the hour of four
A slight breeze rustled through the trees , fanning , caressingly , the cheeks of the king . The perfume of sweet flowers rose from the terrace , and below rushed the cascade . The marble groups around the fountain glistened in the golden rays of the sun , and in the dark foliage fluttered and sang the merry birds of summer . Suddenly the wind wafted from the church at Potsdam the clear tones of a bell , announcing to the king the hour of four , the death of Voltaire . The king walked along to the rose-arbor , to the temple of friendship , where the bust of his sister Frederika was placed . He seated himself near the entrance , listening to the ringing voice of the bell , and recalling that the death-mass had now commenced in Berlin . The service sacred to memory !