s 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.

Suddenly his countenance lighted up, and his features assumed an
expression of joy. He hastened rapidly to the door and summoned his
body servant and slave, Ivan Petrowitsch. "Ivan," said he, with the
stern and cold composure of a Russian--"Ivan, I have a commission for
you, and if you are successful in its execution, I will not have your
son Feodor hung, although I know that yesterday, contrary to my order,
he was present at the plundering of a house."

"Speak, master, what am I to do? I will save my son, even if it cost
my own life."

"It will cost your life, Ivan."

"I am your property, master, and my life belongs to you," said the
serf, sadly. "You can have me whipped to death any time it pleases
you. Say, then, what I must do to save my son."

"Fifty Cossacks are to ride immediately to the powder-mills to bring
powder. You will accompany them."

Ivan looked at him with astonishment. "Is that all I have to do?"
asked he.

Tottleben was not yet sufficiently Russian. His German heart would
assert its rights. As he met the inquiring look of Ivan, he turned his
eye away. He forgot that it was only a serf he was speaking to, and
not a human being.

But he soon recalled it. "You will accompany these Cossacks to the
powder-mills, I say, and as you do so you will smoke your pipe, and
see that the tobacco burns well, and that you are burning tinder on
top of it."

An expression of comprehension shone in Ivan's eyes. "I will smoke,
master," said he, sadly.

"When you are in the powder-mills, and the Cossacks are loading the
powder, you will help them, and in doing so you will let the pipe fall
out of your mouth," said Tottleben, in an undertone, and his voice
trembled ever so little. There was a pause--Ivan leaned, pale and
trembling, against the wall. General Tottleben had turned away, as if
afraid to encounter the pallid, terrified countenance of his slave.

"If you do not execute my command," said he, fina