"Ay, to be sure," thought he, "this Hebrew is right, I have lost three valuable years.

I have had fever, and my eyes have been clouded; but, Heaven be praised! The charm is broken, the illusion fled, I am cured--saved! Farewell, my chimera, I am no longer thy dupe! Many thanks, my dear friend: I return to you your gun; do with it as it seemeth best to you." His eyes suddenly fell on his own reflection in the mirror above the chimney-piece, and he regarded it fixedly for a few moments.
"The semblance truly of an inventor," he resumed, mournfully smiling.
"This pale, emaciated face; these deep-set eyes, with dark circles about them; these hollow, cadaverous cheeks! The three years have indeed left their traces.

Bah! a little rest in the Alpine pastures, and _Faust_ will become rejuvenated." He seized a pen, and wrote the following reply: "You are truly kind, my dear Guldenthal: you refuse me the miserable florins, but you give me in their stead a little piece of advice that is worth a fortune.

Unluckily, I am not capable of following it.

Noble souls like ours comprehend each other with half a word, and you are a poet whenever it suits you.