versa.

He advised me to intimate to the king in writing that I desired to have
the honour of an interview. "When you speak to him," the good old man
added, "you may say that you know me, and the king will doubtless address
me on the subject, and you may be sure what I say shall not be to your
disadvantage."

"But, my lord, how can I write to a monarch of whom I know nothing, and
who knows nothing of me? I should not have thought of such a step."

"I daresay, but don't you wish to speak to him?"

"Certainly."

"That is enough. Your letter will make him aware of your desire and
nothing more."

"But will he reply?"

"Undoubtedly; he replies to everybody. He will tell you when and where he
will see you. His Majesty is now at Sans-Souci. I am curious to know the
nature of your interview with the monarch who, as you can see, is not
afraid of being imposed on."

When I got home I wrote a plain but respectful letter to the king, asking
where and at what time I could introduce myself to him.

In two days I received a letter signed "Frederick," in which the receipt
of my letter was acknowledged, and I was told that I should find his
majesty in the garden of Sans-Souci at four o'clock.

As may be imagined I was punctual to my appointment. I was at Sans-Souci
at three, clad in a simple black dress. When I got into the court-yard
there was not so much as a sentinel to stop me, so I went on mounted a
stair, and opened a door in front of me. I found myself in a
picture-gallery, and the curator came up to me and offered to shew me
over it.

"I have not come to admire these masterpieces," I replied, "but to see
the king, who informed me in writing that I should find him in the
garden."

"He is now at a concert playing the flute; he does so every day after
dinner. Did he name any time?"

"Yes, four o'clock, but he will have forgotten that."

"The king never forgets anything; he will keep the appointment, and you
will do well to go into the garden and await him."

I had been in the garden for some minutes when I saw him appear, followed
by his reader and a pretty spaniel. As soon as he saw me he accosted me,
taking off his old hat, and pronouncing my name. Then he asked in a
terrible voice what I wanted of him. This greeting surprised me, and my
voice stuck in my throat.

"Well, speak out. Are you not the person who wrote to me?"

"Yes, sire, but I have forgotten everything now. I thought that I should
not be awed