He sighed; pacing to and fro, his steps were arrested at a side-
table, where lay a long black velvet box; it contained the flute
that his beloved teacher, Quantz, had made for him. Frederick had
always kept it in his cabinet as a memento of his lost friend; as
this room he had devoted to a temple of Memory--of the past!

"Another of the joys, another of the stars of my life vanished!"
murmured the king. "My charming concerts are at an end! Quantz,
Brenda, and my glorious Graun are no more. While they are listening
to the heavenly choir, I must be content with the miserable, idle
chatter of men; the thunder of battle deafening my ears, to which
that mad, ambitious Emperor of Austria hopes to force me!"

As the king thus soliloquized, he involuntarily drew from the box
the beautiful ebony flute, exquisitely ornamented with silver. A
smile played around his delicate mouth. He raised the flute to his
lips, and a melancholy strain floated through the stillness--the
king's requiem to the dead, his farewell to the dying!

No sound of the outer world penetrated that lonely room. The guard
of honor, on duty upon the Sans-Souci terrace, halted suddenly, as
the sad music fell upon his ear. The fresh spring breeze swept
through the trees, and drove the laden-blossomed elder-bushes
tapping against the windowpanes, as if to offer a May-greeting to
the lonely king. The servant in waiting stole on tiptoe to the door
of the anteroom, listening breathlessly at the key-hole to the
moving melody.

Even Alkmene suddenly raised her head as if something unusual were
taking place, fixed her great eyes upon her master, jumping upon his