“Your worships have forgotten my claims,” said Gotzkowsky quickly.  “However, that I can easily understand, as the accounts are somewhat old.  It is now four years since I have had the honor of having the Council of Berlin as my debtor; since I thrice performed the perilous journey to Koenigsberg and Warsaw in order to negotiate the war contribution in the name of the town.  At that time, too, I was obliged, in the service of the Council, to take with me many valuable presents.  I may enumerate among them the diamond-set staff for General von Fermore, and the snuff-box, with the portrait of the empress, surrounded by brilliants, which I delivered to the General Field-Marshal Count Butterlin, in the name of the magistracy and town of Berlin.  But, gentlemen, you will find the accounts of all these things here.”

The gentlemen of the Council did not answer him; they seized upon the papers hastily, and turned them over, and looked into them with stern and sullen eyes.  Not a word was said, and nothing was heard but the rustling of the papers, and the low muttering of one of the senators adding the numbers, and verifying the calculation.  Gotzkowsky rose, and walked to the window.  Raising his looks to heaven, his countenance expressed all the pain and bitterness to which his soul almost succumbed.  Ah! he could have torn the papers out of the hand of this miserable, calculating, reckoning senator, and with pride and contempt have thrown them in his face.  But he thought of his daughter, and the honor of his name.  He had to wait it out, and bend his head in submission.

At last the burgomaster laid the papers aside, and turned scowlingly toward Gotzkowsky.  The latter stepped up to the table with a smile, making a vow to himself that he would remain quiet and patient.

“Have you read them, gentlemen?” he asked.

“We have read them,” answered the burgomaster roughly, “but the Council cannot admit that it owes you any thing.”

“No?” cried Gotzkowsky; and then, allowing himself to be overcome by a feeling of bitterness—­“I believe you.  Those in authority seldom take cognizance of what they owe, only what is owing to them.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” said the first councillor with solemn dignity, “we know very well that we owe you thanks for the great services you have rendered the town.”

Gotzkowsky broke out into a loud, ironical laugh.  “Do you remember that?  I am glad that you have not forgotten it.”

“It is true,” continued the councillor, in a tone of conciliation, “at the request of the magistracy you took charge of the affairs of the town.  You travelled to St. Petersburg to see the empress; twice did you go to Warsaw to see General Fermore, and twice to Saxony to visit the king.  You see the Council knows how much it is indebted to you.”

“And we are cheerfully willing to be grateful to you,” interrupted the burgomaster, “and to serve you when and in what manner we can, but these debts we cannot acknowledge.”