As Gotzkowsky looked at the deathly pale, convulsed countenance of the magistrate, who renewed his shrill, screeching laugh, he comprehended the racking and terrible torture which the unfortunate man was suffering.  He hastened to him, seized him by the arm, and led the tottering figure toward the general.

“This man is neither a fool nor a madman, your excellency; suffering has robbed him of speech, and he laughs, not in derision, but from the convulsion of intense sorrow.”

And as the offended and angry general would not believe him, and commanded his soldiers anew to arrest the burgomaster, and the soldiers with renewed rage pressed on him, Gotzkowsky placed himself before him, and protected him with his proud and respect-inspiring person.

“General Bachmann,” cried he, warmly, “I remind you of your oath.  You vowed to me to protect the suffering.  Well, then, this man is a sufferer, a sick man.  I demand, from the noble friend of General Sievers, that he have compassion on the sick man, and allow him to be escorted safely and unmolested to his house.”

“Can you give me your word that this man did not act thus out of arrogance?” asked the general, in a milder tone; “are you convinced that he is sick?”

“I swear to you, please your excellency, that the chief magistrate of Berlin has never been a healthy man; that, for many years, he has been subject to fits of convulsive laughter.”

General Bachmann smiled.  “This is an unfortunate disease for the chief magistrate of a city,” said he, “and it seems to me as if the citizens of Berlin did wrong in choosing for their burgomaster a man who laughs and cries indifferently, and to whom the misfortunes of his fellow-citizens apparently serves only for a joke.  But you reminded me of my promise, and you shall see that I will keep it.”

He beckoned to his soldiers, and ordered them to fetch a litter on which to carry the sick burgomaster home.  He then turned, with a smile, to Gotzkowsky, and said:  “Sir, the Council of Berlin have cause to be grateful to you; you have saved their chief from death.”

Herr von Kircheisen did not laugh now.  His features jerked and distorted themselves still, but a stream of tears gushed from his eyes.

With an unspeakable expression he seized Gotzkowsky’s hand, and pressed it to his lips, then sank unconscious in the arms of his deliverer.

* * * * *

CHAPTER III.

THE RUSSIAN, THE SAXON, AND THE AUSTRIAN, IN BERLIN.

Berlin was now given up to the enemy, and through the once cheerful and pleasant streets could be heard nothing but screams and shrieks of terror, mingled with the wild curses and boisterous laughter of the conqueror, who, not satisfied with attacking the trembling inhabitants to rob them of their possessions and property, ill treated them out of sheer cruelty, and took delight in hearing their screams and looking at the contortions caused by pain.