The Holsteiner went up to the door and listened. When he came back he said, “He only walks and walks, and sighs heavily like a man in anguish of soul. So it always is now, they say. His Majesty nefer sleeps any more at night. The comedy-actor knows he is not up to his part, and of all life’s torments, wounded ambition becomes the bitterest.” “Then it should also be the last for us to jest at. Dare I beg the major to rub my right hand with snow; it is getting numb.” The Holsteiner did as he desired and turned back to the king’s door. He struck his forehead with both hands. His gray-sprinkled, bushy mustaches stood straight out, and he mumbled, “Gott, Gott! Soon it will be too dark to retreat.” The ensign called, “Good sir, I should like to ask if you would rub my face with snow. My cheeks are freezing stiff. Of the pain in my foot I will not speak. Ah, I can’t bear it.” The Holsteiner filled his hands with snow. “Let me stand guard,” he said, “only for an hour.” “No, no. The king has commanded that I stay here at the entrance.” “Och, the king! I know him. I will make him cheerful, talk philosophy, tell of gallant exploits. He is always amused to hear of a lover who climbs adventurously through a window. He often looks at the beautiful side of womankint. That appeals to his imagination, but not to his flesh, for he is without feeling. And he is bashful. If the fair one ever wishes to tread him under her silken shoe, she must herself attack; but if she pretends to flee, then all the other women must strive against a _liaison_. The most mighty lady his grandmother spoiled everything with her shriek of ‘Marriage, marriage!’ King Carolus is from top to toe like the Swedish queen Cristina, though he is genuinely masculine. The two should have married each other on the same throne. That would haf been a fine little pair. Oh, pfui, pfui! you Swedes. If a man gallops his horses and lets people and kingdom be massacred, he is still pure-hearted and supreme among all, only his bloot is too slow for amours. Oh, excuse me! I know pure-hearted heroes who were faithfully in love with two, three different maidens or wives in one and the same week.” “Yes, we are so, we are so. But for Christ’s pity you must rub my hand again. And excuse my moaning and groaning!” Just inside the gate, which could not be shut, lay the fallen Cossacks, white as marble with the hoarfrost. The yellow sky became gray, and ever nearer and more manifold in the twilight sounded the wailing cries: “Oohaho! Oohaho! Oohaho!” Now the king opened his door and came down across the garden. The pains in his head, from which he was accustomed to suffer, had been increased by his ride in the wind and made his glance heavy. His countenance bore traces of lonely soul-strife, but as he drew near, his mouth resumed its usual embarrassed smile. His temple was still blackened after the musket-shot.