A feeling of inexpressible joy shot through the frame of M. de Hansfeld at the sight of Bertha, whom he easily recognised as the young and lovely female who had made so vivid an impression on him at the theatre--an impression which had since assumed the form of an ideal, vague, and romantic passion. It will be recollected, that the box in which the prince sat on the night in question was so dark, that, spite of Bertha's curiosity, she had not been able to obtain a view of him. As Pierre Raimond pronounced the words, "We are not alone," his daughter, sinking with confusion, was hastening to the door, but the old engraver caught her by the hand, and, pointing to M. de Hansfeld, said,-- "My child, behold and bless the preserver of your parent!" "What mean you, dearest father?" "A little while ago, I lost myself in the fog, and, mistaking my road, fell into the river." "Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed Bertha, again throwing herself into her father's arms, and pressing him passionately to her heart, then gazed in his face with mute anxiety. "This gentleman was accidentally on the Quai at the time," continued Pierre Raimond, "and generously saved my life, but his strength being entirely exhausted, I brought him hither." "Ah, sir," cried Bertha, turning her expressive looks on the prince, "you have restored me my father at the very moment when I stand most in need of his tenderness and protection, and we, alas! can do nothing for you in return; but God will recompense you, and repay a debt far beyond our poor powers to discharge." "Be assured, madame, that I am already more than paid in the happiness of finding I have been instrumental in preserving a father to his child." "But, at least, permit us to know to whom we are so largely indebted," said Pierre Raimond. "Yes, teach us what name to remember in the prayers we shall daily put up to heaven to invoke the blessing of the Almighty on your head," added Bertha. "My name is Arnold,--Arnold Schneider," said M. de Hansfeld, blushing and with some hesitation. Attributing this embarrassment to the extreme modesty of his preserver, the old engraver continued,-- "But where can I present my grateful thanks to him who has prevented my child from being fatherless?" Again, a deep flush suffused the features of M. de Hansfeld, after a short pause he replied,-- "With your permission, my good sir, I will afford myself the gratification of calling occasionally to inquire after you, and thus receive the reward of what you are pleased to call my good actions."