of wine, refilled his goblet, rose and said:

"Sir Philosopher, I heartily accept your generous offer. You are one
of the splendid mortals; it is an honour, sir, for me to be yours.
If there are two kinds of furniture I hold in high esteem, they are
the bed and the table. The table, filled up by turns with erudite
books and succulent dishes, serves as support to the nourishment
both of body and spirit; the bed propitious for sweet repose as well
as for cruel love. He certainly was a divine fellow who gave to the
sons of Deucalion bed and table. If I find with you, sir, those two
precious pieces of furniture, I'll follow your name, as that of my
benefactor, with immortal praise, and I'll celebrate you in Greek
and Latin verses of all sorts of metres."

So he said, and drank deeply.

"That's well," replied the philosopher. "I'll expect both of you to-
morrow morning at my house. You will follow the road to St Germain
till you come to the Cross of the Sablons, from that cross you'll
count one hundred paces, going westward, and you'll find a small
green door in a garden wall. You'll use the knocker which represents
a veiled figure having a finger in her mouth. An old follower will
open the door to you; you'll ask to see M. d'Asterac."

"My son," said my good tutor, pulling my coat sleeve, "put all that
in your memory, put cross, knocker, and the rest, so that we'll be
able to find, to-morrow, the enchanted door. And you, Sir Maecenas----"

But the philosopher was gone. No one had seen him leaving.