“Men boast of wine,” he said, as he placed the sparkling goblet in his hand; “and, to speak the simple sooth, wine hath much excellent virtue; but, when the heart is low, commend me to old Cognac. It hath a sweeter perfume than the rose, and excels honey in its savour. As a medicament, no drug may be held in its comparison, and ’twill remedy more ills than the cunningest apothecary. Beseech thee, take it to thy heart, fair Senhor!”
Don Rafaele, with a light smile, accepted the proffered goblet, and raised it to his lips.
“By my sooth, ’tis an admirable good liquor!” he exclaimed. “Yet do I marvel, Senhor Captain, when thou holdest it in such hearty estimation, thou drinkest of it so sparingly; for, if I be of true remembrance, this is the first time I have ever seen thee partake of it.”
“Thou art right!” answered Hildebrand; “for, if it be drunk for mere sport, its notable good properties become of no account. But when the heart is faint after battle, the body weary with action, or the spirit oppressed with heaviness, or when, in an hour of joyfulness, we would ‘kill the fatted calf,’ it lendeth our inward man a ministering cheerfulness, which it is right pleasant to behold.”
“In sooth, it hath made me merry,” replied Don Rafaele, “yet will I, at the present pass, take no more on’t.”
“Thou wilt pledge me to thy mistress?” said Hildebrand.
“Ah! thou art fearful of thy head,” resumed Hildebrand. “Well, well, ’tis a wise fear, and becomes thee happily. It minds me of the saying of a notable poet, a countryman of mine, whom thou mayst one day see--‘O, that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away their brains!’”
Don Rafaele still sat silent, with his eyes, which had before been raised to those of Hildebrand, turned towards the floor, and his brow looking sad and mournful. After a brief space, however, he spoke, though in a low voice, and with his eyes still downcast.
“Didst not say thou wouldst pledge me to thy mistress?” he asked.
“An’ thou art minded to take my pledge, I will,” answered Hildebrand, smiling, though mournfully.
“Prithee advise me first what like are her eyes?” replied Don Rafaele.
“Black--black as death,” said Hildebrand, “yet sparkling as day.”
Don Rafaele looked up. “What like are her cheeks?” he asked.