"Sir," cried De Lacy, "what do these words mean?"
"They mean that I have promised my protection to the people of Berlin, and that I am prepared to afford it to them, even against our own allies. They mean that I have made myself sufficiently strong to bid you defiance, sir, and to defend Berlin against the cruelty and inhumanity of the Austrian army. The Russian army will compel it to be humane, and to pause in the cruel rage with which they have desolated unhappy Germany."
Count de Lacy shrugged his shoulders. "What is Germany to you, and why do you feel for her?" asked he jeeringly. "I beg you, count, let us not speak of Germany. What to us is this lachrymose, fantastic female Germania, which has been betrothed to so many lords and wooers, that she can remain faithful and true to none? Germania will then only be happy when one of her lovers has the boldness to kill off and tread under foot all his rivals and so build himself up an undisputed throne. That is Austria's mission, and our duty is to fulfil it. We are the heralds who go before Germania's Austrian bridegroom, and everywhere illuminate the heavens with the torches of our triumphs. If the torches now and then come too near some piece of humanity and set it on fire, what is that to us? Germany is our enemy, and if we have a puling compassion on our enemy, we become traitors to our own cause. That's all. But what is the use of this strife and these recriminations?" asked he, suddenly breaking into a smile. "I have only come to ask your excellency when you intend to light these new wedding-torches which are to redden the sky of Berlin?"
"What wedding-torches?" inquired Tottleben, turning pale.
"Well, those which are to burst out from the mint and factory buildings," said De Lacy, with a smile of indifference. "I anticipate with extraordinary pleasure this exhibition of fireworks which the town of Berlin is going to give in honor of our presence."
"You mean to say in disgrace of our presence," exclaimed Tottleben, ardently.
Count de Lacy looked at him with a compassionate shrug of the shoulders. "My dear count," said he, with cutting coldness, "when a man becomes a Russian general, he must have a Russian heart, and not allow himself to be influenced by any German softness or sympathy. Otherwise it might happen that they might make a mistake, and not being able to deprive you of your German heart, might take your German head instead."
General Tottleben drew back with astonishment, and stared at him.
Count de Lacy continued, smiling, and in a quiet tone: "I warn you to guard against your own mildness and your German heart. General Fermore is my friend, and often consults me about the meaning of German words. How would you like it if I should explain the word treason in a manner dangerous to yourself, and if this explanation should result in translating your excellency into Siberia?"
"General Fermore is neither my commander nor my master," cried
Tottleben, proudly.