“Hurrah for Gotzkowsky!  Long may he live!” cried the crowd, not jubilantly, but in a sad tone, half smothered by tears.

Gotzkowsky’s countenance beamed with joy, and with a grateful smile he stretched out his hand to Balthazar.  “I thank you, my friend,” he said; “you have often shouted in compliment to me, but never has it given me so much pleasure as to-day.”

“Never has it been done more cordially and sincerely,” said Balthazar, pressing Gotzkowsky’s hand to his lips.  “You have always been a father and a friend to us, and we have often been sorry that you were so rich and powerful that we could not show you how dear you were to us.  Now that you are no longer rich, we can prove that we love you, for we can work for you.  We have come to an agreement among ourselves.  Each of us will give one working-day in the week, and the proceeds shall go to you, and as there are one hundred and seventy of us workmen, you shall at least not starve, Father Gotzkowsky.”

Gotzkowsky looked at him with eyes glistening with pleasure.  “I thank you, my friends,” said he, deeply moved; “and if I do not accept your offer you must not think that I do not appreciate its greatness or its beauty.  Who can say that I am poor when you love me, my children?”

At that moment, a carriage stopped at the door.  Bertram had brought it to convey them to their new and modest residence.

“Are you going, then, to leave us forever?” said Balthazar mournfully.

“No, my children, I remain among you, in the midst of you.  I am only going to exchange this large house for a smaller one.”

“Come,” cried Balthazar, “come, my friends, we will escort our father, Gotzkowsky, to his new house.  The town of Berlin shall see that only rich people are ungrateful, and that the poor never forget their benefactor and their friend.  Come, let us take out the horses.  We will draw Father Gotzkowsky through the streets.”

The crowd answered with a thundering hurrah; and with busy haste they proceeded to the work.  The horses were unharnessed, and twelve of the most powerful workmen crowded around the pole.  In vain did Gotzkowsky beg them to refrain, not to make him an object of general curiosity.  But the people paid no heed to his request—­it was a necessity to their hearts to give him a public proof of their love.  Almost by force they raised him into the carriage, and compelled Bertram and Elise, who had mixed with the crowd for the purpose of escaping attention, to take their seats beside him.  And now the procession advanced.  Women and workmen went on before, rejoicing and jumping about merrily at the side of the carriage; and when they met other workmen, these latter stopped and waved their hats, and greeted Gotzkowsky, calling him the great factory-lord, the father of his workmen, the benefactor of Berlin.  Especially when the procession came to the low houses and the poor cottages, the small dusty windows were thrown open, and sun-browned faces looked out, and toil-hardened hands greeted and waved.