“Do you go to your father,” said Feodor, after a pause.  “Pray for his consent and his blessing on both of us—­I hasten to prepare every thing.  Tell your father that my whole life shall be spent in the endeavor to redeem every tear you have shed for me with a smile; that I will love him as a son to whom he has given the dearest treasure of life, his Elise.”

He pressed her to his heart and kissed her forehead.  Elise raised her face from his breast, and smiled on him with loving emotion.  But he placed his hands over her eyes; he was not callous enough to be able to bear those innocent, yielding, tender looks.

“I must be gone,” he said.  “But this shall be our last separation, and when I return, it shall be to lead you to the altar.  In an hour, dearest, you must be ready.  At the end of that time, I will come to take you to St. Petersburg, and present you at the empress’s court as my bride, the Princess Stratimojeff.”

He looked down at her with an air of triumph, to see what impression his words would have on her.  He had expected to prepare a pleasurable surprise for her with the princely title—­to see her blush with proud satisfaction.  But Elise felt neither elevated nor honored by the high rank.  What did she care whether Feodor was a prince or a poor officer, so that he only loved her, and would never again forsake her?

She replied, with some surprise, “Princess Stratimojeff!  What does that mean?”

“For three months,” said he with a proud smile, “I have been Prince Stratimojeff.  The empress gave me this title.  The world calls me prince, but you—­you will call me your Feodor?”

“Oh,” said she feelingly, “my heart called you so when you did not hear me.”

“Well, then, go wind the wreath of myrtle in your hair, and wait for me.  In an hour I will return.”

He hastened to the door, but on the threshold he turned to send a farewell greeting to her.  Their eyes met and rested on each other, and suddenly a deep, indescribable feeling of grief came over him.  It seemed to him as if he would never see her again; as if the threshold once crossed, Elise was lost to him forever.  Once again he returned, and folded her passionately in his arms, and, completely overpowered by his painful presentiments, he bowed his head on her shoulder, and wept bitterly.  He then tore himself loose.  “Farewell!” he cried, but his voice sounded hoarse and rough—­“farewell! in an hour I will return for you.  Be prepared, do not keep me waiting in vain.  Farewell!”

* * * * *

CHAPTER X.

THE MAGISTRACY OF BERLIN.

Gotzkowsky had conquered his proud heart; he had left his house to apply to those whom he had benefited and saved in the days of their need and distress, and who had then avowed him everlasting gratitude.  He resolved now, reluctantly and with deep humiliation, rather to remind them of those days than to ask of them any favors or assistance beyond the payment of their debts to him.