Gotzkowsky looked at him in dismay, and a deep glow suffused his cheek.  “You refuse to pay them?” he asked, faintly.

“It pains us deeply that we cannot recognize these claims.  You must abate somewhat from them if we are to pay them,” answered the burgomaster rudely.

“Do you dare to propose this to me?” cried Gotzkowsky, his eyes flashing, his countenance burning with anger and indignation.  “Is this the way you insult the man to whom four years ago on this very spot you swore eternal gratitude?  In those days I sacrificed to you my repose, the sleep of my nights; for, when the town was threatened with danger and alarm, there was no Council, no authority in existence, for you were base cowards, and abjectly begged for my good offices.  With tears did you entreat me to save you.  I left my house, my family, my business, to serve you.  At the risk of my life, in the depth of winter, I undertook these journeys.  You did not consider that Russian bayonets threatened me, that I risked health and life.  You thought only of yourselves.  I have not put down in the account the sleepless nights, the trouble and anxiety, the privation and hardships which I suffered.  I do not ask any money or recompense for my services.  I only ask that I may be paid back what I actually expended; and you have the assurance to refuse it?”

“No, we do not,” said the burgomaster, quite unmoved by Gotzkowsky’s noble excitement.  “We do not refuse payment; we only desire a reduction of the amounts.”

“You wish to cheapen and bargain with me,” said Gotzkowsky with a hoarse laugh.  “You take me for a chapman, who measures out his life and services by the yard; and you wish to pay me for mine by the same measure.  Go, most sapient gentlemen; I carry on a wholesale trade, and do not cut off yards.  That I leave to shopkeepers, to souls like yours.”

The burgomaster rose up proud and threateningly from his seat.  “Do you dare to insult the Council?”

“No, the Council of Berlin insult themselves by their own deeds.  They dare to chaffer with me!”

“And they have a right to do so,” cried the burgomaster, quite beside himself with rage.  “Who asked you to play the great lord in our name, and distribute royal presents—­diamonds and gold snuff-boxes?  You could have done it much more cheaply.  The Russian is not so high-priced.  But it was your pleasure to be magnificent at our expense, and to strut about as a bountiful gentleman.”

“Silence!” cried Gotzkowsky, in such a commanding tone that the burgomaster was struck dumb, and sank back in his chair.  Gotzkowsky said no more.  He took the accounts from the table, and, casting a look of anger and contempt on the worthy gentlemen, tore the papers in pieces, and threw the scraps at their feet.  “I am paid!” he said, proudly, and turned to leave the room.

One of the town councillors hastened after him, and held him back.  “You are too hasty:  we may yet agree.”