"My heart quaked as if I were the pillar of Memnon, and had been touched by the sun's rays," sighed he, as he followed the king with his fiery glance.
"The ceremony is now finished," said the young man near him, "and we must leave, in order to be punctual to dinner at Prince Henry's." "I wish the king had remained an hour longer," sighed Herr Wolff again.
"As I looked at him, it seemed as if I were listening to a song from Homer, and all my faculties were in unison in delight and enthusiasm.
Happy those who dare approach him, and remain near him!" "Then, according to your opinion, his servants must be very fortunate," said the stranger, "and yet they say that he is not very kind to them." "Because the servant is a little man," cried Herr Wolff, "and every one looks little to his belittling eyes." "Yes, there are many others no more elevated than servants in the king's surroundings," said the other.

The youth reminded him that they must leave.
"Only wait a moment, friend," begged Herr Wolff, as he turned to the stranger, saying, "I would like to continue our conversation of today.
You live in Berlin.

I will find you out if you will give me your name." "I pray you to visit me; my name is Moritz.

I live in Kloster Strasse, near the gray convent." "Your name is Moritz ?", asked Herr Wolff, earnestly.

"Then you are the author of the 'Journey to England ?'" "Yes, the same, and my highest encomium is, that the work is not unknown to you, or the name of the author." "All Germany knows it, and do you think I could possibly remain a stranger to it ?" "But your name, sir," said the stranger, with anxious curiosity.