"Well, he has grown a man, and has come home."
"Then," said Jodoque, "I suppose I may go home."
"Come home?—where is he?—Still, my sailor friend, I can't tell why you should tremble."
"Yes, he has come home; and if he will have me, I will marry him."
"And he'll have a good wife, Bertha," said the sailor, and he made a movement as though about to run to the girl; but little Doome, too impulsive to think about the Fräulein Grundei, enthusiastically clasped the arms of her friend's eulogizer.
"Yes,—marry him!—and at this moment he is in that room! And now any one of you may open the door."
"Open the door?—I'll smash the door!" said the sailor, roughly pushing the girl away from him. "So, Daniel is there, is he? Well, let him come!"
He ran up to the door, threw it open, and there, standing just within, was the young French prisoner of war.
"Good morning, all!" he said.
"You are Daniel, are you?" said the sailor, drawing the other forward to the light. "You are Daniel, are you?"
He dragged him near the window and looked quickly at him. Then he turned pale himself, and wrung his hand.
"Yes!" said he, "yes!—it is Daniel himself,—the very Daniel!"
"Ah! so much the better!" said Doome.
"Daniel? the very Daniel?" said Bertha, faintly, and turned paler yet.
"I know you, comrade," said the sailor, aside,—"I know you. You are the French officer who has escaped, but I'm down in your log for a lump of gratitude; and so, you are Daniel. When a fellow saves you from a shark, perhaps you'll be as willing to give him your name."
"And why am I to take your name?"
"To give it to Bertha, there!"
"Give it to Bertha?"
"Yes! Sign the contract, which the burgomaster has in his pocket; sign it as Daniel;—'tis your only chance. And when you are gone, I have paid my debt. And don't let us cross each other again. You gave me my life, but that is no reason you should rob me of my wife!"
"Rob you of your wife?"
"Yes, of Bertha, who loved me six years ago!"
"Why, she has barely known me six hours!"
"True, but she loves you six times as much as she does the memory of Daniel!"
"But I do not care for her, beyond gratitude for sheltering me from pursuit."
"Oh, she has enough love for two of you!"
"Well, to me, one wife or another,—and she is a nice girl,—and, friend Daniel, where shall we go?"
"We?—who?"
"My wife and I," said the other, laughing
"You, comrade? I will manage for you; but your wife will stop here."
"Stop here?"
"Why, you don't suppose I can give up the good girl I have loved for the six years I've been rolling over the seas! 'Tis true, she doesn't remember me, and thinks me dead; but when she learns the truth, all the old love will come back; and she will like me none the less for aiding you. The burgomaster, who shall be in the plot, shall marry you to my wife,—and when you are gone, God speed you! The burgomaster will set all that right, as he can; and Bertha and I will often talk, in our seaside cot, of the French officer that we saved."
Here Doome interrupted the dialogue; for she could not conquer her curiosity farther. So she came up, and complimented the French officer (who was to be called Daniel) on his marriage. "To be sure, he had almost forgotten German; for, as Bertha said, he had left home almost before he could speak like a man, and had been in the French service,—and so there it was! No doubt, now he had come back to Germany, he would soon learn German again, and speak it like a native;—eh, friend sailor?"
