The Council, in arriving at the above resolution, had reckoned without the minister who was to carry it into effect. At this juncture d'Argenson found that the very circumstances which had paralysed his efforts in the beginning of the year were telling powerfully in his favour; for the anarchy prevailing in the French Government was such that the only means of positive action open to any of the ministers was in the frustration of his colleagues' designs. To that task d'Argenson addressed himself with right good will. In transmitting his instructions to Vaulgrenant, the French envoy at Dresden, he allowed him to understand that if he could only succeed in failing, his failure would not go unforgiven.[353] The Austrian majority in the Council were by no means unanimous; and their different resolutions were communicated to Vaulgrenant without the faintest attempt to reconcile them.[354] "I agree that the matter is one of some difficulty," wrote d'Argenson; "M. de Vaulgrenant will get out of it as best he can."[355] Above all, he made the ambassador clearly understand that he was to listen to no proposal which would tend to deprive Frederick of Silesia, well knowing that with that object only had the Empress been induced to treat at all.[356] In fact, Vaulgrenant could not possibly mistake the tone which the minister desired him to assume. In this enterprise d'Argenson found a powerful ally in the man whom, in the beginning of the year, he had endeavoured vainly to assist. Frederick had achieved one of his master-strokes. Upon hearing of the Convention of Hanover, Maria Theresa had formed a daring design. She resolved to ignore the approach of winter, and to concentrate her troops in Saxon territory for a direct descent upon Brandenburg. The plan was concerted secretly with Augustus, and the Saxon army would act with the Austrians.[357] At the close of the regular campaign Frederick had returned to Berlin. His sword had clicked again in the scabbard, his hand had fallen nerveless from the hilt, when suddenly a stray word let fall at a dinner-table by Count Brühl was conveyed carefully to Berlin; tensely the fingers closed upon the hilt, the sword leapt forth again bare and terrible, and at the end of a three-weeks' campaign, which we cannot even read of now without dancing eyes and tingling blood, the lion of Brandenburg entered Dresden.