“Permit me,” he exclaimed, interrupting me, “to gather up the noble image as it lies on the ground, and to take it into my possession.  As to the manner of accomplishing it, leave that to me.  In return, and as an evidence of my gratitude, I shall leave you to choose among all the treasures I have in my pocket, among which are a variety of enchanting articles, not exactly adapted for you, who, I am sure, would like better to have the wishing-cap of Fortunatus, all made new and sound again, and a lucky purse which also belonged to him.”

“Fortunatus’s purse!” cried I; and, great as was my mental anguish, with that one word he had penetrated the deepest recesses of my soul.  A feeling of giddiness came over me, and double ducats glittered before my eyes.

“Be pleased, gracious sir, to examine this purse, and make a trial of its contents.”  He put his hand in his pocket, and drew forth a large strongly stitched bag of stout Cordovan leather, with a couple of strings to match, and presented it to me.  I seized it—­took out ten gold pieces, then ten more, and this I repeated again and again.  Instantly I held out my hand to him.  “Done,” said I; “the bargain is made:  my shadow for the purse.”  “Agreed,” he answered; and, immediately kneeling down, I beheld him, with extraordinary dexterity, gently loosen my shadow from the grass, lift it up, fold it together, and, at last put it in his pocket.  He then rose, bowed once more to me, and directed his steps towards the rose bushes.  I fancied I heard him quietly laughing to himself.  However, I held the purse fast by the two strings.  The earth was basking beneath the brightness of the sun; but I presently lost all consciousness.

On recovering my senses, I hastened to quit a place where I hoped there was nothing further to detain me.  I first filled my pockets with gold, then fastened the strings of the purse round my neck, and concealed it in my bosom.  I passed unnoticed out of the park, gained the high road, and took the way to the town.  As I was thoughtfully approaching the gate, I heard some one behind me exclaiming, “Young man! young man! you have lost your shadow!” I turned, and perceived an old woman calling after me.  “Thank you, my good woman,” said I; and throwing her a piece of gold for her well-intended information, I stepped under the trees.  At the gate, again, it was my fate to hear the sentry inquiring where the gentleman had left his shadow; and immediately I heard a couple of women exclaiming, “Jesu Maria! the poor man has no shadow.”  All this began to depress me, and I carefully avoided walking in the sun; but this could not everywhere be the case:  for in the next broad street I had to cross, and, unfortunately for me, at the very hour in which the boys were coming out of school, a humpbacked lout of a fellow—­I see him yet—­soon made the discovery that I was without a shadow, and communicated the news, with loud outcries, to a knot of young urchins.  The whole swarm proceeded immediately to reconnoitre me, and to pelt me with mud.  “People,” cried they, “are generally accustomed to take their shadows with them when they walk in the sunshine.”