t, and he had delivered over all his
property to his creditors. The die had been cast. He had been powerful
and great through money, but his power and greatness had now gone from
him, for he was poor. The same men who yesterday had bowed down to the
ground before him, had to-day passed him by in pride and scorn; and
those who had vowed him eternal gratitude, had turned him from their
door like a beggar. Why should he continue to bear the burdens of
a life which had no longer any allurements, and whose most precious
jewel, his honor, he had lost?

De Neufville had done right, and only a coward would still cling to
life after all that was worth living for had disappeared. They should
not point scornfully at him as he went along the streets. He would not
be condemned to hear whispered after him, "Look! there goes Gotzkowsky
the bankrupt." No, this fearful word should never wound his ears or
pierce his heart.

Once more only would he pass through those streets, which had so often
seen him in his glory--once more, not poor, nor as the laughing-stock
of children, but so that those who now derided him should bow down
before him, and honor him as the mourning emblem of departed honor:
only his body should pass by these men who had broken his heart. He
had determined to quit this miserable existence, to leave a world
which had proved itself to him only a gulf of wickedness and malice,
and his freed spirit would wing its way to regions of light and
knowledge.

With such thoughts he entered the room which was to be the scene of
his last hours. But he would not go down to the grave without bearing
witness to the wickedness and malice of the world. His death should be
a monument of its disgrace and ingratitude.

For this purpose he had sought this room, for in it was the costly
_etagere_ on which stood the silver pitcher presented to him by the
Council of Leipsic as a token of their gratitude, and from it he would
drink his fatal draught. He took it and emptied into it a small white
powder, that looked so innocent and light, and yet was strong enough
to drag him down with leaden weight into the grave. He then took the
water-goblet and poured water on it. The draught was ready; all that
was necessary was for him to put it to his lips to imbibe eternal
rest, eternal oblivion.

Elise saw it all--understood it all. She folded her hands and prayed;
her teeth chattered together, and all that she could feel and know
was, that she mu