I glanced first at the signature, and saw Frederick’s name; I vow, unaffectedly, that for two years I had not thought of his affairs, and his letter brought me the first news of him.

After a preamble, devoted entirely to the expression of an exaggerated gratitude, Frederick announced with a flourish of trumpets, that Fortune had made magnificent reparation for her wrongs to him; he had saved his honor and strengthened his tottering credit.  From which time forward he had prospered beyond his wildest hopes.  In a few months he gained, by a rise in railroad stocks, fabulous sums.  He concluded with the information that, having interested me in his fortunate speculations, my capital was doubled, and that I now possessed a clear million, which I owed to no one.  At the end of this letter, bristling with figures and terms that savoured of money, were a few simple, touching lines from Frederick’s wife, which went straight to my heart, and brought tears to my eyes.

When I had read the letter through, I took a long survey of my little room, where I had lived so happily; then, sitting upon the sill of the open window, whence I could see my faithful star shine peacefully in the darkness, I remained until morning, absorbed in sad and melancholy thoughts.

Fortune has its duties as well as poverty. Comme noblesse, fortune exige.

If I were really so rich, I could not, ought not to live as I had done.  After a few days, I went to Frederick, who believed that I had suddenly been brought from Jerusalem by his letter, and I allowed him to rest in that belief, not wishing to add to a gratitude that already seemed excessive.

Excuse the particulars, I was a veritable millionaire; I call Heaven to witness that my first impulse was to go in search of my beloved beacon, to relieve, if possible, the unfortunate one to whom it gave light.

But then I thought so industrious a being was certainly proud, and I paused, fearing to offend a noble spirit.

One month later, a night in May, I saw extinguished one by one, the thousand lights of the neighboring houses.  Two single lamps burned in the gloom; they were the two old friends.  For some time I stood gazing at the bright ray shining through the foliage, and when I felt upon my brow the first chill of the morning breeze, I cried in my saddened heart,

“Farewell! farewell, little star, benign ray, beloved companion of my solitude!  At this hour to-morrow, my eyes will seek but find thee not.  And thou, whosoever thou art, working and suffering by that pale gleam, adieu, my sister! adieu, my brother! pursue thy destiny, watch and pray; may God shorten the time of thy probation.”

I bade also to my little room, not an eternal farewell, for I have kept it since, and will keep it all my life.  I do not wish that while I live strangers shall scare away such a covey of beautiful dreams as I left in that humble nest.