“Oh, pshaw!” cried Gotzkowsky, laughing, “they will have to conclude to leave us something more.”

“And did you hear London’s terrible threat?  He has said his soldiers should massacre every one, and not spare even the child in its mother’s womb.”

“And did you not hear the brave Schwerin’s answer to this Austrian bravado?” asked Gotzkowsky.  “He said, ’My soldiers are not with child, neither am I.’  Well, our men of Berlin are not with child, and therefore they need not be afraid.”

“But you must be afraid!” whined Krause.  “It is disgraceful madness not to be afraid.  How!  You can be so unreasonable as to advise war?  But war is the most bitter enemy of prosperity, and threatens property above all things.”

“Then shame on the proprietors,” cried Gotzkowsky, “if their property is to make cowardly poltroons of them!  Liberty is our greatest possession, and all else must yield to it.”

At this moment loud cries and sounds of wailing were heard in the garden from the collected workmen, who surrounded the prophet in a dense group, and listened to his prophecies with anxious wonder as he uttered them from a high bench.

Gotzkowsky frowned.  “Ah, I understand!” said he, “this good linen-weaver is your accomplice, my brave gentlemen, and as you wish to convert me, so does he wish to convert my honest workmen into old women.  Let us see first in what sort of gibberish he preaches his wisdom to these good people.”

Without taking any further notice of the two editors, Gotzkowsky left the summer-house rapidly and approached the listening multitude.

* * * * *

CHAPTER VIII.

THE LEADER OF THE PEOPLE.

The inspired prophet stood on a bench, and, as he unrolled his pictures, he endeavored to explain these mystical paintings to his devout gazers and listeners in equally mystical language.  Gotzkowsky hastened toward this group, and pressed in silent observation close up to Pfannenstiel’s side.

The linen-weaver, wholly possessed by his prophetic god, had in the mean while unrolled another picture, and holding it up high with solemn countenance, exclaimed with a screaming voice:  “The day of judgment is at hand, and destiny is at your door!  In my dream I saw a face like unto no other face, and I heard a voice, and the voice was like unto no other voice!”

“And yet you heard it!  What ears you must have!” said Gotzkowsky, laughing.

The prophet answered calmly, “Yes! for then were seen invisible things, and then were heard inaudible sounds!” And showing a fresh picture to the crowd, he continued:  “Look at this picture, which I found this morning on my sheet.  It contains the history of your future, and God announced it to me as I sat at my loom weaving.  I heard a voice crying, ’Pfannenstiel, my beloved son, dost thou hear me?’ And I fell on my knees and answered, ‘Yes, I hear.’  ’Dost thou know what thou art weaving?’ asked the voice.  ‘Yes,’ said I, ’it is linen shirting for the almshouse.’  ‘No,’ said the voice, ’it is a cloth of weeping for the town of Berlin, for the daughters of your fathers will shed tears, and there will be moaning and weeping.’”