glass of it to his master, who drank to his guest. Francis instantly returned the compliment.
“Well, young man, what say you to my wine?” asked the chevalier.
“‘Faith,” replied Francis, “I say it is bad, if it is the best you have in your cellar; but if you have none worse, I do not condemn it.”
“You are a connoisseur;” answered the chevalier. “Butler, bring us a flask of older wine.”
His orders being instantly attended to, Francis tasted it. “This is indeed some good old wine, and we will stick to it if you please.”
The servants brought in a great pitcher of it, and the chevalier, being in high good-humour, drank freely with his guest; and then launched out into a long history of his several feats of prowess in the war against the Venetians. He became so overheated by the recital, that in his enthusiasm he overturned the bottles and glasses, and flourishing his knife as if it were a sword, passed it so near the nose and ears of Francis, that he dreaded he should lose them in the action.
Though the night wore away, the chevalier did not manifest any desire to sleep; for he was quite in his element, whenever he got on the topic of the Venetian war. Each succeeding glass added to the heat of his imagination as he proceeded in his narration, till at length Francis began to apprehend
