"Nay, sir," said Pierre Raimond, "'tis not for me to insist, be it as you will. I can easily guess the feeling that makes you conceal your dwelling, and it may even be your real name, from us, but I honour and respect your reserve; only be generous enough to come and see me some times, since you will not permit me the gratification of offering up my grateful thanks at your own door. Promise me that you will come, and spare me even the appearance of ingratitude towards you." "I do faithfully promise it, my worthy friend; but I feel quite recovered now; could you do me the favour to cause some conveyance to be sent for, by which I could return home? I will not longer trespass on your hospitality." The porter being still in the chamber occupied by the engraver, Bertha went to despatch him in search of a coach. And ere many minutes had elapsed M. de Hansfeld had quitted the house of Pierre Raimond. The old man, then exchanging his wet garments for dry clothing, returned to his unhappy daughter. CHAPTER XXIII UNHAPPINESS As Bertha saw her father approach, she flew towards him, and wrapping her arms around him, she laid her head on his bosom saying,-- "Now, then, I may freely indulge my joy that I still behold you, after your being so nearly torn from me;--dear, dear father, the very idea of losing you seems too horrible for my brain to bear, and in my delight of thus knowing you safe, I seem unable to remember the peril you have run. But how was it, dearest father, that no whisper of my own heart warned me of your danger; surely a father cannot be snatched from his child, and no deadly shudder run through her veins to forebode that her heart-strings are about to be snapped asunder?" "Calm yourself, my beloved child, Providence has taken pity on us; no foreboding was permitted to agitate your breast, because it was the will of a merciful Creator that my life should still be spared; you see," said Pierre Raimond, with a mournful smile, "that you are rendering me almost as superstitious as yourself; however, my daughter, let nothing ever make us unmindful of all we owe the generous stranger." "Oh, never--never shall I cease to cherish the grateful recollection. I only fear, lest my ardent thankfulness to our unknown friend should be swallowed up in the deep joy I experience at still beholding you, my dear, my excellent father! for now," said Bertha, bursting into tears, "you are all I have in the world." Pierre Raimond tenderly pressed the hand of his child within his own, and then said, in a tone of bitterness,-- "What fresh sorrows have you to relate, my poor girl?" "He loves me no longer," said poor Bertha, weeping bitterly; "he hates me, and finds me a burden to him!" "Oh, my predictions!" cried the old man, mournfully. "Father, have pity on me!"