appiness--inwardly,
silent and desolate, full of privation and deep-rooted sorrow.

* * * * *

CHAPTER VI.

DAYS OF MISFORTUNE.

Gotzkowsky was alone in his room. It was an elegant, brilliantly
ornamented apartment, which the greatest prince might have envied.
The most select pictures by celebrated old masters hung around on the
walls; the most costly Chinese vases stood on gilt tables; and between
the windows, instead of mirrors, were placed the most exquisite Greek
marble statues. The furniture of the room was simple. Gotzkowsky had
but one passion, on which he spent yearly many thousands, and that
was for art-treasures, paintings, and antiques. His house resembled
a temple of art; it contained the rarest and choicest treasures; and
when Gotzkowsky passed through the rooms on the arm of his daughter,
and contemplated the pictures, or dwelt with her on one of the sublime
statues of the gods, his eye beamed with blissful satisfaction, and
his whole being breathed cheerfulness and calm. But at this moment
his countenance was care-worn and anxious, and however pleasantly and
cheerfully the pictures looked down upon him from the walls, his
eye remained sad and clouded, and deep grief was expressed in his
features.

He sat at his writing-table, and turned over the papers which lay
piled up high before him. At times he looked deeply shocked and
anxious, and his whole frame trembled, as with hasty hand he
transcribed some notes from another sheet. Suddenly he let the pen
drop, and sank his head on his breast.

"It is in vain," he muttered in a low voice--"yes, it is in vain. If
I were to exert all my power, if I were to collect all my means
together, they would not be sufficient to pay these enormous sums."

Again he turned over the papers, and pointing with his finger to
one of them, he continued: "Yes, there it stands. I am a rich man
on paper. Leipsic owes me more than a million. If she pays, and De
Neufville comes, I am saved. But if not--if Leipsic once more, as she
has already done three times, protests her inability to pay--if De
Neufville does not come, what shall I do? How can I save myself from
ruin and shame?"

Deeper and deeper did he bury himself silently in the papers. A
terrible anxiety oppressed him, and sent his blood rushing to his
heart and head. He arose and paced up and down the room, muttering
occasionally a few words, betraying the anguish and terror whi