At this moment the door was torn open, and Bertram burst in. "Make haste," he cried, "or all is lost. Count Feodor is becoming impatient, and may himself venture to come for Elise. Gotzkowsky, too, has been awakened by the unaccustomed sound of the post-horn."
"Help the countess to prepare for the journey," cried Elise, standing still, motionless, and as if paralyzed.
Bertram looked at her, astonished and inquiringly; but in a few rapid words the countess explained to him Elise's intention and determination, to allow her to take the journey in her stead, and with her clothes.
Bertram cast on Elise a look which mirrored forth the admiration he felt for this young girl, who had so heroically gained the victory over herself. His reliance on her maiden pride, her sense of right and honor, had not been deceived.
The countess had now finished her toilet, and donned Elise's hat and cloak.
Bertram called on her to hasten, and she approached Elise to bid her farewell, and express her gratitude for the sacrifice she had made for her. But Elise waved her back proudly and coldly, and seemed to shudder at her touch.
"Go to your husband, countess," cried she, and her voice was hoarse and cold.
Lodoiska's eyes filled with tears. Once more she attempted to take Elise's hand, but the latter firmly crossed her arms and looked at her almost threateningly. "Go!" said she, in a loud, commanding voice.
Bertram took the arm of the countess and drew her to the door.
"Hasten!" said he; "there is no time to lose."
The door closed behind them. Elise was alone. She stood and listened to their departing steps; she heard the house door open; she heard the post-horn once more sound out merrily, and then cease. "I am alone!" she screamed, with a heart-rending cry. "They are gone; I am alone!" And stretching her arms despairingly to heaven, and almost beside herself, she cried out, "O God! will no one have compassion on me? will no one pity me?"