"What do you want, my friend?" asked the King.
"Only to deliver a document to Monsieur Voltaire, your Majesty."
"Then do your duty."
The man handed the document to Voltaire, and retired. When the old
man had opened and read it, he fell on his knees before the King and
exclaimed, "Save me, sire!"
"That is your law-suit with Hirschel about the Saxon state papers.
You thought to deceive each other and the public, but the Jew did
not let you lead him by the nose, Monsieur, and now you are exposed
as a falsifier!"
"Save me, your Majesty!"
"How can I?"
"With a word--a single good word before the court...."
"For shame, old man! Do you think I can bend the law? Do you want me
to bribe the judges? No, Monsieur, there are judges in Berlin who
cannot be bribed! My word counts as little as that of the meanest.
Stand up, go to your room, and meet me at supper."
"Sire, I beg to be excused coming to supper this evening."
"Good! then we will meet to-morrow."
* * * * *
When Voltaire reached his room, he began to search through his
papers which he had left in disorder. He looked for a whole hour for
the letter he had written to the Marquise, without being able to
find it. Then he perceived that the letter had been seized, and he
conceived a suspicion against the King.
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