“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.”

“One cannot live on genius,” cried Bertram, impatiently; “and with all my knowledge I might have starved, if you had not taken me by the hand.”

Gotzkowsky would have denied this, but Bertram continued still more pressingly:  “Father, if I were, indeed, your son, could you then deny me the right of falling and being ruined with you?  Can you deny your son the right of dividing with you what is his?”

“No!” cried Gotzkowsky, “from my son I could demand the sacrifice, but it is not only a question of earthly possessions, it is a question of my most sacred spiritual good, it is the honor of my name.  Had I a son, I would exact of him that he should follow me unto death, so that the honor of my name might be saved.”

“Well, then, let me be, indeed, your son.  Give me your daughter!”

Gotzkowsky stepped back in astonishment and gazed at Bertram’s noble, excited countenance.  “Ah!” cried he, “I thank you, Bertram; you are a noble man!  I understand you.  You have found out the sorrow which gnaws most painfully at my heart; that Elise, by my failure, becomes a beggar.  You wish most nobly to assist her and protect her from want.”

“No, father, I desire her for her own sake—­because I love her!  I would wish to be your son, in order to have the right to give up all for you, and to work for you.  During your whole life you have done so much for others; now grant me the privilege of doing something for you.  Give me your daughter; let me be your son.”

Gotzkowsky was silent for some minutes, then looked at Bertram sadly and sorrowfully.  “You know that this has always been the wish of my heart.  But what I have longed for, for so many years, that I must now refuse.  I dare not drag you down in my misfortune, and even if I were weak enough to yield to your request, I cannot sacrifice the happiness of my daughter to my welfare.  Do you believe, Bertram, that Elise loves you?”