"But you have friends; thousands are indebted to your generosity, and to your ever-ready, helping hand. There is scarcely a merchant in Berlin to whom, some time or other, you have not been of assistance in his need!"
Gotzkowsky laid his hand on his shoulder, and replied with a proud air: "My friend, it is precisely those who owe me gratitude, who are now trying to ruin me. The very fact of having obliged them, makes them my bitter enemies. Gratitude is so disagreeable a virtue, that men become implacably hostile to those who impose it on them."
"When you speak thus, my father," said Bertram, glowing with noble indignation, "you condemn me, too. You have bound me to everlasting gratitude, and yet I love you inexpressibly for it."
"You are a rare exception, my son," replied Gotzkowsky, sadly, "and I thank God, who has taught me to know you."
"You believe, then, in me?" asked Bertram, looking earnestly in his eyes.
"I believe in you," said Gotzkowsky, solemnly, offering him his hand.
"Well, then, my father," cried Bertram, quickly and gladly, "in this important moment let me make an urgent request of you. You call me your son; give me, then, the rights of a son. Allow me the happiness of offering you the little that I can call mine. My fortune is not, to be sure, sufficient to save you, but it can at least be of service to you. Father, I owe you every thing. It is yours—take it back."
"Never!" interrupted Gotzkowsky.
But Bertram continued more urgently: "At least consider of it. When you founded the porcelain factory, you made me a partner in this business, and I accepted it, although I had nothing but what belonged to you. When the king, a year ago, bought the factory from you, you paid me a fourth of the purchase-money, and gave me thirty thousand dollars. I accepted it, although I had not contributed any part of the capital."
"You are mistaken, my son. You forget that you contributed the capital of your knowledge and genius."