new Crœsus could discover no other way but to place his riches in a hollow tree, which stood in a meadow behind the garden; he then put the empty chest back into the hole, covered it with earth, and made the ground as level as he could. At the end of three days, he had carried all the money-bags from the hollow tree safely to his own humble dwelling. Thinking himself now authorized to throw off his incognito, he dressed himself richly, desired the prayers at church to be discontinued, and a thanksgiving to be offered in its place, for a traveller on his safe return to his native city, after having successfully concluded his business. He hid himself in a corner of the church, where he might, unobserved, see his beloved Mela; his eyes were fixed on her, and when the thanksgiving was pronounced, her cheeks glowed with joy, and she could scarcely conceal her raptures. Their meeting afterwards in the church was so expressive, that nobody who had seen it could have misinterpreted it.
From this time forward, Franz again appeared at change, and entered into business. He extended his transactions greatly in a few weeks, and, as his prosperity became every day more apparent, his envious fellow-citizens observed, according to the old proverb, that he must have had more luck than sense to get rich in collecting old debts. He took a large house opposite the statue of Sir Roland, in the principal square; engaged clerks and servants, and applied himself with great earnestness to his business. Those miserable races of parasites and toadeaters again flocked to his door, and hoped once more to be the partakers of his wealth. But, grown wise by experience, he returned only polite speeches for politeness, and allowed them to depart with an empty stomach, which he found to be a sovereign remedy, and it freed him at once from all further trouble from them.
In Bremen, Franz became the talk of the day; the fortune he had made abroad, in such an unaccountable manner, quite occupied the public attention. In proportion as his opulence increased, and became more known, Mela’s happiness seemed to diminish. She thought her mute lover was at last in a condition to declare himself; still he remained silent, except occasionally meeting her in the street, and even here he became daily less attentive. Such a demeanour showed but a cold lover; and that harpy, jealousy, soon began to torment her, whispering the most unpleasant suspicions possible: “Let me banish the fond hope of fixing so variable a being, thus changing like a weathercock, blown about by the least breeze. True, he loved, and was faithful to me as long as he was my equal in rank; but with this revolution in his affairs, he looks down upon the purest affection, because of its poverty. Surrounded with wealth and splendour, he perhaps adores some haughtier beauty, who abandoned him in his misfortune, but now, with her siren voice, calls him back. Yes, and the voice of adulation has changed his heart. His new companions tell him to
