“All Germany knows it, and do you think I could possibly remain a stranger to it?” “But your name, sir,” said the stranger, with anxious curiosity. “Will you not give me your name?” “I will tell you when we are in your own room,” said Herr Wolff, smiling. “The air is yet enchanted and intoxicated with the breath of the Great Frederick; it should not be desecrated with another name.--Farewell, we will meet in Berlin.” Not far from these gentlemen stood two others, wrapped in long military cloaks, both of striking and foreign appearance; the one, of slight delicate figure, of dark complexion, noble and handsome face, must be an Italian, as his very black hair and eyes betrayed; the other, tall, broad-shouldered, of Herculean stature, belonged to North Germany, as the blond hair, light blue eyes, and features indicated. A pleasing smile played around his thick, curled lips, and only when he glanced at his companion did it die away, and change to one of respectful devotion. At this instant the king passed. The Italian pressed the arm of his companion. “The arch fiend himself,” he murmured softly, “the demon of unbelief, to whom nothing is sacred, and nothing intimidates. The contemptuously smiling spirit of negation, which is called enlightenment, and is but darkness, to whom belief is superstition, and enlightening only deception. Woe to him!” “Woe to him!” repeated the other. The king was followed by his brilliant and select staff in motley confusion. First, Prince Henry, and then the Prince of Prussia. As the latter passed the two gentlemen, the Italian pressed the arm of his companion still harder. “Look at him attentively, my son,” said he, “that is our future and our hope in this country.” The Hercules turned hastily, with a look of astonishment, to the Italian. “The Prince of Prussia?” asked he, with amazement. The Italian nodded. “Do you doubt it?” he added, reproachfully. “Would you doubt your lord and master, because he reveals to you what you cannot seize with your clouded spirit?” “No, no, master, I am only surprised that you hope for good from this lost-in-sin successor to the throne.” “Yes, you are poor, human children,” sighed the Italian, compassionately smiling; “prompt to judge, mistaking light for darkness, and darkness for light. I have already remarked that to the celebrated and austere Minister Sully, as he complained to me of the levity and immorality of the French king, Henry IV. I told him that austere morals and moral laws suffered exceptions, and that those through whom the welfare of humanity should be furthered, had to transfer their heavenly bliss of love to the earthly sphere. Sully would contest the question with me, but I defeated him, while I repeated to him what the beautiful and unhappy Queen of Scotland, Mary Stuart, once said to me.” “Mary Stuart!” cried the other, vehemently.