The carnival promised to be brilliant that year. In Saxony everything was satisfactory; the noblemen, who dared murmur, were sent to Pleissenburg; in Poland quiet was assured by the last Sobieski. Faustina always sang marvellously, and there was plenty of game in the forests round Hubertsburg. Day after day, arranged in advance, passed very pleasantly.

The blessed peacefulness was disturbed by the news that Sulkowski was returning; it hastened the Queen's attack and sealed his sentence. It was not expected that the favourite would be admitted to see the King.

Henniche and his accomplices gave orders that all roads were to be watched; the guards were at the gates, private detectives watched Sulkowski's palace.

The general-minister's carriage came. His wife had intended to go towards Prague and meet him, but they were afraid of that, and the Countess Kolowrath told her that the Queen desired her to be in readiness in case she was called to the castle, and that she must not leave Dresden. The Countess was obliged to obey.

On the first of February, 1738, the Count Sulkowski arrived at Pirma, where he stopped to feed and water the horses before proceeding to Dresden. In the inn a courier sent on ahead prepared everything for the minister's reception. Nobody yet could even suspect his downfall. The whole borough, the officials, burgomasters, in gala uniforms, were awaiting, notwithstanding the intense cold, the man whom they thought to be almighty and before whom all trembled.

The courier announced the arrival of his Excellency for four o'clock; but as that day there was a heavy fall of snow, he did not arrive at the appointed hour. While all eyes were looking down the road in the direction of Prague, a cavalier wrapped in a mantle came from the direction of Dresden and stopped his tired horse before the inn. The owner of the inn called 'The Crown,' Jonas Hender, a very resolute man, having perceived the stranger, who at any other time would have been very welcome, rushed to tell him that there was no room for him.

'Excuse me, sir--we expect his Excellency the Count Sulkowski; I have no room either for you or your horse; but at the 'Palm Branch,' an inn kept by my brother-in-law, the accommodation is not bad.'

The stranger hardly listened to Jonas. He threw the reins on the horse's neck and looked towards the inn. He was a middle-aged man, as one could judge by the wrinkles round his eyes, for the rest of his face--it must have been done on account of the cold--was wrapped in a shawl and his cap was drawn over his eyes.

'Exactly,' he muttered, 'because his Excellency is going to stay here, I must find a room, because I am sent to him.'

The innkeeper bowed and took hold of the horse.

'That alters the case,' he said, 'pray come in and warm yourself. Hot wine with spices is ready, and there is nothing better than glÜkwein for the cold. The horse shall be taken to the stable.'

A groom took the tired grey horse. The innkeeper conducted the stranger to a room; he looked at him in order to guess who he was, but he failed to do so either by his dress, or his mien. The dress was an ordinary one, the speech pure but not Saxon; his manner full of assurance betrayed a courtier, but not one of great importance, since he came on horseback without a servant and he wore jack-boots.

For such a great lord as Sulkowski, every room was engaged, as his retinue was large; there remained only the innkeeper's room, into which the stranger was shown.

The room was clean and bright and a good fire was burning in the fireplace. Hender helped the stranger to take off his large mantle and the shawl, from under which there appeared the thin, bony face of an official. His eyes were piercing and his mouth twitched.

Hender looked at him, and as he was very shrewd at reading character, he said to himself:

'He is a dangerous man.'

But it was necessary to be overwhelmingly polite to such a dangerous-looking messenger from the capital. Therefore he placed a chair near the fireplace and asked the stranger, who received all civilities very indifferently, to sit down. Several times when the host ventured some remark he received no answer. He brought a glass of hot wine and handed it to the traveller, who accepted it, but did not even thank him for it.

'This must be a man of some importance,' said Hender to himself.

He became even more civil, and told his two children to keep away; at that moment a trumpet resounded, Sulkowski was coming. The innkeeper rushed out to receive him.

