“Well, then, your majesty shall know the truth,” said Gotzkowsky, after a pause.

“Yes, yes, the truth,” cried the king, nodding his head violently.  “I wish to know how you inspired the citizens of Berlin with such bold assurance.”

“The truth is, sire, that this was only the courage of cowardice, and that the prudent magistracy and merchants were perfectly delighted with your majesty’s orders not to pay these bonds, and that I gave myself an immense amount of trouble in vain to remind them of their pledged word and their compromised honor.”

“Oh!  I know it,” said the king.  “My good Berliners love money as well as any other of the good-for-nothing children of men.  Proceed!”

“Well, when I found them deaf to the voice of honor, I let them hear the words of cowardly prudence.  I painted to them the horrors awaiting them if the enemy perchance should return as conquerors, and what a fearful revenge they would take on the perjured city.  I reminded them that the enemy would immediately attack all our property in Courland, Dantzic, and Livonia, and that at the Russian headquarters they had threatened me that they would publish, us in all the open commercial marts as issuers of false bonds.”

“You were then in the Russian camp?”

“A fortnight ago, sire.  The Council of Berlin requested me to undertake this journey to complete the transactions left unfinished by the rapid retreat of General von Tottleben.”

“And did you finish them?”

“I was obliged to give General Tottleben a written agreement that I would return in four weeks to the Russian camp to carry out the transactions in the name of these merchants.”

“I have been told that the Russian general would not accept the bonds for the war-tax unless you indorsed them.  Is that true, too?”

“It is true.”

“And what did you do?”

“I indorsed them.”

The king’s eye lighted up with friendship and kindness.  “D’Argens is right,” said he.  “Cornelius Nepos and Livy would have mentioned you in their writings.”  And he paced up and down the room in deep thought.

A long pause ensued.  Finally, Gotzkowsky was bold enough to break it. 
“And the tax, your majesty, may we pay it?”

The king stopped in front of him.  “The tax shall be paid,” said he curtly; but, as Gotzkowsky was about to break out in loud expressions of gratitude, the king waved him off with his hand.  “That is,” said he, “I myself will pay it, if it cannot be otherwise.  Go back into the Russian camp, as you have promised.  Endeavor to get some abatement of the amount, or some other profitable terms; but if you do not succeed, well, I will have to pay this million and a half for Berlin.  But in return you must grant me a favor.”

“What, sire?  Whatever it may be,” cried Gotzkowsky, ardently, “I am ready to perform any service for your majesty, even to the sacrifice of my life.”