"What is it, my beloved?"

"I--I don't think I can get to sleep," said the poet.

Marie abstained from commenting on this remark, and Friedrich was
silent and comfortable. So comfortable that, though he despised her
opinion on such matters he asked it in a low whisper--"Marie, dost
thou not think it would be the very best thing in the world to be a
great man? To labour and labour for it, and be a great man at last?"

Marie's answer was as low, but quite decided--

"No."

"Why not, Marie?"

"It is very nice to be great, and I should love to see thee a great
man, Friedrich, very well indeed, but the very best thing of all is to
be good. Great men are not always happy ones, though when they are
good also it is very glorious, and makes one think of the words of the
poor heathen in Lycaonia--'The gods have come down to us in the
likeness of men.' But if ever thou art a great man, little brother, it
will be the good and not the great things of thy life that will bring
thee peace. Nay, rather, neither thy goodness nor thy greatness, but
the mercy of GOD!"

And in this opinion Marie was obstinately fixed, and Friedrich argued
no more.