“If they attempt to murder me, I shall not stand on the defensive,” murmurs Count Schwarzenberg to himself, as he retires from the window, slowly traverses the apartment, and again sinks down upon the chair by his writing table.  The door of the cabinet is violently torn open, and in rush the Commandants von Kracht and von Rochow, followed by the captains of their regiments.

“Gracious sir, it is impossible to calm these madmen.  They no longer heed orders.  They are beside themselves with rage.  They have already broken open the doors and forced their way into the entrance hall.  They will plunder and despoil the whole palace!  We can save nothing more, prevent nothing more!  You are lost, so are we, and all Berlin!”

“Be it so!” says Schwarzenberg loftily.  “Let the whole earth fall down and overwhelm me in its ruins.  I shall but be buried beneath them!”

“Gracious sir, only hear!  The howling and yelling come ever nearer, and are continually gaining in strength!  Gracious sir, have pity upon us, upon yourself!  Save us all!”

“Save?  How can I save any one?  Will those savage hordes obey me, when they refuse submission to you, their officers?”

“Gracious sir, they demand their pay!  They demand money!  Nothing will appease them but money, and assurances that they shall have their winter allowance.  Give us money to quiet that raging host!  Money—­money!”

“How much would you have?  How much is needful to tame that fierce, wild horde?”

“Three hundred dollars!” calls out Herr von Kracht.

“No; four hundred dollars!” shouts Herr von Rochow.

“Five hundred dollars!” growls Herr von Goldacker.  “No, give us six hundred dollars, which would do the thing thoroughly.”

“Well, be it six hundred dollars then,” says the count, with an expression of contemptuous scorn.  “Stay here, gentlemen; I will return directly.  I am only going to fetch the money.”

He left the cabinet and entered his sleeping apartment, where, at the side of the bed, stood the great iron chest to which he alone had the key.  After a few minutes he rejoined the officers in his cabinet.  He had six rolls of money in his hand, two of which he handed to each of the three gentlemen.

“Here, gentlemen,” he said, with bitter mockery, “here are the commandants who have authority to bring their troops to order.  Go and show them to your men, and order them to follow these commandants to the cathedral square, and there distribute the money among them.”

The gentlemen wished to thank him, but with a wave of his hand he pointed them to the door, and they hurried out to their soldiers.

Schwarzenberg looked after them, and listened to the rumbling and roaring without in the entrance hall of his house.  Suddenly it became gentler, and finally ceased altogether.  Then, after a pause, rang forth a loud shout of joy, and again the street filled with soldiers, again was heard the loud tramp of feet, the uproar and confusion of many tongues.  “The wretches have marched off,” murmured Count Schwarzenberg to himself.  “Yes, yes, with money we buy love, with money hatred and—­”