The stranger remained motionless, deep in thought. The minister was brought triumphantly to the room assigned to him; the servants brought the boxes, Hender returned to his room and found the stranger sitting before the fire and drinking the wine. He did not appear to hear the host, who felt it his duty to say aloud:

'His Excellency has arrived!'

The guest made a grimace; he finished his wine, shook his head, took his cap and went out.

Had Jonas Hender been acquainted with Dresden and had to do with higher officials, he would have recognised in his guest, Ludovici.

The councillor slowly opened the door and entered the room in which Sulkowski was resting.

The table was set, the servants were busy, a young aide-de-camp stood in the window, Sulkowski was lying on the sofa.

When he perceived Ludovici, he sprang up, beaming with joy.

'It is you!' he exclaimed. 'How good of you to come to meet me! I am very grateful to you, for I shall get some news; the last letters were very insignificant. How are you?'

The councillor's face was not indicative of good news. He was silent and looked askance at the aide-de-camp. Sulkowski passed to the other room and nodded to Ludovici to follow him. He was surprised at the councillor's long face. The Count was in an excellent humour. On the Rhine and in Hungary he had been well received, thanks to letters of introduction and to his position. He returned happy and still more proud, with a greater supply of self-assurance than ever.

No sooner had they entered the room than the Count begun to ask questions, to which the answers were scanty, Ludovici seeming to lack courage to speak. He looked sadly at the Count's joy, which he was about to destroy or perchance change into despair.

He let the Count speak, who laughing told him of his success, of the honours with which he had been received, of the experience he had gained. It seemed that he thought he would become as famous as Maurice de Saxe.

Ludovici looked and shook his head.

'What is the matter with you?' asked Sulkowski. 'Are you cold? Why don't you speak?'

Ludovici glanced round.

'I do not bring good news,' he said, 'that is why I do not hasten to talk.'

'Is my wife well?'

'Yes, thank God.'

'Is the King well?'

'Yes, but--'

Ludovici looked at the Count and said sadly:

'But you will find him changed. A great many things are changed. I was against your travelling.'

'What has happened?' said Sulkowski carelessly.

'The worst that could happen. Your enemies accused you; the Queen is at their head, then Guarini, and the cunning BrÜhl. We are lost.'

Sulkowski looked at him as at a madman, shrugged his shoulders and laughed.

'You must be dreaming.'

'I should like to dream,' said Ludovici gloomily. 'There is no time for illusions, we must try to save ourselves, if there is still time for that. I came, risking my life, to warn you. The gates are guarded, the houses are surrounded by spies: if you come to Dresden, so that they recognise you at the gate, they will not admit you to the King; such are the orders.'

'But it cannot be,' the Count cried passionately. 'It is a stupid hoax, someone has told the King some nonsense, and you believed it. There is no man in this world who could take the King's heart from me. It is impossible, it is a lie! I laugh at it! They would dare not to admit me to the King? Ludovici, you have lost your senses--'

Ludovici looked at the minister with a kind of commiseration.

Sulkowski walked to and fro, laughing to himself.

'Where did you get that stupid gossip from?' asked he.

'From the best source. I gave my word that I would not reveal the name of the person who told me and ordered me to warn you. That which I say is true.'

'But how could it come to that?' asked Sulkowski a little alarmed.

'The King is weak,' said Ludovici, 'the Queen is a stubborn woman, Father Guarini is the most cunning of men, and BrÜhl is master of the art of using other people to achieve his aims. Your Excellency never tried to hide his aversion to priests, and such is the result of their work. Everything is arranged. They forced your dismissal upon the King. You will be banished from the court with a small pension, so that you will not hinder BrÜhl from making millions. They are afraid of your influence over the King and they will not permit you to see him.'

Sulkowski frowned.

'Are you sure of it?' he asked.

'Very sure! the guards at the gate have orders not to let you in; the castle is also guarded.'

'And the King does not even wish to see me!' burst out Sulkowski.

'The King is a slave,' said Ludovici.

Sulkowski relapsed into thought.

