"Yes, you are right," said Feodor sadly. "Hide me; no spot must tarnish your honor."
With convulsive haste, Elise drew him to the door of her chamber.
Gotzkowsky's voice was heard just outside the window.
"Quick! hasten, they are coming!" said she, pulling the door open, and pushing him hurriedly on.
"He is saved," cried her heart joyfully, as she closed the door after him, and, sinking down, half fainting in a chair, her lips murmured, "Have mercy, gracious God; have mercy on him and me!"
At this moment her father, accompanied by Bertram and the factory workman, Balthazar, entered the room through the door of the balcony.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FUGITIVE.
Gotzkowsky at length returned to his home. Sad and sorrowful was his soul, and his brow, at other times so smooth and clear, was now dark and clouded. He mourned for his country, for the fruitless battles, the blood shed in vain, and, in the bitter grief of his heart, he asked himself what crime he had committed, that to him should be assigned the painful duty of deciding to which of the enemies they should surrender. And yet the decision was imperative, and Berlin had to be surrendered to the Russians.
In gloomy sadness, hardly casting a passing glance at his daughter, whose anxiety and death-like paleness he did not even perceive, Gotzkowsky entered the hall, Bertram carefully bolting the doors behind him, and then in an undertone gave Balthazar and the servants directions for the protection of the house.