donkeys
helped to spoil your mine.'

The smile which at this sally passed across Torstenson's pale and
suffering face gave Conrad a sudden courage; he knelt before the
general, and began in a pleading tone, that grew bolder as he warmed
with his subject: 'Gracious Field-Marshal, I pray of you, for Christ's
sake, to leave off firing at our dear old town. Why should we be the
people you are so angry with, and why did you choose us out? The whole
wide world lies open before you, and I am sure there are many strong
cities in Germany you could easily take if you would just attack them.
Do you expect to seize many lumps or bars of silver in Freiberg? They
are all gone long ago in this never-ending war, and there's nothing
left but rubbish and stones. And I can tell you another thing, noble
sir, and that is that you will never conquer the town--no, not if you
and all your soldiers were to stand on your heads!'

'Silence, boy!' cried an officer angrily.

'Let the lad chatter,' said Torstenson. 'His talk helps to pass away
the time. And pray,' he continued, turning to Conrad, 'who is to blame
for your trouble but yourselves? Have I not many times offered the
town pardon on favourable terms?'

'Yes,' returned Conrad, hesitating; 'but--with permission--people know
what your excellency's pardon is like. Inside the town there, they say
they would rather die than accept your excellency's pardon.'

Perhaps it was a fresh twinge of the gout that distorted Torstenson's
face. He made a hasty sign to the boy to withdraw, which he was
nothing loth to do, although assisted on his way by a cuff or two from
the indignant attendants.

The bad temper of great men seldom passes away without producing some
effect on those who surround them. The tortures Torstenson suffered
found an outlet in giving orders for a general assault on the works of
the city, especially on the Peter Gate. The firing of the double and
single arquebuses began again, the mortars joined in with their short,
sharp roar, and soon the earth shook and the air vibrated with the
frightful din.

Conrad had taken refuge in a corner of the hospital wall. When,
towards evening, there came a lull in the firing, he could hear, from
the breach by the Peter Gate, the jubilant tones of a hymn that touched
him to the heart. 'Jesus, my Redeemer, lives,' sounded through the
wintry air, chanted by the deep voices of earnest men, and Conrad, in
his corner, joined in softl