"You will have none, Gautran," said the Advocate sternly.
"Ah, master," implored Gautran, "think better of it, I must have brandy--I must!"
"Must!" echoed the Advocate, with a frown.
"Yes, master, must; I shall not be able to talk else. My throat is parched--you can hear for yourself that it is as dry as a raven's. I must have drink, and it mustn't be milk-wine. I am not quite a fool, master. If that horrible shadow were never to appear to me again, I would show those who have been hard on me a trick or two that would astonish them. If you've a spark of compassion in you, master, give a poor wretch a glass of brandy."
The Advocate considered a moment, and then unlocked a small cupboard, from which he took a bottle of brandy. He filled a glass, and gave it to Gautran.
"Here's confusion to our enemies," said Gautran. "Ah, this is fine! I have never tasted such before. It puts life into a man."
"What makes you drink to our enemies, Gautran?" asked the Advocate.
"Why, master, are not my enemies yours, and yours mine? We row in the same boat. If they found us out, it would be as bad for you as it would be for me. Worse, master, worse, for you have much to lose; I have nothing. You see, master, I have been thinking over things since we met in the lane yonder."
"You are bold and impudent. What if I were to summon my servants and have you marched off to gaol?"
"What would you accuse me of? I have not stolen anything; you may search me if you like. No, no, master, I will take nothing from you. What you give I shall be grateful for; but rob you? No--you are mistaken in me. I owe you too much already. I am bound to you for life."