“Sire, your majesty said, ‘Tell the crown prince that I order him’--and there you ceased. I added ‘order him to love Wilhelmine Enke, and be faithful to her.’ I beg pardon for my mistake. I should have known that your majesty could never command the execution of that which is not to be forced; that my great king recognizes, as well as I, that love is not compulsory, or fidelity either. Pardon me for my impertinence, and tell me the order which I shall take to the crown prince from my beloved king and master.” The king stepped close up to the minister, and gazed with a half-sad, half-tender expression in the noble and gentle face of Herzberg, and in the sensible brown eyes, which sank not beneath the fiery glance of Frederick. Then, slowly raising his hand from the staff, he menaced him with his long, bony forefinger. “Herzberg, you are a rogue, and will teach me morals. Indeed, you are right--love is not compulsory, but one can sometimes aid it. Say nothing to the prince. The interior of his house must, indeed, be left to himself, but we will keep our eyes open and be watchful. Do so also, Herzberg, and if you discover any thing, tell me; and if Wilhelmine Enke needs assistance against the infamous Rosicrucians, and with her aid this mystic rabble can be suppressed, inform me, and I am ready to send her succor. Ah! Herzberg, is it not a melancholy fact that one must fight his way through so much wickedness to obtain so little that is good? My whole life has passed in toil and trouble; I have grown old before my time, and would rest from my labors, and harvest in the last few years, what I have sown in a lifetime. Is it not sad that I hope for no fruit, and that the seed that I have scattered will be trodden under foot by my successor? I must gaze at the future without joy, without consolation!” The king turned to the window, perhaps to hide the tears which stood in his eyes. Herzberg did not presume to interrupt the sad silence, but gazed with an expression of the deepest sympathy at the little bent form, in the threadbare coat. Grief filled his heart at the thought that this head was not only bowed down by the weight of years and well-deserved laurels, but also from its many cares and griefs, and hopeless peering into the future.