"Will you not give me your name ?" "I will tell you when we are in your own room," said Herr Wolff, smiling.
"The air is yet enchanted and intoxicated with the breath of the Great Frederick; it should not be desecrated with another name .-- Farewell, we will meet in Berlin." Not far from these gentlemen stood two others, wrapped in long military cloaks, both of striking and foreign appearance; the one, of slight delicate figure, of dark complexion, noble and handsome face, must be an Italian, as his very black hair and eyes betrayed; the other, tall, broad-shouldered, of Herculean stature, belonged to North Germany, as the blond hair, light blue eyes, and features indicated.

A pleasing smile played around his thick, curled lips, and only when he glanced at his companion did it die away, and change to one of respectful devotion.
At this instant the king passed.

The Italian pressed the arm of his companion.
"The arch fiend himself," he murmured softly, "the demon of unbelief, to whom nothing is sacred, and nothing intimidates.

The contemptuously smiling spirit of negation, which is called enlightenment, and is but darkness, to whom belief is superstition, and enlightening only deception.

Woe to him!" "Woe to him!" repeated the other.
The king was followed by his brilliant and select staff in motley confusion.