"True," said Pumpernickel, "and Fritz thought of that. 'Too sudden riches fly suddenly away,' he observed. 'I will proceed slowly.' He didn't show that diamond to any one until he had made his fortune."
"Then how—how did he make his fortune?" I asked.
"He sold its light," said Hans. "It does not sound probable, but it is true. In those days we had no gas or electricity to light our public squares or ballrooms or libraries, and Fritz, noting this, bought a small lantern with ground-glass sides, so that the diamond could shed its light without itself being seen, and, putting his diamond into it, rented it out for public meetings, for ballroom illumination—in fact, to any who stood in need of a strong, powerful light. Scientists from all Germany flocked in to see it, and besought him to divulge the secret of the light, but he would not until he had accumulated a fortune, and then he let the world into his confidence. Meanwhile he had gone back to Rosenstein, and had learned the art of being a wizard, and when Rosenstein died he was unanimously called to fill the vacancy."
"And what became of the diamond?"
"That," said Hans, "is a mystery. Some say that Von Hatzfeldt has it yet, but burglars who have searched his house high and low a thousand times say that he hasn't it."
"And he—what does he say?"
"He declines to speak of it," said Hans, simply.
"Well," said I, "that is a very remarkable tale."
"Yes," said Hans, "but then Fritz von Hatzfeldt is a very remarkable wizard, for how a man can be as wise as he and know so little passes all comprehension."