'If you intend to go with all your retinue to Dresden,' Ludovici continued, 'you will fall into their hands. If there is any means you could use to see the King, don't hesitate to act. You have some influence, take advantage of it, but it will be a fight for life or death, with the Queen, confessor and BrÜhl.'

Sulkowski paced to and fro, frowning, then he asked:

'Are you sure of what you say?'

'As I live.'

'Then be it so, but--I am not afraid of them; they cannot crush me as they did Hoym and the rest. We shall see. Let us now have something to eat. I shall leave my retinue here and we shall go to Dresden on horseback. I should like to know who would dare to bar my access to the King to-morrow. We shall see! Can we not reach town without being recognised?

'We must!' answered Ludovici.

'Come then and let us eat well, that they may not guess anything here.'

Having said this he returned to the other room in which the meal was ready. They spoke very little and only of extraneous matters as they eat. Ludovici had a very good appetite, while Sulkowski seemed only to be thirsty, he drank so much.

The Count said to his aide-de-camp:

'Count, you and the horses are tired; stay over night at Pirma. I wish to take my wife by surprise and go to Dresden on horseback with the Councillor Ludovici.'

The aide-de-camp seemed to be very much surprised, for Sulkowski was fond of travelling in comfort, with much pomp and ceremony: such an incognito during bad weather, on the road covered with snow, in the night, seemed very strange. Sulkowski noticing his astonishment said with a smile:

'There is nothing extraordinary in my project, sometimes one must satisfy a fancy although one is not very young.'

Having said this, he took his aide-de-camp aside and gave him secret orders.

The aide-de-camp left the room at once.

Sulkowski stood silent and pensive.

Soon two saddled horses stood at the door of the inn; the minister was advised at least to take a groom, but he refused. The journey for Ludovici, who had already made it coming from Dresden and who was not accustomed to riding on horseback, was more painful than for the Count; but he did not wish to let him go alone.

Fortunately for both of them the weather improved, the snow ceased to fall. The horses were accustomed to the road on which they travelled often and followed the highway. The sun was setting, they pushed on at a smart trot, the Count ahead, the councillor behind him, both silent.

They quickly passed villages, houses and inns. The night was quite dark and the numerous lights in the distance presently announced that they were approaching Dresden. Here the road was less lonely. Several sledges passed, men on horseback and pedestrians. Against the bright sky could be seen the dark towers of the churches.

Sulkowski slackened the speed of his horse until Ludovici came up with him.

'If they guard the gate,' he said, 'we must use some precautions.'

'Your Excellency will wrap himself in the cloak and will follow me. It is true that they guard the gates, but they look for the equipages and retinue with which they expect you.'

'You said that they watch my house also?'

'Yes,' Ludovici answered.

'I must go there on foot and enter without being noticed.'

'I would not advise you to do that,' said Ludovici, 'in our times one cannot be sure of the servants, some of them might betray us.'

Sulkowski laughed bitterly.

'It is very amusing,' he said, 'who could have told me this morning that I should not be able to pass the night in safety in Dresden?'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'If my position is so dangerous,' he said proudly, after a while, 'then I do not wish to expose any one else. Take care of the horses, and I shall find a place to pass the night, and then do what I have to do.'

Thus saying he turned his horse, covered his face with the mantle, let Ludovici pass in front, bent to the saddle, and having assumed the mien of a groom, following his master, followed the councillor. They approached the gate. In very truth the guards were there, but Ludovici gave them some name and as they did not pay much attention to two men on horseback they entered the town.

A soldier rushed after Ludovici.

'Do you come from Pirma?'

'Yes,' answered Ludovici.

'Did you hear anything of the Count Sulkowski, who is expected to-day?'

'The inn called the Crown,' said Ludovici, 'was engaged for his Excellency, but a courier came to say that he would not be leaving Prague for two days.'

The soldiers returned, glad that they would not be obliged to watch very closely during the night and the Count with the councillor proceeded.

