ith groans of pain and agony, raised themselves
to join in the song of praise which was now sung, not by a hundred, not
by a thousand, but by thirty thousand soldiers, thirty thousand heroes,
who, after that bloody day had earned the right to sing "Thanks unto
God."

CHAPTER XV. WINTER QUARTERS IN BRESLAU.

Faint and exhausted, the king had withdrawn to his room; he was alone.
To-day was the twenty-fourth of January, Frederick's birthday, and,
although he had forbidden all congratulations, he could not avoid
receiving the highest tribunals of Breslau, and also a few deputations
of the citizens of this reconquered city. These visits wearied the king;
he was grave and out of spirits. Once more alone, he could indulge in
the sad memories that came over him involuntarily and forcibly. For
here in Breslau he had lately experienced a bitter disappointment; every
thing in the castle reminded him of the treacherous friend whom he bad
loved so dearly, and who had so shamefully betrayed him.

The king was now thinking of the Bishop von Schaffgotsch. An expression
of painful gloom clouded his face, he felt solitary and deserted; the
cold, silent room chilled his heart, and the snow blown against the
window by the howling winds, oppressed him strangely. He was more
dejected and anxious than he had ever felt before a battle.

"The marquis cannot travel in such weather," he said, sighing, "and my
musicians will be careful not to trust themselves upon the highway; they
will imagine the snow has blocked up the way, and that it is impossible
to come through. They will remain in Berlin, caring but little that I am
counting the weary hours until they arrive. Yes, yes, this is an example
of the almighty power of a king; a few snow-flakes are sufficient to set
his commands aside, and the king remains but an impotent child of the
dust. Of what avail is it that I have conquered the Austrians and the
French? I have sown dragons' teeth from which new enemies will arise,
new battles, perhaps new defeats. What have I gained by consecrating my
heart to my friends? They are but serpents--I have nourished them in my
breast, and they will sting when I least suspect them. Even those whom I
still trust, forsake me now when I most need them!"

The wild storm increased, and blew a cloud of snow-flakes against the
window, and the wind whistled mournfully in the chimney.

"No," murmured the king, "D'Argens will certainly not come; he will
rem