“It is true it is now my turn to speak,” said Frederick, smiling.  “I will be brief.  Not only the lights, but also the eyes of Algarotti, are burning dimly; and look how the good marquis is, in thought, making love-winks toward his night-cap, which lies waiting for him upon his bed!  But be comforted, gentlemen, my story is short.  Like La Mettrie, I will relate a miracle, in which, however the eyes were profited, the stomach had no interest.  This miracle took place in Breslau, in the year 1747.

“Cardinal Zinzendorf was just dead, and the Duke Schafgotch, who some years before I had appointed his coadjutor, was to be his successor.  But the Silesians were not content.  They declared that Duke Schafgotch was too fond of the joys and pleasures of the world to be a good priest; that he thought too much of the beautiful women of this world to be able to offer to the holy Madonna, the mother of God, the sanctified, ardent, but pure and modest love of a true son of the church.  The pious Silesians refused to believe that the duke was sufficiently holy to be their bishop.  The sage fathers of the city of Breslau assured me that nothing less than a miracle could secure for him the love and consideration of the Silesiaus.  I had myself gone to Silesia to see if the statement of the authorities was well-founded, and if the people were really so discontented with the new bishop.  I found their statement fully confirmed.  Only a great miracle could incline the pious hearts of the Silesians to the duke.

“And now remark, messieurs, how Providence is always with the pious and the just—­this desired miracle took place!  On a lovely morning a rumor was spread abroad, in the city of Breslau, that in the chapel of the Holy Mother of God a miracle might be seen.  All Breslau—­the loveliest ladies of the haute volee, and the poorest beggars of the street—­rushed to the church to look upon this miracle.  Yes, it was undeniable!  The hair of the Madonna, which stood in enticing but wooden beauty upon the altar, whose clothing was furnished by the first modistes, and whose hair by the first perruquier—­this hair, wonderful to relate, had grown!  It was natural that she should exercise supernatural power.  The blind, the lame, the crippled were cured by her touch.  I myself—­for you may well think that I hastened to see the miracle—­saw a lame man throw away his crutch and dance a minuet in honor of the Madonna.  There was a blind man who approached with a broad band bound over his eyes.  He was led forward to this wonderful hair.  Scarcely had the lovely locks touched his face, than he tore the band from his eyes, and shouted with ecstasy—­his sight was restored!  Thousands, who were upon their knees praying in wrapt devotion, shouted in concert with him, and here and there inspired voices called out:  ’The holy Madonna is content with her new servant the bishop! if she were not, she would not perform these miracles.’  These voices fell like a match in this magazine of excitement.  Men wept and embraced each other, and thanked God for the new bishop, whom yesterday they had refused.