In the town there was still much stir as was usual during the carnival. Sulkowski dismounted near the post office, gave the horse to Ludovici, and went towards his palace.

He no longer doubted that what Ludovici had lately told him was true, and tried to enter his house unperceived. Even he hesitated whether it would not be better to pass the night elsewhere; but his pride prevented him from hiding like a culprit. The question was how to enter unnoticed by servants whom he distrusted. Not being accustomed to subterfuges he did not know how to act.

A strange feeling was aroused in him at the sight of the people, many of whom he recognised, of passing carriages, of all that merry carnival movement. Smaller officials passed him without recognition of the man wrapped in the mantle; before whom, not long since, they almost kneeled. His situation seemed to him like a dream, the danger a nightmare. He was angry that he could have believed it. He measured the position he occupied with the menace of downfall, and could not imagine it possible.

Under the influence of these thoughts he went more boldly. At about the distance of a furlong, he noticed several dark figures walking about and apparently awaiting someone. Those figures, hiding stealthily in corners, were the best proof that the house was watched. Sulkowski entered a side street, uncertain what to do. At that moment he recollected a man whom he could trust. It was Father Vogler, a Jesuit, the King's former confessor, an old man, who apparently left the court of his own will, giving way to Father Guarini.

He lived quietly, seldom showing himself in the court, and entirely engrossed in his books. Formerly the King's favourite, now almost forgotten, for he did not know how to amuse him. Father Vogler was a silent retiring man. He was Sulkowski's chaplain and confessor and had gained his esteem. Although Vogler apparently lived far from the intrigues of the court, even Guarini seemed to fear him and was very respectful towards him. Vogler did not hide his dislike of BrÜhl and although he said little, one could see that he disliked the court and everything that was going on there. Sulkowski remembered that Vogler had warned him before his departure that he should not stay away long, that he should not be too confident of the King's favour, and should not trust those who were apparently his best friends.

If anyone was well informed it was certainly Vogler. The Count, being obliged to steal through the old market and a much populated street leading to the castle in which the Jesuit lived, wrapped the cloak very carefully around him and walked in the shadow of the houses in order that he might not be recognised. Carriages were going towards the castle and he recognised BrÜhl's post-chaise and smiled bitterly. The street scene with Erell led by on a donkey recurred to his mind, and it seemed to him that he had met with a similar fate to that of the editor.

The house, in which Vogler lived, belonged to the castle, and the entrance to it was from a small dark street. He knew that Vogler occupied the second floor. He passed the dark stairs, and rang the bell at the door which he found with difficulty in the darkness.

He waited long. A small boy with a candle in his hand opened the door.

'Is Father Vogler at home?'

The boy looked timidly at the stranger and hesitated as to what to answer.

'I wish to see Father Vogler on urgent business,' he said.

The boy left the door open and disappeared into the room. He returned shortly and showed the Count into a small room full of books and bookshelves, and a large table on which was an abundant supply of papers. A reading lamp was burning. From an old chair, upholstered with leather, rose a tall, thin, bent, bald-headed man. He seemed to be surprised at such a late call and turned his feeble eye on the visitor, whose face was still half covered with the mantle. Only when the boy closed the door, did Sulkowski uncover his face and head and come near Father Vogler, who seizing him by the hand cried out with astonishment.

'Hsh!' cried Sulkowski.

Vogler embraced him and made him sit down on a chair, then he went to the ante-room and gave some orders to the boy.

The Count leaned thoughtfully on the table.

'I see,' said the Jesuit, coming back, 'that you know all, although nobody here knows yet. Has anybody seen you?'

'I came here straight from my journey,' answered the Count. 'In Pirma I learned about the plot, and by your manner I see that it is true. Is it true? Then they dread--'

Vogler shrugged his shoulders.

'Yes, your good friends await you with this surprise,' he said slowly, 'they will not admit you to the King.'

