Gotzkowsky was silent.
"Beg him to make the contribution as small as possible," whispered
Kircheisen in Gotzkowsky's ear.
But Gotzkowsky took no notice of him. He fixed his dark eyes on the general, as if he wished to read his soul.
"Speak out," said the general. "If it is possible, your wish shall be granted."
"Well then, general," cried Gotzkowsky, "this is my request: Spare the poor and needy of this town. Order your soldiers to be humane, and do not forget mercy. Let your warriors neither murder nor plunder; let them not deride the defenceless and conquered. Give to the world the example of a generous and noble conqueror."
The general looked into Gotzkowsky's noble countenance with increasing astonishment, and his features assumed a more benevolent expression. "I give you my word that your petition shall be granted," said he; "I will give my soldiers strict orders, and woe be to him who does not obey them! But you have spoken for others, and I would like to oblige you personally. Have you no request to make for yourself?"
"Oh, yes, indeed!" cried Gotzkowsky, "I beg you to allow me to hasten to the Council-hall to report to the elders of the citizens your kind promise."
General Bachmann nodded affably to him. "Hasten then, and return soon."
But as Gotzkowsky turned to hasten away, Herr von Kircheisen seized him with a convulsive grasp and drew him back. "My God! you are not going to leave me?" he whined out. "Only think—"
"That the brave and noble citizens may lay the general's words as a balm to their wounds—that is what I am thinking of," cried Gotzkowsky, tearing himself loose and hurrying away with rapid strides.