As M. de Hansfeld regained his senses, he gazed around him with extreme astonishment. "My preserver!" exclaimed the engraver, while large tears of gratitude trickled down his furrowed cheeks; "you have saved my life at the imminent hazard of your own; how shall I ever find words adequately to speak my thanks?" "Where am I?" inquired Arnold de Hansfeld, striving to collect his ideas; "and who are you that speak to me?" "Try to compose yourself, I pray, sir, while I relate to you what has happened. A short time since, deceived by the fog and my own imperfect sight, I got out of my right road, and found myself, without being aware of it, on the mound which forms an embankment to the river, opposite the spot where the Hôtel de Brétonvilliers is being pulled down, and, ere I could recover myself, I fell from the summit of the high path into the river, when, listening only to the generous devotion of your noble heart----" "Ah, now I remember all," said the prince; "and I also recollect, that if my first thought was to endeavour to snatch you from the peril which menaced you, my second was to fear, lest my good intentions should prove fatal to you. I am so extremely weak, that you were probably obliged to defend yourself from my ill-managed efforts to preserve you, and even to save me yourself after my awkward endeavours to rescue you from danger," added M. de Hansfeld, with a smile full of sweetness. "No, no, sir, I cannot have you undervalue your noble conduct in this way; like all brave and generous natures, you found sufficient power to back your efforts to preserve me from a certain death. Delivered from danger by you, it then became my turn to succour your feebleness, for it is very evident you have far more courage than strength. I therefore brought you hither; and you are now under the humble roof of him who owes his life to you, and who is well known in the neighbourhood as Pierre Raimond the engraver." Just as M. de Hansfeld was about, in his turn, to declare his name and station, the chamber-door opened; at the sound Pierre Raimond turned suddenly round, and saw his daughter, who, pale and bathed in tears, her features distorted with grief, threw herself into his arms, exclaiming,-- "Father!--dearest father! will you not receive your poor child who has no shelter but in your arms?" The abrupt entrance of Bertha, and the precipitation with which she threw herself into her father's arms as he turned towards her, had so entirely concealed M. de Hansfeld from her, that she was not aware of there being a third person in the apartment. "He has driven me from him,--sent me from his roof," murmured Bertha, in a voice half-stifled with sobs, as she still kept her arms tightly twined round the neck of her father. "My child," said the old man, in a low voice, "we are not alone."