At this moment, Madame von Herbart and her father rushed into the room. "Ella!" cried the mother, joyfully, as her eye fell upon her child; "O God be thanked! I was in despair, when I could find you nowhere."
But Ella made no answer.
"Are you hurt?" asked the anxious mother; "your clothes are covered with blood!" So saying, she sank half fainting by her daughter's side.
"By whom are you kneeling, Ella?" said the old burgomaster, who had by this time come quite near.
"It is Theodore, our Theodore!" sobbed the young girl, in a voice of despair.
"Yes, it is Theodore, your Theodore," repeated the young man, endeavoring to rise. "He wished to see you yet once more. Holy angels guided his steps,—and he came in time. O," he continued, with a failing voice, kissing the hand with which Madame von Herbart sustained his head, "O, how happy I feel now! I know that I am dying, but I have been enabled to show you my gratitude: I have preserved your native city! I have saved your child!" He paused an instant, as if exhausted, and then said, "Ella, your hand!"
The maiden placed it within his own, and he pressed it convulsively.
"Think of me often!" he continued; "and believe me, even the Russian has a heart, which guards the memory of past benefits—until it breaks!"
His head sank; his eyes were fixed; he uttered one last sigh, and his soul had fled.
"He is dead!" said Madame von Herbart, after a few moments of deep silence. She wept bitterly; it seemed to her as if she had lost a member of her own family.