"Who dares to contradict me?" cried Tottleben, trembling with rage, and striding toward Gotzkowsky.
"I dare," answered the latter, "if you call that 'to dare' which is only convincing you of your error. I, myself, have seen your soldiers striking down the flying women with the butts of their muskets, robbing and plundering the houses. Your orders have been but poorly obeyed; and your soldiers almost equal the Austrians in rudeness and violence."
A light smile played over Tottleben's countenance. Gotzkowsky had understood how to soften his anger. "Almost—only," said he, "woe be to my soldiers if they equal the Austrians in rudeness!" With hasty steps he traversed the apartment, and called his adjutant. "Send patrols through the whole town," was his order to the officer as he entered, "and give orders to all the soldiers to maintain strict discipline. Whoever dares to plunder, is guilty of disobedience to military orders, and shall be tried by military law. The gallows for thieves and marauders—say so to my men; they know that General Tottleben keeps his word. Are you satisfied now?" he asked Gotzkowsky, as the adjutant left the room.
"I thank your excellency," said Gotzkowsky, hesitating.
"Thank God that at last you are satisfied, and have nothing more to ask!" cried Tottleben, almost cheerfully.
"But indeed I have a great deal yet to ask, and if you allow me I will ask your excellency a question. You have just issued an order. How high up does this order reach?"
"How high up?" asked the general, surprised.
"I mean does this order which forbids the soldiers from robbing and plundering under pain of death, affect only the common private, or must the higher officers also obey it?"
"I would advise every one to do so," cried Tottleben, with a harsh laugh. "The order is for all."
"Even the highest officers?"