"I would see Sir John Falstaff, sir," declared the lady, courteously, but with some reserve of manner, and looking him full in the face as she said this.
"Indeed, madam," suggested Sir John, "if those bright eyes--whose glances have already cut my poor heart into as many pieces as the man in the front of the almanac--will but desist for a moment from such butcher's work and do their proper duty, you will have little trouble in finding the bluff soldier you seek."
"Are you Sir John?" asked the lady, as though suspecting a jest. "The son of old Sir Edward Falstaff, of Norfolk?"
"His wife hath frequently assured me so," Sir John protested, very gravely; "and to confirm her evidence I have about me a certain villainous thirst that did plague Sir Edward sorely in his lifetime, and came to me with his other chattels. The property I have expended long since; but no Jew will advance me a maravedi on the Falstaff thirst. It is a priceless commodity, not to be bought or sold; you might as soon quench it."
"I would not have known you," said the lady, wonderingly; "but," she added, "I have not seen you these forty years."
"Faith, madam," grinned the knight, "the great pilferer Time hath since then taken away a little from my hair, and added somewhat (saving your presence) to my belly; and my face hath not been improved by being the grindstone for some hundred swords. But I do not know you."
"I am Sylvia Vernon," said the lady. "And once, a long while ago, I was Sylvia Darke."
"I remember," said the knight. His voice was altered. Bardolph would hardly have known it; nor, perhaps, would he have recognized his master's manner as he handed Dame Sylvia to the best chair.
"A long while ago," she repeated, sadly, after a pause during which the crackling of the fire was very audible. "Time hath dealt harshly with us both, John;--the name hath a sweet savor. I am an old woman now. And you--"
"I would not have known you," said Sir John; then asked, almost resentfully, "What do you here?"
"My son goes to the wars," she answered, "and I am come to bid him farewell; yet I should not tarry in London, for my lord is feeble and hath constant need of me. But I, an old woman, am yet vain enough to steal these few moments from him who needs me, to see for the last time, mayhap, him who was once my very dear friend."