"And he gives you no wages?" said Rodriguez.

"Just these rings."

Now Rodriguez had himself a ring upon his finger (as a gallant
should), a slender piece of gold with four tiny angels holding a
sapphire, and for a moment he pictured the sapphire passing into
the hands of mine host and the ring of gold and the four small
angels being flung to Morano; the thought darkened his gaiety for
no longer than one of those fleecy clouds in Spring shadows the
fields of Spain.

Morano was also looking at the ring; he had followed the young
man's glance.

"Master," he said, "do you draw your sword of a night?"

"And you?" said Rodriguez.

"I have no sword," said Morano. "I am but as dog's meat that needs
no guarding, but you whose meat is rare like the flesh of the
unicorn need a sword to guard your meat. The unicorn has his horn
always, and even then he sometimes sleeps."

"It is bad, you think, to sleep," Rodriguez said.

"For some it is very bad, master. They say they never take the
unicorn waking. For me I am but dog's meat: when I have eaten hams
I curl up and sleep; but then you see, master, I know I shall wake
in the morning."