The side-gate of the
palace remained dark and lonely, but only for a short time. From the
side of the market-place a carriage slowly approached, and stopped
in front of the palace, precisely on the same spot which the king's
carriage had previously occupied. The coachman sat as rigidly and
stiffly on the box as worthy Thomas, and the storm played with his
cloak, and threw the snow into his face, precisely in the same
manner. A patrol marched across the palace-square, and approached
the sentinels in front of the main portal; the usual words of
command were heard, the guard was relieved, and the sentinels
marched off, surrendering their places to their less fortunate
comrades. When they passed the side of the palace where the carriage
was to be seen, they said to each other: "Ah, we are off guard a few
minutes too early. It cannot be quite seven o'clock, for the king's
carriage is still waiting at the gate." The driver's laugh was
unheard.
It was really not yet seven--the hour when the king usually left the
palace. He was still in his sitting-room, and his two old friends,
General von Kockeritz and Field-Marshal Kalkreuth, were with him. A
pause in their conversation set in, which seemed to have been of a
very grave character, for the faces of the two old gentlemen looked
serious and careworn, and the king was pacing the room slowly and
with a gloomy air.
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