able and melancholy thoughts,
making his countenance serious and sad, and drawing deep and dark
lines across his brow. He was a German, and was fighting in the ranks
of the enemy against his German fatherland. Therein lay the secret
of his care-worn features, the reading of the suppressed sighs; the
broken, sorrowful words which he uttered, as with folded arms and
bowed head he paced up and down his room. He was a German, and
loved his country, which had repaid his love with that apathy and
non-appreciation that have destroyed and killed some of the greatest
and noblest men of Germany; while others have taken refuge in foreign
countries, to find there that recognition which was denied them at
home. General von Tottleben was only a German--why, then, should
Germany take notice of him? Because he possessed information, talent,
genius. Germany would have appreciated these if Von Tottleben had been
a foreigner; but, as unfortunately he was only a German, Germany took
no notice of him, and compelled him to seek in a foreign country the
road to fame and distinction. He had gone to Russia. There his talents
had been prized and employed. He was now a general in the Russian
army, and the alliance between Russia and Austria compelled him to
fight against his own country.

But the Russian general still preserved his German heart, this heart
so strong in suffering, so unfaltering in its faith, so faithful in
its love, so great in hope, humble in its obedience, modest in its
desires; this German heart of his was the cause of much suffering to
him, for it could not adapt itself to his Russian instructions,
and despite his efforts to render it callous, would insist upon
overflowing with pity and sympathy. He loved Berlin, for in this city
he had passed the best years of his youth. And now he was called on to
act as a cruel tyrant, an unfeeling barbarian, to sow broadcast death
and destruction in this city, from which he yearned so to win a little
love, a little sympathy for her rejected son.

But now his German heart was forced into silence by the exigencies
of Russian discipline, and the general had to obey the orders of his
superior officer, General von Fermore. His chief had ordered him to
exercise the utmost severity and harshness, and imposed upon him the
task of scourging Berlin like a demon of vengeance. And yet Berlin had
committed no other crime than that of remaining faithful to her king,
and of not wishing to surrender to