the
Council-chamber."

"Very well. I will go to the town-hall," said Gotzkowsky, as he left
the house.

Passing by the window he looked in again. This time, however,
Kircheisen was not standing before the sashes, but at the side,
ensconced behind the curtain, he was spying Gotzkowsky through the
window. As he saw him passing by, pale of countenance, but erect and
unbent, he felt involuntarily a feeling of remorse, and his conscience
warned him of his unpaid debt toward the only man who came to his
rescue. But he would not listen to his conscience, and with a dark
frown he threw back his head with contempt.

"He is a bankrupt--I have nothing to do with him!" So saying, he
retired to his study, and in obedience to a natural instinct, he
opened his strong box, and refreshed himself with a look at the
thousands which he had earned from Gotzkowsky as "detective and
informer." And now his conscience no longer reproached him; the sight
of the shining money lulled it into a gentle slumber.

In the meanwhile Gotzkowsky continued his toilsome and humiliating
journey. He met men who formerly bent humbly to the earth before him,
yet who scarcely greeted him now. Others, again, as they passed him,
whispered, with a malicious smile, "Bankrupt!" As he came to the corner
of a street, he met the valiant editor of the _Vossian Gazette_,
who was coming round from the other side. As they met, he jostled
Gotzkowsky rather roughly, yet Mr. Kretschmer did not think it worth
while to excuse himself, but pulling his hat over his face he walked
on with a dark and scornful look. As Gotzkowsky passed the houses, he
could hear the windows rattle, and he knew that it was his former
good friends, who were drawing back when they saw him coming, and who,
after he had passed, opened the windows again to look after him, to
laugh at and mock him. It was an intellectual running of the gantlet,
and Gotzkowsky's heart bled from the blows, and his feet were tired
to death. What had he then done to burden himself with the cruelty and
contumely of the world? Had he not been benevolent and kind, full
of pity and humanity, obliging to every one? Had he not always shown
himself ready to serve every one, and never requested nor desired
services in return? Therein lay his fault and his crime.

He had been independent. He had never sought the favor of any
man, but, trusting solely to himself, had always relied on his
own strength. And now mankind wished to mak