The ruffian's eye, which but a moment back had looked vacuous and
melancholy, now quickened until it seemed ablaze. He raised his
bloodshot orbs and boldly encountered Gonzaga's uneasy glance. His lips
fell apart with an anticipatory smack, his back stiffened, and his head
was raised until his chin took on so haughty a tilt that Gonzaga feared
his proffered hospitality was on the point of suffering a scornful
rejection.

"Will I share a flagon?" gasped the fellow, as, being the sinner that he
was and knew himself to be, he might have gasped: "Will I go to Heaven?"
"Will I--will I----?" He paused, and pursed his lips. His eyebrows were
puckered and his expression grew mighty cunning as again he took stock of
this pretty fellow who offered flagons of wine to down-at-heel
adventurers like himself. He had all but asked what was to be required
of him in exchange for this, when suddenly he bethought him--with the
knavish philosophy adversity had taught him--that were he told for what
it was intended that the wine should bribe him, and did the business suit
him not, he should, in the confession of it, lose the wine; whilst did he
but hold his peace until he had drunk, it would be his thereafter to
please himself about the business when it came to be proposed.

He composed his rugged features into the rude semblance of a smile.

"Sweet young sir," he murmured, "sweet, gentle and most illustrious lord,
I would share a hogshead with such a nobleman as you."

"I am to take it that you will drink?" quoth Gonzaga, who had scarce
known what to make of the man's last words.