"It will appear so, sire; but no man of intellect and thought will be duped by this seeming inconsistency. If the part which I play seem unworthy, I may be excused in view of my motive--at all events, I do not think it wrong. The folly of mankind has left me but one alternative--to be a hypocrite, or to prepare bitter grief for my relations, who love me tenderly. 'Out of love,' then, for my family, I will die a hypocrite. [Footnote: The marquis returned to Provence, in his seventieth year, and died there. The journals hastened to make known that he died a Christian, recanting his atheistical philosophy. The king wrote to the widow of the marquis for intelligence on this subject. She replied that her husband had received the last sacraments, but only after he was in the arms of death, and could neither see nor hear, and she herself had left the room. The marquise added: "Ah, sire, what a land is this! I have been assured that the greatest service I could render to my husband would be to burn all his writings, to give all his pictures to the flames; that the more we burn on earth of that which is sinful or leads to sin, the less we shall burn in hell!"--Oeuvres Posthumes, vol. xii., p. 316.] But, sire, why should we speak of death? why disquiet the laughing spirits of the Greeks and Romans, who now inhabit this their newest temple by discoursing of graves and skeletons?" "You are right, marquis--away with the ghastly spectre! This present life belongs to us, and a happy life it shall be. We will sit at the feet of Voltaire, and learn how to banish the sorrows of life by wit and mocking laughter. With the imagination and enthusiasm of poets, we will conceive this world to be a paradise. And now tell me what other news you have brought back with you from Berlin." "Well, sire, Voltaire is not the only star who has risen in Berlin. There are other comets which from time to time lighten the heavens, and then disappear for a season to reappear and bring strife and war upon the earth." Frederick looked searchingly upon the marquis. "You speak in riddles--what comet has returned?" "Sire, I know not what to call it. She herself claims a name, her right to which is disputed by the whole world, though she swears by it." "She? it is, then, a woman of whom you speak?" "Yes, sire; a woman whom for years we worshipped as a goddess, or at least as an enchanting fairy--Barbarina has returned to Berlin." "Returned?" said the king, indifferently; but he walked away thoughtfully to the end of the terrace, and gazed upon the lovely landscape which, in its quiet beauty, brought peace to his heart, and gave him the power of self-control.