ven! I cannot do it," said Tottleben, sadly, in a low
tone. "I must obey the higher authorities above me--the empress and
the commander-in-chief, General Fermore. My orders are very strict,
and I have already yielded too much. It is written in these dispatches
that the arms must be given up."

"The arms?" said Gotzkowsky, hastily. "Yes, but not _all_ arms. Take
some of them--we have three hundred inferior rifles--take them, sir,
and fulfil the letter of your orders, and save our honor."

General von Tottleben did not answer immediately. Again he paced the
room, from time to time casting sharp, piercing glances at Gotzkowsky,
whose firmness and animation seemed to please him. He stopped
suddenly, and asked in a voice so low that Gotzkowsky was scarcely
able to distinguish the words--"Do you think the Germans will praise
me, if I do this thing?"

"All Germany will say, 'He was great in victory, still greater in his
clemency toward the conquered,'" cried Gotzkowsky, warmly.

The general dropped his head upon his breast in deep meditation. When
he raised it again, there was a pleasant smile upon his face. "Well,
then, I will do it. I will once more remember that I am a German.
Where are the three hundred rifles?"

"In the armory, sir."

The general made no reply, but stepped toward his writing-table
hastily. He wrote off a few lines, and then with a loud voice called
his adjutant again to him. As the latter entered, he handed him the
writing. "Let the disarming take place. There are not more than three
hundred muskets. Let the citizens bring them to the Palace Square.
There they will be broken up, and thrown into the river."

"O general!" cried Gotzkowsky, his countenance radiant with delight,
when the adjutant had left the room, "how I do wish at this moment
that you were a woman!"

"I a woman!" cried Count Tottleben, laughing, "why should I be a
woman?"

"That I might kiss your hand. Believe me, I never thanked any man so
truly and sincerely as I now do you! I am so proud to be able to say,
'Berlin is conquered, but not dishonored!'"

Tottleben bowed amicably toward him. "Now, after this proof of my
generosity, the town will hasten to pay its war-tax, will it not?"
Then seeing the dark cloud which gathered on Gotzkowsky's brow, he
continued with more vehemence, "You are very dilatory in paying. Be
careful how you exhaust my patience."

"Pray let me know, sir, when it is exhausted," said Gotzkowsky. "It
is c