'It is I who will prepare a surprise for them and see the King notwithstanding them all,' cried Sulkowski. 'They are mistaken; the King under pressure would give in in my absence, but if I get half an hour's conversation with him, I shall regain my influence and then--Then,' cried Sulkowski rising and clenching his fist, 'it will not be I that will be sent away, but those who dared to intrigue against me.'

He became silent.

Vogler wrung his hands.

'The question is where I can pass the night and wait till to-morrow, so that they may not know that I have arrived. I am sure that they will not give orders that I am not to be admitted to the court; by my right and my rank I have free access to the King at any hour. At eleven o'clock the King is alone; BrÜhl is not with him.'

The Jesuit listened attentively, not showing what he thought of the Count's plan.

'You have nothing to lose, you must try to win,' he said.

'Will you have the courage to let me sleep here?' asked Sulkowski with a smile of doubt.

'You are welcome; my humble dwelling is at your service. You are safe here, for nobody calls on me.'

Sulkowski's eyes shone.

'If I am able to see the King, I am sure of winning--'

'May God help you,' whispered Vogler.

The next morning BrÜhl heard through Henniche, that Sulkowski was not expected to arrive for two more days. In the court the whole plot had been kept in great secresy; the Countess Sulkowski, whom the Queen always received very kindly had not the slightest suspicion. The King was in an excellent humour.

Early in the morning BrÜhl came to the King for his orders, and having left Guarini with him, returned to his palace. Here he changed his clothes, because the etiquette required him to do so several times during the day, and ordered his porte-chaise to carry him to the Countess Moszynski. He now felt at home in her house, for her husband had died a few months previously, and BrÜhl was certain that she was too much in love with him to marry anybody else. His relations of tender friendship with the beautiful widow were no secret. Every day he would take counsel with her, every morning the Countess Moszynski would visit him. It was known that she did what she pleased with him. Very often when they had something very urgent to communicate to the minister, for he did nothing without her advice, they would go to the Countess to find him there.

That day BrÜhl also went to her house as though it were his own. The Countess on seeing him said:

'Has Sulkowski arrived?'

'Not yet! I had news from Pinna; they do not expect him for two days.'

The Countess Moszynski shook her head with evident dissatisfaction.

'It is not natural,' she said, 'it is suspicious. His wife told me that at the latest she expected him last night. Somebody must have warned him.'

'Impossible! Nobody knows!'

The Countess laughed.

'Let us count up how many people know the secret,' she said, counting on her fingers. 'The Queen, the Countess Kolowrath, the King, Guarini, you, I, and to be sure, your wife. If she was not told she would guess: let us add Henniche. Have you ever heard of a secret being kept by eight persons?'

BrÜhl shook his head carelessly.

'Even if he had learned, it would not help him at all. The Queen wearied the King so much about Sulkowski, that for the sake of his beloved peace he must give him up.'

The subject of conversation was soon changed. BrÜhl, however, notwithstanding his apparent calm, was thoughtful and gloomy. Towards noon, just as he was about to take leave of the Countess, there was a rap at the door, and Henniche rushed in.

His changed face and hurried entrance into the drawing-room announced bad news. The Countess sprang from her seat. BrÜhl ran to him.

Henniche could not speak.

'Henniche, what is the matter? Come to your senses!' exclaimed BrÜhl.

'What is the matter with me? Sulkowski has been in town ever since last night, at eleven o'clock he came to the castle, and asking no permission, entered the King's room. Father Guarini, who was with the King, said that his Majesty became white as marble. The Count, as if not aware of anything wrong, greeted the King in most tender words and kneeling he said that his first step was to fall at his Majesty's feet. The King became tender and embraced him. The Count began to talk about his travels and made the King laugh--and thus he resumed his former duties. At this moment Sulkowski is with the King; everybody is alarmed in the castle: the Queen weeps, Guarini is pale--everything is lost.'

BrÜhl and the Countess looked at each other.

BrÜhl did not appear to be frightened but very much annoyed.

