"Within the last thousand years," replied the old man, "we have met more than a thousand times; but I remember you well before that, when you commanded a Roman cohort in the first Punic war."
"He's mad!" thought the traveller, "profoundly insane!" and he turned an inquiring glance to the old cottager and his wife; but far from showing any surprise, they stood regarding their strange visiter with looks of deep awe and respect. However, the traveller at length replied, "Memory, with me, is a more treacherous guardian of the past; but may I crave the name of so ancient an acquaintance?"
"In Britain," answered the old man, "they call me Sir Cesar; in Spain, Don Cesario; and in Padua, simply Cesario il dotto."
"What!" cried Sir Osborne, "the famous----?"
"Ay, ay!" interrupted the old man; "famous if it may so be called. But no more of that. Fame is but like a billow on a sandy shore, that when the tide is in, it seems a mighty thing, and when 'tis out, 'tis nothing. If I have learned nought beside, I have learned to despise fame."
"That your learning must have taught you far more, needs no farther proof than your knowledge of a stranger that you never saw, at least with human eyes," said Sir Osborne; "and in truth, this your knowledge makes me a believer in that art which, hitherto, I had held as emptiness."
"Cast from you no ore till you have tried it seven times in the fire," replied Sir Cesar; "hold nothing as emptiness that you have not essayed. But, hark! bend down thine ear, and thou shalt hear more anon."
The young traveller bowed his head till his ear was on a level with the mouth of the diminutive speaker, who seemed to whisper not more than one word, but that was of such a nature as to make Sir Osborne start back, and fix his eyes upon him with a look of inquiring astonishment, that brought a smile upon the old man's lip. "There is no magic here," said Sir Cesar: "you shall hear more hereafter. But, hush! come into the cottage, for hunger, that vile earthly want, calls upon me for its due: herein, alas! we are all akin unto the hog: come!"
They accordingly entered the lowly dwelling, and sat down to a small oaken table placed in the midst; Sir Cesar, as if accustomed to command there, seating the traveller as his guest, and demanding of the old couple a supply of those things he deemed necessary. "Set down the salt in the middle, Richard Heartley; now bring the bread; take the bacon from the pot, dame, and if there be a pompion yet not mouldy, put it down to roast in the ashes. Whet Sir Osborne's dagger, Richard. Is it all done? then sit with us, for herein are men all alike. Now tell me, Richard Heartley, while we eat, what has happened to thee this morning, for I learn thou hast been in jeopardy."
Thus speaking, he carved the bacon with his dagger, and distributed to every one a portion, while Sir Osborne Maurice looked on, not a little interested in the scene, one of the most curious parts of which was the profound taciturnity that had succeeded to garrulity in the two old cottagers, and the promptitude and attention with which they executed all their guest's commands.