of his mind, which so well fitted him to lead when others were the most disposed to follow.  He was, therefore, without fear for himself while he aroused his companions; and he was free of his purse, which did not, however, appear to be sufficiently stored to answer very heavy demands, by ordering cup after cup to supply the place of those which were so quickly drained to the dregs.  In this manner an hour or two passed swiftly, they who were charged with the care of the jolly party in the town-house being much more occupied in noting the festivities without, than those within, the prison.

“Thou hast a merry life of it, honest Pippo,” cried Conrad with swimming eyes, answering a remark of the buffoon.  “Thou art but a laugh at the best, and wilt go through the world grinning and making others grin.  Thy Policinello is a rare fellow, and I never meet one of thy set that weary legs and sore feet are not forgotten in his fooleries!”

“Corpo di Bacco!—­I wish this were so; but thou hast much the best of the matter, even in the way of amusement, reverend pilgrim, though to the looker-on it would seem otherwise.  The difference between us, pious Conrad, is just this—­that thou laughest in thy sleeve without seeming to be merry, whereas I yawn ready to split my jaws while I seem to be dying with fun.  Your often-told joke is a bad companion, and gets at last to be as gloomy as a dirge.  Wine can be swallowed but once, and laughter will not come for ever for the same folly.  Cospetto!  I would give the earnings of a year for a set of new jokes, such as might come fresh from the wit of one who never saw a mountebank, and are not worn threadbare with being rubbed against the brains of all the jokers in Europe.”

“There was a wise man of old, of whom it is not probable that any of you have ever heard,” observed Maso, “who has said there was nothing new under the sun.”

“He who said that never tasted of this liquor, which is as raw as if it were still running from the press,” rejoined the pilgrim.  “Knave, dost think that we are unknowing in these matters, that thou darest bring a pot of such lees to men of our quality?  Go to, and see that thou doest us better justice in the next!”

“The wine is the same as that which first pleased you, but it is the nature of drunkenness to change the palate; and therein Solomon was right as in all other points,” coolly remarked Il Maledetto.  “Nay, friend, thou wilt scarce bring thy liquors again to those who do not know how to do them proper honor.”

Maso thrust the lad who served them from the room, and he slipped a small coin in his hand, ordering him not to return.  Inebriety had made sufficient ravages for his ends, and he was now desirous of stopping farther excesses.

“Here come the mummers—­gods and goddesses, shepherds and their lasses and all the other pleasantries, to keep us in humor!  To do these Vevaisans justice, they treat us rarely; for ye see they send their players to amuse our retirement!”