'Henniche, listen!' he said, 'Sulkowski cannot remain with the King for ever; I do not wish to meet him; let me know when he leaves the castle. They watched well at the gates and fulfilled my orders nicely!' added the minister drily.

He went to the Countess, kissed her hand, whispering a few words, and went out with Henniche.

The scene described by Henniche was very interesting indeed. A ghost would not have been more alarming in the castle than the sudden appearance of Sulkowski. When he entered the King's room. Augustus III was struck dumb with surprise, for the things he most disliked were reproaches and quarrels. Father Guarini, notwithstanding his usual self-composure, could not conceal his confusion. Sulkowski kneeling greeted the King with apparent joy, telling him how happy he was to look on his lord's face again. This calmed Augustus a little. Guarini noticed, however, that he only smiled, but said not a word.

The Padre's first intention was to remain to the end of the interview, but later on it occurred to his mind, that it was his duty to communicate the incident to the Queen in order that some precautions might be taken at once. In consequence, having listened to Sulkowski's narration for about an hour, he was obliged to leave the room. Sulkowski spoke merrily and quickly as though in a fever. Although he did not, even by the slightest allusion, let it be known that he knew what was going to happen to him, one could guess by his agitation and daring that he was playing his last card. The King glanced round as if he were afraid and grew more and more stiff: one moment his face grew brighter, the next it became cold.

As long as Father Guarini was in the room, the Count confined his conversation to his travels; when Guarini left the room he changed both the tone and subject.

'Your Majesty,' he said, 'I was longing to see my liege: I had a sad presentiment, although thank God, it is not realised, and your Majesty's heart is the best guarantee that it could not be realised. I have served my lord since childhood, I sacrificed my life to him, and I am ready to sacrifice the rest of my days; I was able to gain my lord's favour and confidence, my conscience does not reproach me with anything; I am not afraid of the plots of my enemies, even if I had any, and I do not believe I have them, for I have done no harm to anybody.'

The King listened with forced dignity, which did not promise well.

Sulkowski asked to be permitted once more to kiss the King's hand; Augustus gave it to him muttering, changing uneasily from one foot to the other, but not saying one intelligible word. The Count's enthusiasm increased and he spoke with growing fever.

'Sire, my lord, I believe in your heart as I believe in God. Only may the intriguers not take it from me by their calumnies!'

'Oh! Oh!' interrupted Augustus, 'there are no intrigues here.'

'Into what court are they not able to penetrate? What dress must they assume?' said Sulkowski laughing. 'Sire, I am a soldier and I speak straight. There are bad people and those who are the sweetest, the most humble, the most useful, they are the most dangerous. Sire, and my lord, I do not wish to name the others--but BrÜhl must be dismissed, otherwise he will get all into his own power and deprive your Majesty of his best friends, in order that he may rule absolutely.'

Thus saying he looked at the King's face, which became crimson and then pale, his eyes assumed a wild expression, the result of suppressed anger. Sulkowski, knowing well that it was necessary to conquer the outburst in order to dominate the monarch, favoured peace above all things; the anger never lasted long. Several times the King had wished to break the chain of dependence, but every time he had shirked the effort necessary to effect it. The Count had seen him several times in that state of mind and became still bolder.

'Sire,' he said, following the King, who went to the window, 'your Majesty respects the memory of his great father; may he serve as an example! He never permitted anyone to domineer over him, neither the Queen, nor favourites, nor ministers, nor priests. He ruled supreme. Your Majesty has only to wish, to command, and those who murmur will become silent; the chain shall be broken. One must have courage to live and to rule, and for that one must break all chains.'

The King listened but grew more and more frightened; he stopped up both his ears and instead of answering retreated further and further towards the window.

Sulkowski having gone so far could not retreat, and determined to strike the iron while it was hot.

