eater one if I
believed his nonsense," said he. "No, no, my information is warranted
and authentic. The king has had a sharp skirmish with the Russians
near Reitwan, and driven them back, and then proceeded quietly to
Meissen. Thus there is no ground for anxiety, and I can safely let off
my bomb-shells against the Russians."

Mr. Kretschmer felt his courage return and his heart grow warm.

"Now I see the whole game," cried he, laughing. "Pfannenstiel wishes
the _Vossian Gazette_ to take notice of him. He wants to be talked
about, and wishes the newspapers to spread his reputation. For that
reason he stationed himself right under my window, for that reason he
cast such significant looks at me, for that reason he addressed the
crowd and poured forth his nonsense right here. Yes, that's it! He
wishes to prove to me how great his power is over this people
which believes in him, even when he utters the most incredible and
unheard-of things. Well, we can help the man," continued he,
laughing, as he stepped to his desk. "The desired article for the
'Miscellaneous' is found, and I think that the prophetic linen-weaver,
Pfannenstiel, is well worth more than the four children at a birth and
the miserable stork's nest of yesterday's _Spener's Journal_. Let's
write it off quickly."

Kretschmer began to write most industriously, when he was suddenly
interrupted by a violent knocking at the door. It opened, and a
stately old gentleman entered, with well-powdered wig and long queue.

"Mr. Krause, my worthy colleague!" exclaimed Kretschmer, jumping
up and hastening toward the old man. But Mr. Krause had no word of
greeting. He sank sighing into a chair.

"Do you know the news?" asked he, in a whining tone, folding his
trembling hands, and looking at Kretschmer timidly, as he stood before
him.

"Know what?" demanded the latter in reply, feeling his heart sink.

"The Russians are coming!" sighed Mr. Krause.

"That is a silly tale," cried Kretschmer peevishly, with an impatient
gesture.

"Would to God it were!" groaned Krause; "but the news is, alas, but
too true, and it can no longer be doubted!"

"Man of misfortune," cried Mr. Kretschmer, "who told you so?"

"Pfannenstiel."

"Pfannenstiel?" repeated Kretschmer, laughing heartily; "oh, yes!
Pfannenstiel prophesied it just now in the streets, under my window.
Now don't distress yourself, dearest friend and colleague. That was
only a clumsy trick of the scoundrel to get me