“Well, those which are to burst out from the mint and factory buildings,” said De Lacy, with a smile of indifference.  “I anticipate with extraordinary pleasure this exhibition of fireworks which the town of Berlin is going to give in honor of our presence.”

“You mean to say in disgrace of our presence,” exclaimed Tottleben, ardently.

Count de Lacy looked at him with a compassionate shrug of the shoulders.  “My dear count,” said he, with cutting coldness, “when a man becomes a Russian general, he must have a Russian heart, and not allow himself to be influenced by any German softness or sympathy.  Otherwise it might happen that they might make a mistake, and not being able to deprive you of your German heart, might take your German head instead.”

General Tottleben drew back with astonishment, and stared at him.

Count de Lacy continued, smiling, and in a quiet tone:  “I warn you to guard against your own mildness and your German heart.  General Fermore is my friend, and often consults me about the meaning of German words.  How would you like it if I should explain the word treason in a manner dangerous to yourself, and if this explanation should result in translating your excellency into Siberia?”

“General Fermore is neither my commander nor my master,” cried Tottleben, proudly.

“But the lord and master of your lady and mistress, the high and mighty Empress Elizabeth—­remember that.  Will your excellency now condescend to inform me at what time the Berlin armory shall rise fluttering in the air like a bird?”

“And do you know that, too?” asked Tottleben, with painful astonishment.

“I have already told you that the Russians and Austrians are faithful allies, and have no secrets from each other, as far as their designs upon Germany are concerned.  Oh, it will be a splendid feu de joie for the house of Austria, when the Prussian armory is blown into the air!  When are we to enjoy this spectacle, general?”

General von Tottleben sank his head in silence on his breast.  Count de Lacy regarded him with a cold and piercing glance.  Tottleben felt this look, and understood its important significance.  He knew that his whole future, his freedom, perhaps even his life, hung upon this moment.

“In three hours from now the spectacle will take place,” said he, with a forced laugh.  “In three hours the wedding-torches shall be lighted, and in order to make it the pleasanter, we will have the wails of the people of Berlin as a musical accompaniment.”

“In three hours, then,” said Count de Lacy, bowing low; “I hasten to announce it to my officers.  I am burning with impatience to witness this rare spectacle.”

Count de Lacy departed, and General Tottleben was again alone.

For a long time did he pace his room in abstract meditation, anger and pity, fear and terror struggling in his soul.  He was perfectly aware of the danger which threatened him.  He knew that Count Fermore hated him as a dangerous rival for the smiles of the empress, and only waited for a favorable opportunity to overthrow him.  He was therefore obliged to yield to this cruel necessity; the Berlin armory must be sacrificed.