I had been enjoying the advantages of the Schlemihlium without being recognised; and I learned, further, that I was in Bendel’s native town, where he had employed a part of my once unhallowed gold in founding an hospital in my name, under his superintendence, and that its unfortunate inmates daily pronounced blessings on me.  Minna had become a widow:  an unhappy lawsuit had deprived Rascal of his life, and Minna of the greater part of her property.  Her parents were no more; and here she dwelt in widowed piety, wholly devoting herself to works of mercy.

One day, as she stood by the side of Number Twelve’s bed with Bendel, he said to her, “Noble lady, why expose yourself so frequently to this unhealthy atmosphere?  Has fate dealt so harshly with you as to render you desirous of death?”

“By no means, Mr. Bendel,” she replied; “since I have awoke from my long dream, all has gone well with me.  I now neither wish for death nor fear it, and think on the future and on the past with equal serenity.  Do you not also feel an inward satisfaction in thus paying a pious tribute of gratitude and love to your old master and friend?”

“Thanks be to God, I do, noble lady,” said he.  “Ah, how wonderfully has everything fallen out!  How thoughtlessly have we sipped joys and sorrows from the full cup now drained to the last drop; and we might fancy the past a mere prelude to the real scene for which we now wait armed by experience.  How different has been the reality!  Yet let us not regret the past, but rather rejoice that we have not lived in vain.  As respects our old friend also, I have a firm hope that it is now better with him than formerly.”

“I trust so, too,” answered Minna; and so saying she passed by me, and they departed.

This conversation made a deep impression on me; and I hesitated whether I should discover myself or depart unknown.  At last I decided; and, asking for pen and paper, wrote as follows:-

“Matters are indeed better with your old friend than formerly.  He has repented; and his repentance has led to forgiveness.”

I now attempted to rise, for I felt myself stronger.  The keys of a little chest near my bed were given me; and in it I found all my effects.  I put on my clothes; fastened my botanical case round me—­ wherein, with delight, I found my northern lichens all safe—­put on my boots, and leaving my note on the table, left the gates, and was speedily far advanced on the road to Thebes.

Passing along the Syrian coast, which was the same road I had taken on last leaving home, I beheld my poor Figaro running to meet me.  The faithful animal, after vainly waiting at home for his master’s return, had probably followed his traces.  I stood still, and called him.  He sprang towards me with leaps and barks, and a thousand demonstrations of unaffected delight.  I took him in my arms—­for he was unable to follow me—­and carried him home.