“Yes, thanks to me,” said the stranger.
“Thanks to you? why, who are you?” stammered Gamain, looking from still life to animated things.
“My dear Gamain, your question shows that you have a poor memory.”
“Hold on,” said the smith, giving him more attention: “it strikes me that I have seen you before.”
“You don’t say so? that is a blessed thing.”
“Ay, but where—that is the rub.”
“Look around you, then; something may remind you; or had you better have some more of the counterbane to refresh you?”
“No, thank ’ee, I have had enough of that remedy,” said Gamain, stretching his arms out. “I am so nearly brought round that I will do without it. Where did I see you? why, in this very spot, of course. And when? the day I was coming back from doing a special job at Paris—I seem to be in for this sort of thing,” added he, chuckling.
“Very well: but who am I?”
“A jolly honest mate who paid for the liquor. Shake hands!”