mohammedan Zuleima!  How happy will Zuleima be when you point out to her the woman who loved you so fondly!  She will then know, my lord, that you also once had a heart, and have been beloved by a woman.”

“I will present my little Zuleima to the marquise,” said Lord Marshal; “and, when I tell her that she was a bequest of my dear brother, who, at the storming of Oschakow, where he commanded as field-marshal, rescued her from the flames, she will find it just and kind that I gave the poor orphan a home and a father.  I wish first, however, to give Zuleima a husband, if your majesty will allow it.  The Tartar Ivan, my chamberlain, loves Zuleima, and she shall be his wife if your majesty consents.”

“By all means,” said Frederick; “but I fear it will be difficult to have this marriage solemnized in Berlin.  Your Tartar, I believe, has the honor to be heathen.”