The people crowded around the prophet in still narrower circles, and in more piercing tones wept and cried out:  “What shall we do?  What shall we do to be saved?  Have mercy, O God!  Have mercy on Berlin, for the Russians are coming!”

“Yes, they are coming!” cried Pfannenstiel.  “God told me so in the roll of His thunder and the lightning of His eyes; and he said to me:  ’Go and say to the people of Berlin, “The Russians are coming!” and thou shalt see in the same hour how their hearts will shrink, and how cast down they will be; how their eyes will run tears, and their lips utter prayers, for the Russian is the sworn enemy of the Berlin people; and as often as the cry, “The Russians are coming,” sounds through the streets of Berlin, there will be wailing and lamentation in every house and every heart; and they will bow down in timid contrition and abject obedience.  Speak, therefore, to them, and say, “The Russians are coming!” that they may become humble and quiet; that the proud word may be silenced on their lips, and that they may submit in peace.’”

“What shall we do?” asked the people.  “Help us, advise us, for thou art our prophet.”

Pfannenstiel drew himself up to his utmost height, and an expression of triumphant cunning sparkled in his eyes.  “Do you not understand the voice of God?  God commands you to withdraw in silence and peace to your own dwellings, to weep and pray.  Go, then!  Let the word of your mouth and the rebelliousness of your hearts be silent.  Go home to your huts, shut the doors and windows, and do not venture out, for without, death and the Russians await you!”

Obedient to the voice of their prophet, the crowd separated in different directions, and dispersed quietly.

Pfannenstiel looked after them with a smile of scorn; then silently rolled up his pictures, threw his gray cloak over his shoulders, and, casting a serious and significant look up at Mr. Kretschmer’s window, strode down the street slowly and with an air of majestic dignity.

* * * * *

CHAPTER VI.

THE COWARDS’ RACE.

The warning sounded loud and threatening in Mr. Kretschmer’s ears—­“The Russians are coming!” A cold chill ran through him, and he could not prevent an involuntary shudder.  But he tried to rouse himself from this despondency, and laughed at himself for this credulous fear.

“This Pfannenstiel is a fool, and I would he a greater 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.