“Nor shall I, my brave fellow,” replied the King, giving his hand to the soldier, who kissed it with deep emotion. The King passed on from bed to bed, but just as he was about to leave he said to his suite, “I must see that man again whose birthday it is,” and returning to the musketeer’s cot he talked with him for some time. That night, after the invalid was asleep and dreaming of his sovereign, one of the royal huntsmen appeared with a gold watch and chain, sent by the King as a remembrance of the day. The lucky man was often asked where he got this fine watch. “Guess!” he would always say, and after the inquisitive questioner had tried in vain to solve the riddle, he would shout with a beaming face: “It is from my King, my good King William!” * * * * * * * * Once while the King was visiting the hospital at Versailles with the Crown Prince and several of his generals, they came to the cot of a Silesian militiaman who had had his right leg amputated and been shot in the right shoulder also. When asked what his injuries were, he replied: “I have lost my right leg, Your Majesty, which troubles me much, for now I shall not be able to go on to Paris with the rest of the army. And besides that the churls have shot me here in the shoulder.” Every one laughed, and the King said: “Cheer up, my son! You shall have a new leg and enter Paris with us yet.” “That may be, sire,” declared the simple-hearted Silesian, “but I can never win the Iron Cross now.” Again there was a laugh; but the Crown Prince laid his hand on the brave fellow’s head, saying, “You shall have that too, my man,” and the King quietly nodded assent and passed on, his eyes moist with tears. * * * * * * * * On another cot at this same hospital lay a pale young infantryman. The physician had given him a sleeping potion which had brought temporary forgetfulness of his sufferings. As the Emperor stood quietly looking down at him, his eye fell on an album which the invalid had evidently been reading when sleep overtook him. He picked it up and wrote in pencil on one of the pages, “My son, always remember your King,” then laid it back on the bed and passed on. When the wounded man awoke and found his sovereign’s greeting, tears of joy streamed down his cheeks and he pressed the precious writing to his lips, sobbing. On the Emperor’s next visit he saw, by the deathly pallor of the wounded infantryman, that death was near and the poor fellow was past all aid or comfort. But the soul had not yet left the body, a gleam of consciousness still lingered in the fast-glazing eyes, and he recognized the Emperor standing beside him. The half-closed eyelids opened wide, and with a last supreme effort the dying man lifted himself and cried out, “Yes, I will remember Your Majesty, even up above!” then fell back lifeless on his cot.