“A misbegotten liar told me this morning that a market had opened in Frankfort, and that there was money to be had.  No sooner am I in the town than everything I brought in is stolen.”

“Yes, yes; I know all about that.  My question is, How much is your merchandise worth?”

“Worth?  Thirty thalers I expected to get, and now—­”

“Thirty thalers,” interrupted the Prince.  “Here is your money.  Get you gone, and tell your neighbors there is prompt payment for all the provender they can bring in.”

The man calmed down as if a bucket of water had been thrown on him.  He counted the payment with miserly care, testing each coin between his teeth, then mounted his cart without a word of thanks, and, to the disappointment of the gathering mob, drove away.  Roland, seething with anger, walked directly to the house of Herr Goebel, and found that placid old burgher seated at his table.

“Ten thousand curses on your indolence!” he cried.  “Where are your committee, and the emissaries empowered to carry out this scheme of relief I have ordered?”

“Committee?  Emissaries?” cried the astonished man.  “There has been no time!”

“Time, you thick-headed fool!  I’ll time you by hanging you to your own front door.  There has been time for me to send my men out into the country; time for a farmer to come in with a cartload of produce, and be robbed here under your very nose!  Maledictions on you, you sit here, well fed, and cry there is no time!  If I had not paid the yeoman he would have gone back into the country crying we were all thieves here in Frankfort.  Now listen to me.  I drew my sword once upon you in jest.  Should I draw it a second time it will be to penetrate your lazy carcass by running you through.  If within two hours there is not a paymaster at every gate in Frankfort to buy and pay for each cartload of produce as it comes, and also a number of guides to tell that farmer where to deliver his goods, I’ll give your town over to the military, and order the sacking of every merchant’s house within its walls.”

“It shall be done; it shall be done; it shall be done!” breathed the merchant, trembling as he rose, and he kept repeating the phrase with the iteration of a parrot.

“You owe me thirty thalers,” said the Prince calming down; “the first payment out of the relief fund.  Give me the money.”

With quivering hands Herr Goebel, seeing no humor in the application, handed over the money, which the Prince slipped into his wallet.

Dusk had fallen when at last he reached his room in Sachsenhausen, and there he found awaiting him Joseph Greusel, in semi-darkness and in total gloom.

“Your housekeeper let me in,” said the visitor.

“Good!  I did not expect you back so soon.  Have the others returned?”

“I do not know.  I came direct here.  I carry very ominous news, Roland, of impending disaster in Frankfort.”