great teacher in Germany and several other countries,
led them to see that there is consolation for all things except the loss
of money. Five years afterwards, Frau Meiser said to her husband, with a
tender and philosophic, smile: "Who can fathom the decrees of
Providence? Perhaps your son would have brought us to a crust. Look at
Theobald Scheffler, his old comrade. He wasted twenty thousand francs at
Paris on a woman who kicked up her legs in the middle of a quadrille. We
ourselves spent more than two thousand thalers a year for our wicked
scapegrace. His death is a great saving, and therefore a good thing!"

As long as the three coffins of Fougas were in the house, the good dame
scolded at the visions and restlessness of her husband. "What in the
name of sense are you thinking about? You've been kicking me all night
again. Let's throw this ragamuffin of a Frenchman into the fire; then
he'll no longer disturb the repose of a peaceable family. We can sell
the leaden box; it must weigh at least two hundred pounds. The white
silk will make me a good lining for a dress; and the wool in the
stuffing, will easily make us a mattress." But a tinge of superstition
prevented Meiser from following his wife's advice; he preferred to rid
himself of the Colonel by selling him.

The house of this worthy couple was the handsomest and most substantial
on the street of Public Wells, in the aristocratic part of the city.
Strong railings, in iron open work, decorated all the windows
magnificently, and the door was sheathed in iron, like a knight of the
olden time. A system of little mirrors, ingeniously arranged in the
entrance, enabled a visitor to be seen before he had even knocked. A
single servant, a regular horse for work and camel for temperance,
ministered under this roof blessed by the gods.

The old servant slept away from the house, both because he preferred to
and because while he did so he could not be tempted to wring the
venerable necks of his employers. A few books on Commerce and Religion
constituted the library of the two old people. They never cared to have
a garden at the back of their house, because the shrubbery might
conceal thieves. They fastened their door with bolts every evening at
eight o'clock, and never went out without being obliged to, for fear of
meeting dangerous people.

And nevertheless, on the 29th of April, 1859, at eleven o'clock in the
morning, Nicholas Meiser was far away from his beloved home.