Ella's sorrow was unspeakable. Nothing could convince her that Theodore was really dead. Even when Dr. Heller came and examined his wounds, assuring them that the best marksman could not have taken surer aim, and that the ball had pierced the young Russian's heart, she could not entirely resign the hope that he would again awake from his deep slumber. She strove to warm his cold hands, to breathe new life into his rigid frame. All her efforts were in vain; her touching prayer, that he would open his pale lips and speak but one single word to her, remained unheard. They were obliged to force her with gentle violence from the bloody corpse.
Theodore's funeral was most solemn; old and young gathered together to join in the last procession. Each one shed a grateful tear in his memory; even the old grocer, Bolt, was seen following the coffin, deeply moved.
A white marble monument marked the place of his burial. The inscription consisted in the name, "Theodore"; and beneath were carved these simple words, "We meet again." No flaunting paragraph proclaimed his deed, which was more surely treasured in the memory of many a feeling and grateful heart than it could have been upon the cold stone.
Long, long years after these occurrences, when Madame von Herbart and her father rested quietly by the young Russian's side, a tall female form might often be seen busied among these graves. She adorned them with fresh wreaths; carefully trained the flowers she had planted upon them; and when she slowly turned to leave them, and re-enter her solitary home, she would raise her tearful eyes to heaven, and say, "We shall meet again, my dear ones!"
THE END.
Footnote:
[1] A woman's will, God's will.
Transcriber's Notes
Minor punctuation errors corrected on pages [148] and [261].