That gentleman"s window was open, and something strange seemed to be going on within.
And as Jacques drew nearer, he observed a placard dangling from the window. This placard bore in huge letters the mournful words:
"THE WITHIN INTENDS FOR EUROPE ON THE MORROW."
Jacques felt his conscience smite him--he could not let his friend depart without bidding him adieu. He dismounted, tied his horse, and laughing to himself, ascended to the chamber of the knight.
A sad sight awaited him.
Seated upon a travelling trunk, with a visage which had become elongated to a really distressing degree, Sir Asinus was sighing, and casting a last lingering look behind.
His apartment was in great disorder--presenting indeed that negligent appearance which rooms are accustomed to present, when their occupants are about to depart. The books were all stowed away in boxes--the pictures taken down--the bed unmade--the sofa littered with papers, and the violin, and flute--the general air of the desolate room, that of a man who has parted with his last hope and wishes to exist no longer.
But the appearance of Sir Asinus was worse than that of his apartment.
"Good morning, my dear Jacques," said the knight, sighing; "you visit me at a sad moment."
Jacques smiled.
"I am just on the wing."
"As I see."
"From my placard, eh?"
"Yes."
"Well, have you any commands?"
"For Europe?"
"Precisely."
"Well--no," said Jacques, with indecorous levity; "except that you will present my respects to Pitt and Barre."
"Scoffer!"
"Hey! who scoffed?"
"You!"
"I did not."
"You laugh, unworthy friend that you are," said Sir Asinus; "you deride me."
"Not at all."
"You rejoice at my departure."
"No."
"At any rate, you are not sorry," said Sir Asinus, sighing; "and I return the compliment. I myself am not sorry to part with the unworthy men who have misunderstood me, and persecuted me. A martyr to political ideas--to love for my country--I go to foreign lands to seek a home."
And having uttered this melancholy sentence, the woful knight twirled his thumbs, and sighed piteously.
As for Jacques, he smiled.
"When do you leave?" he said.
Sir Asinus pointed to the placard.
"On the morrow?"
"Yes."
"Well, there is time yet to attend the May-festival at Shadynook. Come along."
"No, no," said Sir Asinus, sighing; "no, I thank you. I have had all my n.o.ble aspirations chilled--my grand ideas destroyed; my heart is no longer fit for merriment. I depart."
And rising, Sir Asinus seated himself upon the table disconsolately.
Jacques looked at him and smiled.
"Do you know, my dear Asinus," he said, "that you present at this moment the grandest and most heroic picture? When a great man suffers, the world should weep."
"Instead of which, you laugh."
"I? I am not laughing."
"You are smiling."
"That is because, for the first time in my life, I am nearly happy."
"Happy? Would that I were! Happy? It is a word which I seldom have use for," said Sir Asinus, dangling his legs and sighing piteously.
"Why not endeavor to use it?"
"I cannot."
"Come and laugh with us at Shadynook."
"I no longer laugh."
"You weep?"
"No: my grief is too deep for tears--it is dried up--I mean the tears."
"Poor fellow!"