“Gotzkowsky,” said he, “I have come with important intelligence, and to redeem the promise I made to my friend Sievers.”  Approaching more closely to Gotzkowsky, he said to him in an undertone:  “General von Tottleben has just received orders to destroy and burn all royal factories and mills.”

Gotzkowsky turned pale, and inquired with horror, “Why this barbarous proceeding?”

General Bachmann shrugged his shoulders.  “It is the order of the commander-in-chief, Count von Fermore,” said he; “and Tottleben will have to be all the more particular from the fact that, instead of the arsenal, fifty of our soldiers were blown into the air.  Here, in the mean while, take this paper, and see whether, among the factories to be destroyed, one of yours has been included by mistake.”

Gotzkowsky looked over the list with dismay.  “Did not your excellency say that only royal factories were to be destroyed?”

“Yes, so runs the order.”

“But the factories that stand on this list are not royal institutions.  The brass-works in Eberwalde, the gold and silver factories, and the warehouse in Berlin, do not belong to the king, and are they going to be so barbarous as to destroy them?  That cannot be.  I will hasten to General Tottleben, and entreat him to revoke this cruel order.”

General Bachmann shook his head sadly.  “I am afraid it will be in vain,” said he.  “Besides, you incur great risk in your undertaking.  The general is in a very angry, excited mood, and your intercession will only increase his bitterness and anger.”

“I fear not his anger,” cried Gotzkowsky boldly.  “If no one else dares to tell him the truth, I will do it; and with argument and entreaty compel him to be humane, and to respect the property of others.  Come, sir, let us go to General Tottleben!”

“No, sir.  I am not going with you,” said Bachmann, laughing.  “I am not a man to tremble on the eve of battle, and yet I fear to meet Tottleben’s angry looks.  In his wrath he is like a Jupiter Tonans, ready to launch his thunderbolts, and dash to pieces all who approach him.”

“I am not afraid of his thunder!” cried Gotzkowsky, fervently.  “The property and welfare of Berlin are in danger.  I must go to the general!”

“Then go along,” said Bachmann, “and may God give power to your words!  I have warned you, and that is all I can do.”

Gotzkowsky did not answer him.  Trembling with eagerness and impatience, he dressed himself, and throwing his cloak around him, he once more left his house, with the alacrity of a young man.

General Bachmann looked after him, smiling thoughtfully.  “He is a noble fellow,” said he, “and Berlin has good reason to be grateful to him, and to love him.  But who knows? perhaps, for that very reason, she will one day hate him.  Noble-mindedness is so soon forgotten!  It is the solid weight that sinks to the bottom, while light deeds float on top.  Mankind is not fond of being grateful.  I would like to know whether Berlin will ever show a due appreciation of this noble man?”