tram with a trembling voice,
fixing his sad looks penetratingly on Gotzkowsky.

"Then I am irretrievably lost," answered Gotzkowsky, in a loud, firm
voice.

Bertram stepped quickly up to him, and threw himself in his arms,
folding him to his breast as if to protect him against all the danger
which threatened him. "You must be saved!" cried he, eagerly; "it
is not possible that you should fall. You have never deserved such a
misfortune."

"For that very reason I fear that I must suffer it. If I deserved this
disgrace, perhaps it never would have happened to me. The world is so
fashioned, that what we deserve of good or evil never happens to us."

"But you have friends; thousands are indebted to your generosity,
and to your ever-ready, helping hand. There is scarcely a merchant in
Berlin to whom, some time or other, you have not been of assistance in
his need!"

Gotzkowsky laid his hand on his shoulder, and replied with a proud
air: "My friend, it is precisely those who owe me gratitude, who are
now trying to ruin me. The very fact of having obliged them, makes
them my bitter enemies. Gratitude is so disagreeable a virtue, that
men become implacably hostile to those who impose it on them."

"When you speak thus, my father," said Bertram, glowing with noble
indignation, "you condemn me, too. You have bound me to everlasting
gratitude, and yet I love you inexpressibly for it."

"You are a rare exception, my son," replied Gotzkowsky, sadly, "and I
thank God, who has taught me to know you."

"You believe, then, in me?" asked Bertram, looking earnestly in his
eyes.

"I believe in you," said Gotzkowsky, solemnly, offering him his hand.

"Well, then, my father," cried Bertram, quickly and gladly, "in this
important moment let me make an urgent request of you. You call me
your son; give me, then, the rights of a son. Allow me the happiness
of offering you the little that I can call mine. My fortune is not, to
be sure, sufficient to save you, but it can at least be of service to
you. Father, I owe you every thing. It is yours--take it back."

"Never!" interrupted Gotzkowsky.

But Bertram continued more urgently: "At least consider of it. When
you founded the porcelain factory, you made me a partner in this
business, and I accepted it, although I had nothing but what belonged
to you. When the king, a year ago, bought the factory from you, you
paid me a fourth of the purchase-money, and gave me thirty thousand
dollar