“Go on,” said suddenly the clear, commanding voice of the king, as he nodded to the poor youth, who disappeared behind the curtain.  “Go on,” said the king again.  The music commenced, and Barbarina, raising her garland of roses, swam like an elf over the boards.  The audience thought not of her grace and beauty.  They were wholly occupied with this curious adventure; they had forgotten her disgrace.  They thought only of Cocceji’s passionate love, and declared he was jealous as a Turk.  So Barbarina had gained her purpose.

CHAPTER XVII.

Sans-souci.

Early the next morning a plain, simple equipage stood at the gate of the new park in Potsdam.  The king and the Marquis D’Argens entered the carriage alone.  Frederick refused all other attendance; even his servants were forbidden to accompany him.

When the carriage stopped he opened the door himself, and springing lightly out, offered his arm to his older and less agile friend.  The marquis blushed like a young girl, and wished to decline this offered service of the king.

Frederick, however, insisted upon giving his assistance, and said, smiling:  “Forget, D’Argens, for this day, that I am a king; grant me the pleasure of passing the time with you without ceremony, as friend with friend.  Come, marquis, enter my paradise, and I pray you to encourage a solemn and prayerful mood.”

“Do you know, sire, I have a feeling of oppression and exaltation combined, such as the Grecians may have felt when they entered the Delphian valley?” said D’Argens, as arm in arm with the king they sauntered through the little shady side allee which the king had expressly chosen in order to surprise the marquis with the unexpected view of the beautiful height upon which the castle was erected.

“Well, I believe that many oracles will go out from this height to the world,” said Frederick; “but they shall be less obscure, shall bear no double meaning; shall not be partly false, shall contain great shining truths.  I also, dear D’Argens, feel inspired.  I seem to see floating before me through the trees a majestic, gigantic form of air, with uplifted arm beckoning me to follow her.  That is the spirit of the world’s history, marquis; she carries her golden book on her arm; in her right hand, with which she beckons me, she holds the diamond point with which she will engrave my name and this consecrated spot upon her tables.  Therefore, my holy father and priest.  I have brought you here to baptize my Weinberg.  Come, friend, that form of air beckons once more; she awaits the baptism with impatience.”