"Come into the inn where I am lodging, and tell me the rest," said Colin; "kiss my little wife, and let us go and dine together." They went, all three of them, on foot, and the baggage followed. "What in the world is all this paraphernalia? Does it belong to you!" inquired Jeannot. "Yes, it is all mine and my wife's; we are just come from the country. I am at the head of a large tin, iron, and copper factory, and have married the daughter of a rich tradesman and general provider of all useful commodities for great folks and small. We work hard, and God gives us His blessing. We are satisfied with our condition in life, and are quite happy. We will help our friend Jeannot. Give up being a marquis; all the splendor in the world is not worth a good friend. Return with me into the country. I will teach you my trade, which is not a difficult one to learn; I will give you a share in the business, and we will live together with light hearts in the little place where we were born." Jeannot, overcome by this kindness, struggled between sorrow and joy, tenderness and shame. He said to himself: "All my fashionable friends have proved false to me, and Colin, whom I despised, is the only one who comes to my rescue. What a lesson!" Colin's example in generosity revived in Jeannot's heart the germ of goodness that the world had never quite choked. He felt that he could not desert his father and mother. "We will take care of your mother," said Colin, "and as for your good father, who is in prison--I know something of business matters--his creditors, when they see that he has nothing more, will agree to an easy settlement. I will see to all that myself." Colin was as good as his word, and succeeded in effecting the father's release from prison. Jeannot returned to his old home with his parents, who resumed their former occupation. He married Colin's sister, who, being like her brother in disposition, rendered her husband very happy. And so Jeannot the father, and Jeannotte the mother, and Jeannot the son, came to see that vanity is no true source of happiness. --Francois Marie Arouet de Voltaire. From "Little Masterpieces of Fiction," Vol. VII (Doubleday, Page & Co). II. The Pedagogical Narrative [Some famous pedagogical books]