What did these people care whether Berlin fell, and was taken or not?  What did they care if the throne of the house of Hohenzollern was overthrown?  They had but one thought, one object—­safety in flight.  So they hurried down the street, moaning and wailing, breathless and trembling in every limb, toward the town gates.  They reached the goal; they stood before the gates beyond which were escape and safety.  But these gates were closed, and the soldiers who guarded them declared that none should pass them, that the men must stay to defend the town, the women to nurse the wounded and dying.  All begging and pleading were in vain; in vain did the Jew Ephraim, who had become a millionnaire by the farming of the mint, offer the sentinel thousands to open the gates; in vain did the gentlemen, once so proud, entreat; in vain did the beautiful countesses wring their white hands before the poor despised workman who now stood as sentinel at the gates.  In this moment this poor man was richer than the Hebrew mint-farmer Ephriam, for he was rich in courage; mightier than the proudest countess, for to his hands were intrusted the keys of a town; and the town gates were not opened to these bands of cowards.  They were condemned to remain, condemned to the torture of trembling fear, cowardly, inactive supplication.

Howling and whining, they fled back again into the town, in order at least to bury their treasures, and hold themselves in readiness to meet the victor, whoever he might be, with flags of peace and hymns of welcome.

But before they had reached their houses, bombs had commenced to fly into the town, and here and there mortar-shells were heard whizzing through the air; with the cries of the flying and the wounded, and the screams of the dying, was now heard the moaning toll of the alarm-bell, telling that to the terrors of the siege were added those of the elements.  Like gigantic torches of a funeral procession shone the flames of the burning houses, and covered the heavens with crimson as deep as the blood of those wounded unto death.  At last night set in, but brought no rest for the sick, no refreshment for the weary.  The fire-balls and bomb-shells still flew into the town, the alarm-bells still continued their mournful toll, the burning houses still flamed up to the sky; but yet the courage of the besieged did not sink.  They still held their ground intrepidly, and they still bade an heroic defiance to the attacks of the enemy.  In vain did the Russians attempt to storm the gates, the brave defenders drove them back again and again.  Suddenly the cannon ceased firing, and the enemy drew back.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked the combatants at the gates.

“The meaning is,” said Gotzkowsky, who had just arrived from another part of the town with a squad of his workmen—­“the meaning is that help is approaching.  It means that God is on our side, and succors our noble and righteous cause.  The Prince of Wurtemberg has just arrived from Pasewalk with his division, and General Huelsen is hastening hither as rapidly as possible from Koswig.”