Tottleben looked at him in inquiring astonishment, but in silence.  “I am not begging for favor,” continued Gotzkowsky, “but for justice; and if you grant this, why, it is so much gained for you.  Then, indeed, the world will esteem you as not only brave, but just; and then only will history honor you as truly great—­the equitable and humane conqueror.  The Vandals, too conquered by the sword; and if it only depended on mere brute strength, wild bulls would be the greatest generals.”

Tottleben cast a fierce, angry look toward him “For that reason,” cried he, threateningly, “he is a fool who irritates a wild bull.”

Gotzkowsky bowed and smiled.  “It is true one should never show him a red cloak.  A firm, unterrified countenance is the only way to tame him.  The bull is powerless against the mind which beams out of the human eye.”

It was very probably the very boldness of this answer which pleased the general, accustomed as he was to Russian servility.  His features assumed a softer expression, and he said, in a milder tone:  “You are an extraordinary man, and there is no use in contending with you.  One is obliged to do whatever you wish.  Well, now—­quick, out with it—­what do you want of me?”

“Justice,” said Gotzkowsky.  “You gave me your word that your soldiers should not rob nor plunder, and, notwithstanding, they do it.”

“That is not true!” thundered the general.

“It is true,” replied Gotzkowsky, calmly.

“Who dares to contradict me?” cried Tottleben, trembling with rage, and striding toward Gotzkowsky.

“I dare,” answered the latter, “if you call that ‘to dare’ which is only convincing you of your error.  I, myself, have seen your soldiers striking down the flying women with the butts of their muskets, robbing and plundering the houses.  Your orders have been but poorly obeyed; and your soldiers almost equal the Austrians in rudeness and violence.”

A light smile played over Tottleben’s countenance.  Gotzkowsky had understood how to soften his anger. “Almost—­only,” said he, “woe be to my soldiers if they equal the Austrians in rudeness!” With hasty steps he traversed the apartment, and called his adjutant.  “Send patrols through the whole town,” was his order to the officer as he entered, “and give orders to all the soldiers to maintain strict discipline.  Whoever dares to plunder, is guilty of disobedience to military orders, and shall be tried by military law.  The gallows for thieves and marauders—­say so to my men; they know that General Tottleben keeps his word.  Are you satisfied now?” he asked Gotzkowsky, as the adjutant left the room.

“I thank your excellency,” said Gotzkowsky, hesitating.

“Thank God that at last you are satisfied, and have nothing more to ask!” cried Tottleben, almost cheerfully.

“But indeed I have a great deal yet to ask, and if you allow me I will ask your excellency a question.  You have just issued an order.  How high up does this order reach?”