in these far-off countries, always drawing a moral from his
adventures--that all things earthly were evanescent as the dews of
morning. The company listened attentively to the discourse of the sage;
all, that is, but their hostess, who was angry and disappointed that he
had said no word of the wealth and magnificence displayed in her palace,
the rich fare on her table, and all the signs of luxury with which he
was surrounded. At length she could conceal her chagrin no longer, and
asked the stranger directly whether he had ever seen such splendour in
his wanderings as that he now beheld.

“Tell me,” she said, “is there to be found in the courts of your Eastern
kings such rare treasures as these of mine?”

“Nay,” replied the sage, “they have no pearls and rich embroideries to
match thine. Nevertheless, there is one thing missing from your board,
and that the best and most valuable of all earthly gifts.”

In vain Richberta begged that he would tell her what that most precious
of treasures might be. He answered all her inquiries in an evasive
manner, and at last, when her question could no longer be evaded, he
rose abruptly and left the room. And, seek as she might, Richberta could
find no trace of her mysterious visitor.

Richberta strove to discover the meaning of the old man’s words. She was
rich--she possessed greater treasures than any in Stavoren, at a time
when that city was among the wealthiest in Europe--and yet she lacked
the most precious of earth’s treasures. The memory of the words galled
her pride and excited her curiosity to an extraordinary pitch. In vain
she asked the wise men of her time--the priests and philosophers--to
read her the riddle of the mysterious traveller. None could name a