he curtain had fallen: Gotzkowsky had run his
brilliant career, and retired into oblivion. His fall was for some
days the topic of conversation of the good Berliners; but it was
soon superseded by some other novelty, and without either sympathy or
ill-feeling they passed by the deserted house with the closed windows
which had once been Gotzkowsky's residence. The king had purchased
it, in order to carry on, at the expense of the royal government, the
porcelain factory which Gotzkowsky had founded.

Months had passed by. How many changes had taken place in this short
space of time! How many tears had been shed there, how many hopes
destroyed!

Elise had become Bertram's wife; and she lived with him in the small,
quiet residence which they had selected in the most remote quarter of
the town. The three had entered the low, narrow rooms, which were to
be their home, with the firm determination not to let themselves
be annoyed by such slight material privation as they might have to
endure, but to pass them over with cheerful equanimity and proud
indifference, consoling themselves with the conviction that no one
could rob them of their great and pure love. And besides this,
their honor and their reputation were untouched, for every one was
acquainted with Gotzkowsky's fate, every one knew that he had not
fallen through his own fault, but through the force of circumstances,
and the baseness of mankind.

He might have cause of complaint against the world, it had none
against him. With his creditors he had been honest. All that he
possessed he had given up to them, and they were all satisfied. With
proud step and unbent head could he pass through the streets, for no
one dared to follow him with insulting words. Nor had he need to be
ashamed of his poverty, for it was in itself a proof not only of
his unmerited misfortune, but of his integrity. All this he said and
repeated to himself daily, and yet it pained him to go through the
streets, feeling solitary and downcast. His eyes even filled with
tears, as one day passing by his house he saw the gates open, and
equipages, as in former days, at his door, while genteel and rich
people, with cold, apathetic countenances, were entering his house
as they had done of yore. Formerly they came to Gotzkowsky's splendid
dinners, now they had come to the auction. The _fauteuils_ and
velvet-covered sofas, the carpets and gold-embroidered curtains, the
chandeliers of bronze and rock crysta