'I know,' he said, that I attempt a great thing, but I do so out of love for my lord, whom I wish to see as great and as happy as his father was. Your Majesty wishes for a peaceful life, and it will come as soon as your Majesty asserts his authority. Those tutors, Guarini and BrÜhl, must be sent away. The Queen is a saint, let her pray for us and edify us by her virtues, and we, sire, shall go and conquer Hungary, for the Emperor Karl VI will not live long. Your Majesty will breathe more freely in the camp.'

Sulkowski laughed. The King looked sullenly about him: not a movement, not a word betrayed his thoughts.

He was evidently tired.

Happily a movement in the corridor announced the dinner. Augustus made a movement as if he wished to go. Sulkowski seized his hand and kissed it. The King blushed. At that moment the Grand Marshall of the court entered and perceived Sulkowski taking leave of the King in such a tender way, that he did not doubt that the Count had returned to his former favour.

Unfortunately the last part of that conversation was overheard by the Queen and Guarini, who stood at the door.

Sulkowski went out, assured that he would be able to change everything and that no danger threatened him. He greeted the courtiers and officials whom he met in the castle with his former pride, and after a short conversation with them, he ordered a porte-chaise to be brought for him and was borne home.

He was persuaded that all trouble was over and that he had conquered all obstacles. He believed in the King's heart. He received his wife with a serene face and told Ludovici to prepare all documents accusing BrÜhl of false accounts, showing his abuses, etc. Ludovici having received these orders went out immediately to see that they were fulfilled.

While this was going on, the King had no appetite at the commencement of his meal. His attendants knew him well and immediately used the most effectual remedy. Frosch and Horch were soon before him, looking at each other challengingly. Frosch with his hands in his pockets did not wish to look at Horch, while the latter having contorted his mouth, and half-closed his eyes, pointed at his adversary with his finger and slowly advanced towards him.

When he was near he gave him a ferocious kick. Frosch shrieked, the King looked and his face brightened. Then the two fools began to abuse each other.

'Traitor,' cried Frosch opposite Horch, 'you have not the courage to challenge such a hero as I am, for you know that I could crush you! You take me by treachery and you shall be punished for it.'

Horch pretended to be frightened, kneeled, clasped his hands and seemed to beg for mercy. But Frosch rushed upon him, but it happened that he passed over his adversary's head and found himself mounted on his shoulders. Horch had risen and holding Frosch by his feet began to race round the room with him. In the meantime Frosch pounded Horch on the back with his fist and seized him by the ears and both then rolled on the floor.

The King, having forgotten all his troubles, began to laugh; the entertainment restored his appetite and he ate voraciously.

The Queen, although it did not amuse her at all, pretended to laugh also.

In addition to this a few glasses of good wine improved the King's humour so much that Josephine did not doubt that after dinner she would be able to renew her attacks upon Sulkowski.

BrÜhl and Guarini were waiting in the King's apartments. The minister did not hesitate on his own responsibility to give orders that in the event of Sulkowski appearing he was to be told that the King could not receive him. The chamberlains were told to excuse themselves as best they could, but not to admit the Count.

It was a serious fight in which it was difficult to foresee who could win, because Sulkowski's speech would have made a great impression on the King but for the fact that the Queen overheard some of the Count's insinuations and his advice to the King to try and recover his independence.

After dinner, Augustus as usual hastened to his apartment to smoke his pipe and enjoy his robe de chambre; he was already taking leave of the Queen, not having mentioned a word about Sulkowski, when she stopped him: 'Augustus,' she said, 'I heard what Sulkowski was advising you.'

'Where? How?'

'I was at the door,' answered the Queen, 'and I am glad I was there though it was by an accident. You are as kind as an angel and a King cannot be kind. That audacious fellow offended the King's majesty, he has offended you and me; he dared to advise you to lead a bad life. Augustus, if this man remains in the court, God's punishment will descend upon us. How could you suffer--'

'Well? What?' said the King. 'It worries me. I need rest. Drive him away then.'

'Give orders!'

Augustus nodded in the affirmative. But mistrusting him the Queen sent for Guarini and told him to act immediately.

