ts, the reproachful conversations she carried on
with her lover--unseen but nevertheless present in her delirium--had
betrayed her secret to her father. Full of emotion, he thanked God for
her happy escape, and felt no resentment against this poor, misguided
child, who had taken refuge from the loneliness of her heart, in his
love, as in a haven of shelter. He only reproached his own want of
discernment, as he said to himself: "Elise had cause to be angry
with me and to doubt my affection. I bore solitude and the constant
separation from my daughter because I thought I was working for her,
but I forgot that at the same time she was solitary and alone, that
she missed a father's tenderness as I did my child's love. I wished to
make her rich, and I have only made her poor and wretched."

He kissed her burning, feverish forehead, he bedewed it with tears,
and forgave her, from the bottom of his heart, her misplaced love, her
errors and transgressions. She was with him; she had returned to his
heart. In her despair she had fled to the bosom of her father, and
sought support and assistance from him.

The dark clouds had all rolled over, and the heavens were again bright
and clear. Berlin was freed from the enemy. Elise was convalescent,
and the town of Berlin, was preparing for her noblest citizen a
banquet of gratitude.

The appointed hour had arrived for Gotzkowsky to receive the
deputations, and he betook himself to the hall next the garden. A
thundering hurrah received him. It proceeded from his workmen, who had
come in procession through the garden, and were waving their hats and
caps. They were followed by a multitude of women in black. This day
they had laid aside the tears and griefs for their husbands and sons
fallen in battle, in order to thank Gotzkowsky with a smile for the
magnanimous kindness with which he had taken their part and secured
their future.

Following these women came the poor orphans, with mourning-crape on
their arms. They rushed forward joyously toward Gotzkowsky, stretching
out their little hands to him, and, at a word from the head operative,
Balthazar, they stretched open their small mouths, and gave out such a
shrill and crashing hurrah that the windows rattled, and many a stout
workman stopped his ears and felt a ringing in his head.

"One more hurrah!" cried the enthusiastic Balthazar; and "hurrah!"
screamed and squeaked the children.

"And now for a third--"

But Gotzkowsky seized