“Alexander.”

“Who was the wisest?”

“Socrates.”

“Who was the proudest?”

“Diogenes.”

“Which of these do you like the best?”

“Alexander.”

“What do you think of the neighbor who obliges his neighbor?”

“I think that the first has the advantage of the second.”

The little gentleman considered a moment, and began again—­

“What is your father’s trade, young man?”

This simple question made Durer blush.  He did not say a word in answer.  The little man, who was very clear-sighted, said—­“This young fellow is ashamed to own that he belongs to a poor shepherd in the village hard by.  Bad heart—­strong head—­detestable nature!  This boy will never make anything but a diplomatist.”  Then, after a moment’s reflection, he said to himself—­“But it’s of no consequence.”

The end was, that young Durer went back to the cottage wild with joy.  He took leave of his father and his mother, who shed torrents of tears at his leaving them.  John was turning his back on the shepherd’s cabin for ever:  he was to go to Vienna, to finish his studies there.  For the little man had put into his hand three purses full of gold, and had said, “I am Counsellor Werter, favorite of his Majesty the Emperor.  Your assiduity in study has become known to me.  Work on—­for aught you know, you may be on the high road.”

Three years afterward, Durer entered the office of the Emperor’s secretary.  Later, he became, himself, private secretary.  Later still, he received a barony and a handsome estate.—­So much for the prophecies, so much for the secret influence of the Counsellor Werter!

Durer was on the highway paved with gold;—­but he forgot his father, and he forgot his mother, too.

One day, when Counsellor Werter was going to court, he met Durer on the staircase of the palace.  He said to him,—­

“Baron Durer, I sent yesterday, in your name, twelve thousand crowns to a certain old shepherd in a village not far from Haerlem.”

The Counsellor said this in rather a scornful voice; and he saw that Baron Durer turned as red as the boy had done in the Valley of the Bushes, on the evening when he was asked what his father’s trade was.  The two men looked steadily at each other:  the Baron with that hatred which is never to be appeased—­the Counsellor with bitter indignation.

On the evening of that very day, the Emperor received his faithful old friend, the incorruptible Counsellor, coldly.  On the morrow, Werter was not summoned to the palace—­nor the day after.  Disgrace had fallen on him.  He had nourished a serpent in his bosom.  He left court, and retired far away, to a small estate which he, too, chanced to possess in the neighborhood of Haerlem.

III.