Apprehensive and confused BrÜhl waited for the King. Seeing him Augustus did not say a word and sat down in an arm-chair. Almost at the same moment Guarini entered laughing.

'Sire, we have at last found what we lost. Sulkowski has come back; evidently he must have come to the conclusion that it is useless to hunt after happiness. Chi sta bene, non si muove. Evidently he was not satisfied here, but he has come back just the same, for elsewhere must have been worse.'

Augustus began to smoke and pointed at BrÜhl with his pipe.

'He is at fault,' he said. 'Why did they let him in? The Queen listened--he talked nonsense--phew!'

'Sire, I am not guilty, somebody betrayed our secret,' said BrÜhl.

'Do what you please,' said the King with asperity. 'I do not wish to know anything. Write a warrant, I will sign it--'

'There is no reason for your Majesty to be in a bad humour and spoil your health,' Guarini said. 'Faustina is going to sing to-night with Abbuzzi, they now love each other very tenderly.'

Augustus looked round and muttered:

'Amor quel che piace!'

It was the beginning of a song which he was nearly humming.

Guarini, taking great pains to disperse the king's gloomy feelings, ordered a magnificent portrait painted by Giorgione, and recently purchased in Venice, to be brought. The King on seeing it said enthusiastically: 'A, che bello!'

He again forgot about everything.

'What softness of the brush, what colouring, what life!' he exclaimed, delighted with the picture, and his eyes smiled.

Half-an-hour later Faustina asked for an audience on important theatre affairs, and it was granted.

All withdrew and she entertained the King for about half-an-hour with a very animated conversation; when she left, Augustus was beaming with delight as if there were neither ministers, nor state affairs, nor any sorrows in this world. The clouds were entirely dispersed.

It was not so easy a matter to calm the anxiety of the Queen and her accomplices in the plot. They knew how daring Sulkowski was, how he loved the King, how many friends he had at the court, and how, as he was familiar with the habits of the King, he could easily reach him. Consequently guards were stationed all round the Count's palace, round the opera, at the side door of the castle, at the entrance leading to the King's apartments.

Guarini did not leave the King for a moment, the Queen was watchful; BrÜhl and the Countess Moszynski took counsel together: Henniche, Globig, Loss, Hammer, and the whole crowd of officials employed by BrÜhl, scattered through the town and took up their appointed stations.

Their movements were a matter of the most perfect indifference to Sulkowski, as, sure of his victory, he drew up a report with which he proposed to overthrow his adversary. The Count was persuaded that his speech had made a deep impression on the King, and that it would counterbalance everything else.

His wife, less confident, went to pay a visit to the Queen. She was not received. Alarmed by this she insisted on obtaining a short audience and at length it was granted.

The Queen received her very coolly, but following Guarini's advice she pretended not to know anything about the affairs of the court and that she did not wish to be mixed up in anything.

The Countess Sulkowski, upon entering the room in which the Queen was reading a pious book, did not know what to say.

With a smile, she told the Queen, that she came to share her happiness with her beloved lady, that her husband had arrived. From that she passed to the rumour, that her husband's enemies wished to injure him.

'My dear Countess,' said the Queen, 'pray, let us talk about something else; I am occupied with my children, prayers and art, but I do not mix in the affairs of the court and I do not wish to know anything about them.'

Once more the Countess attempted to explain, but the Queen repeated:

'I know nothing. The King does not ask for my advice, I do not interfere with his affairs--'

After a short conversation the subject of which was a newly converted Israelite, and Lent prayers, the Countess took leave of the Queen.

It would be difficult to guess whether she believed in the Queen's ignorance about the intrigues of the court. But accustomed to trust her husband, she calmed herself and went home.

Ludovici appeared late in the evening but his manner indicated nothing good. He came to tell the Count that he found insuperable difficulties in finding documents, that the officials did not want to obey him, and that consequently it was impossible to have the papers ready for the next day.