"The Athenians, my son, sent Aristides into exile, and at the same time called him the Just. But let us drop men and speak of wine. For my own part, I drink it rarely. As with many other useless luxuries, I have learned to do without it, and yet I enjoy perfect health. This wine is older than you are; its age, for a man, would not be much, but for wine it is something. Your father sent me a basket of it the day you were born. In his happiness he made gifts to all his friends. I have kept it with great care, and I only bring it out on such rare occasions as this. Here is a health to you, my dear boy. Success to all your undertakings; and when you come back to New France, promise that you will come and sup here with me, and drink a last bottle of this wine, which I will keep for you. You look astonished. You think it likely that when you return I shall have long since paid that debt which is paid even by the most recalcitrant debtor. You are mistaken, my son; a man like me does not die. But come, we have finished supper, let us go and sit _sub tegmine fagi_, which may be interpreted to mean, under that splendid walnut-tree whose branches are reflected in the river." The night was magnificent. The ripple of running water was the only sound that broke the moonlit stillness. M. d'Egmont was silent for some moments, and Jules, not caring to disturb his reverie, began tracing hieroglyphics with his finger in the sand. "I have greatly desired," said "the good gentleman," "to have a talk with you before your departure, before you go out into the world. I know that we can profit little by the experience of others, but that each must purchase his own. No matter, I shall at least have the consolation of having opened my heart to you, a heart which should have been dried up long since, but which yet beats as warmly as when I led the joyous troops of my companions more than half a century ago. Just now you looked at me with surprise when I said that a man like me does not die; you thought I spoke in metaphor, but I was sincere at the moment. So often on my knees have I begged for death that I have ended by almost doubting Death's existence. The heathen have made of him a divinity, doubtless that they might call him to their aid in time of heavy sorrow. If it is as physiology teaches us, and our sufferings depend upon the sensitiveness of our nerves, then have I suffered what would have killed fifty strong men." M. d'Egmont was silent once more, and Jules flung some pebbles into the river.