For the first time, then, she looked at him—­for the first time, she recognized him.  A deep blush of joy suffused her cheeks, and an angelic smile beamed on her lips.  She felt, she knew nothing further than that her lover was at her side, that he was not dead—­that he was not lost to her.  With an outcry of delight she threw herself into his arms, and greeted the lost, the found one, with warm and happy words of love.  She raised her eyes and hands to heaven.  “Oh, my God, he lives!” cried she, exultingly.  “I thank Thee, God, I thank Thee.  Thou hadst pity on my sufferings.”

“Love protected me,” said Feodor, gazing at her passionately.  “Love saved me by a miracle.  Still more miraculously, it brings you to my arms.  Fear not, Elise.  No other eye than mine has seen you.  No one knows your name.  That sweet secret, is only known to Love and ourselves.”

Elise trembled.  This imprudent speech woke her out of the stupor which had so long had possession of her; it recalled her to the world, and dispelled the charm which his presence, his looks, and his words had thrown around her.  She was now aroused, and hurried from a state of dreamy delight to one of cruel and dread reality.  The ray of joy faded from her cheek, the smile died on her lips, and, extricating herself forcibly from his arms, she stood before him in her pride and anger.  “Feodor,” said she, terrified, “you sent those fearful men!  You caused me to be kidnapped!” With an angry, penetrating glance, she looked at Feodor, who sank his eyes in confusion to the ground.

As she saw this, she smiled contemptuously, and her injured maiden honor overcame her love and tenderness.  “Ah! now I understand!” said she, with cutting scorn.  “I have been told of the hunt after human beings which is carried on in the town.  Colonel Feodor von Brenda plays a worthy part in this game!”

Feodor wished to approach her and take her hand, but she repulsed him sternly.  “Do not touch me,” cried she, haughtily; “do not seek to take my hand.  You are no longer he whom I love.  You are a kidnapper.  But let me tell you, though you have compelled my body to suffer this dishonorable deed, yet my soul remains free, and that despises you!”

It was a splendid sight to see her in her noble wrath, which seemed to elevate her whole frame, and drive a deep glow to her cheeks.

Feodor looked at her with ardent gaze.  Never had he seen her so fascinating, so charmingly beautiful.  Even her wrath delighted him, for it was a token of her purity and innocence.

He wanted again to draw near to her, to take her to his heart, but she drew back in pride and anger.  “Go,” said she, “I have nothing to do with a man who violates the most sacred laws of human honor, and like a vile thief sneaks in to destroy innocence.”  Her voice failed her, her eyes filled with tears, but she shook them from her.  “I weep,” said she, “but not for grief, nor yet for love; anger it is alone which extorts tears from me, and they are bitter—­far more bitter than death.”  And as she thus spoke, she pressed her hands to her face, and wept bitterly.