"Alack! What a countenance! And all for a strange girl who has chanced to die. How wilt thou look when one of thy masters is laid in the grave? I like not this mask of hypocrisy, my friend. Thou carest not for her who is dead, but pullest a long face, and strikest a chill to the hearts of all beholders, because, forsooth, it is seemly to mourn for the dead. Why, we must all pay our tribute to death, every man of us, and no one knoweth whether he shall ever see the next day's light; then count the present as thine own, and eat and drink with me and make merry. A frowning face profits not the dead—nay, it serves but to blacken the sunshine of this life that we can live but once. Up, man, drink and wash away thy frowns! Believe me, life is no life at all—only labour and misfortune to those who walk through it with pompous steps and sour faces."
And he poured out a brimming goblet.
"All this I know full well, master," answered the old man, "but the shadow that has fallen on this house is too heavy for me to join in thy revelry."
"Thou makest too much of death. Thou canst not grieve for a stranger as thou wouldst for one of the household. Thy master and mistress live. Let that suffice thee."
"What! My master and mistress live? Alas! my master is too kind a host."
"Must I starve, then, because a strange girl is dead?"
"It is no stranger, I tell thee, but one most near and dear."
"Have I been deceived? Has he hidden some misfortune from me?"
"Ask no more, but go in peace. My master's sorrows are for me to bear, not for thee. And he bade me not speak of it."
"Speak, speak, man! I see he has hidden some great sorrow from me. Who is the woman who is dead?"