He saw the sometime greatness of my home
And forced an entrance; for his heart did leap
With short-lived hope; now he must elsewhere roam,
And over broken hopes must sorely weep. 23
Just think of the poor fellow telling his friends: "I entered the house of a merchant's son, and found—nothing."
Maitreya. Do you mean to say that you pity the rascally robber? Thinks he—"Here's a great house. Here's the place to carry off a jewel-casket or a gold-casket." [He remembers the casket. Despondently. Aside.] Where is that golden casket? [He remembers the events of the night. Aloud.] Look, man! You are always saying "Maitreya is a fool, Maitreya is no scholar." But I certainly acted wisely in handing over that golden casket to you. If I hadn't, the son of a slave would have carried it off.
Chārudatta. A truce to your jests!
Maitreya. Just because I'm a fool, do you suppose I don't even know the place and time for a jest?
Chārudatta. But when did this happen?
Maitreya. Why, when I told you that your fingers were cold.
Chārudatta. It might have been. [He searches about. Joyfully.] My friend, I have something pleasant to tell you.
Maitreya. What? Wasn't it stolen?
Chārudatta. Yes.
Maitreya. What is the pleasant news, then?
Chārudatta. The fact that he did not go away disappointed.
Maitreya. But it was only entrusted to our care.
Chārudatta. What! entrusted to our care? [He swoons.]
Maitreya. Come to yourself, man. Is the fact that a thief stole what was entrusted to you, any reason why you should swoon?
Chārudatta. [Coming to himself.] Ah, my friend,
