! 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--"

"Hurrah! Long live Count Schwarzenberg!" sounded below his windows. "Long
live the Stadtholder in the Mark!"

"That shout costs me six hundred dollars," said he, shrugging his
shoulders. "To-morrow, most likely the mob will come again to threaten me,
that I may again purchase a cheer