"Laborer," repeated the "horse-dealer" in a surprised and injured tone, scratching his ear with his stylus. "You are nothing but a laborer? You have no other profession?" "I am a soldier also." "Oh, a soldier. He who wears the iron collar has no more to do with lance or sword. So then," added the "horse-dealer," reading from his tablet with a sigh: "No. 7. Bull; race, Breton Gaul; of great strength and very great height; aged twenty-nine years; excellent laborer." Then he said: "Your character?" "My character?" "Yes, what is it? rebellious or docile? open or sly? violent or peaceable? gay or moody? The buyers always inquire as to the character of the slave they are buying, and although one may not be compelled to answer them, it is a bad business to deceive them. Let us see, friend Bull, what is your character? In your own interest, be truthful. The master who buys you will sooner or later know the truth, and will make you pay more dearly for your lie than I would." "Then write upon your tablet: 'The draft-bull loves servitude, cherishes slavery, and licks the hand that strikes him.'" "You are joking. The Gallic race love service? As well say that the eagle or the falcon loves his cage." "Then write that when his strength has come back, the Bull at the first chance will break his yoke, gore his master, and fly to the woods to live in freedom." "There is more truth in that. Those brutes of keepers who beat you told me that at the first touch of the lash you gave a terrible jump the length of your chain. But, you see, friend Bull, if I offer you to the purchasers with the dangerous account which you give, I shall find few customers. An honest merchant should not boast his merchandise too much, no more should he underestimate it. So I shall announce your character as follows." And he wrote: "Of a violent character, sulky, because of his not being accustomed to slavery, for he is still green; but he can be broken in by using at different times gentleness, severity and chastisement." "Go over it again." "Over what?" "The description I am to be sold under." "You are right, my son. We must make sure that the description sounds well to the ear. Imagine that I am the auctioneer, thus: "No. 7. Bull; race, Breton Gaul; of great strength and very great height; aged twenty-nine years; excellent laborer; of a violent character, sulky, because of his not being accustomed to slavery, for he is still green; but he can be broken in by application of gentleness, severity, and chastisement." "That is what is left of a free and proud man whose only crime is having defended his country against Caesar!" I cried bitterly. "And yet I did not kill that same Caesar, who has reduced our people to slavery and is now about to divide among his soldiers the lands of our fathers, I did not kill him when I was making off with him on my horse!"