Ephraim pointed down into the street again.  “See,” said he, “there comes Count Salm, whom you saved from death when the Russians were here.  He does not look up here.  Ah, there goes the banker, Splittyerber, whose factories in Neustadt Eberswald you saved at the same time.  He, too, does not look up.  Oh! yes, he does, and laughs.  Look there!  There goes the king with his staff.  You have caused his majesty much pleasure.  You accomplished his favorite wish—­you founded the porcelain factory.  You travelled at your own expense into Italy, and bought pictures for him.  You preserved his capital from pillage by the Austrians and Russians.  The Dutch ambassador, who at that time interfered in favor of Berlin with the Austrians, him has the king in his gratitude created a count.  What has he done for you?  What Verelse did was but a trifle in comparison with your services, yet he, forsooth, is made a count.  What has the king done for you?  See, the king and his staff has passed by, and not one of them has looked up here.  Yesterday they would have done so, for yesterday you were rich; but to-day they have forgotten you already:  for to-day you are poor, and the memory of the people is very short for the poor.  Ah! look down again, Gotzkowsky—­so many gentlemen, so many high-born people are passing!  Not one looks up!”

Against his will Gotzkowsky had been drawn to the window, and, enticed by Ephraim’s words, he had looked down anxiously and mournfully at the brilliant procession which was passing by.  How much would he not have given if only one of the many who had formerly called themselves his friends had looked up at him, had greeted him cordially?  But Ephraim was right.  No one did so.  No one thought of him who, with a broken heart, was leaning beside the window, asking of mankind no longer assistance or help, but a little love and sympathy.  But, as he looked down into the street again, his countenance suddenly brightened up.  He laid his hand hastily on Ephraim’s shoulder, and pointed to the procession.

“You are right,” said he; “the respectable people do not look up here, but here comes the end of the procession, the common people, the poor and lowly, the workmen.  Look at them!  See how they are gazing at me.  Ah, they see me, they greet me, they wave their hats!  There, one of them is putting his hand to his face.  He is a day-laborer who formerly worked in my factory.  This man is weeping, and because he knows that I have been unfortunate.  See! here come others—­poor people in ragged clothes—­women with nurslings in their arms—­tottering old men—­they all bend dewy eyes on me.  Do you see? they smile at me.  Even the children stretch up their arms.  Ah, they love me, although I am no longer rich.”

And turning with a beaming face and eyes moistened with tears toward Ephraim, he exclaimed:  “You tell me that I have miscalculated.  No! you are mistaken.  I calculated on the kernel of humanity, not on the degenerate shell.  And this noble kernel of humanity resides in the people, the workmen, and the poor.  I trusted in these, and they have not betrayed my confidence.”