“If you judge by words you judge ill,” said Peregrine dryly, “since no man will own his words folly. It needs your wise man to own himself a fool, and thereby show his greater wisdom, since he but owns to the heritage of his birth. And the man who denies himself possessed of parents is a very patent fool. But to cease quibbling and come to fact. You see before you a hungry man, a tired man, a foot-sore man. An’ your hospitality be of deed rather than word I prithee let me experience it on the instant.” “With all the will in the world,” said the big man, and he turned from the window. The next instant the Castle door was flung wide open. Light streamed blazing forth. Peregrine stumbled towards it. Blinking he found himself atop the steps, dazzled by the greater brilliance. The man in scarlet caught him by the arm. “You are spent,” he said kindly. “It would seem so,” said Peregrine, laughing ruefully. “Drink this.” A glass of wine was held to his lips. Peregrine pushed it aside. “An’ I drink wine on an empty stomach you will see a very drunken man.” “Bah! ’tis not so potent.” Then as Peregrine still pushed the glass aside, “’Tis our custom, man. All who enter here drink a toast to the Lady Thaïs on the doorstep, swear her fealty in drinking.” “You told me not of stipulations,” muttered Peregrine very weary. “’Tis but an ancient custom, man. There’s no ill in the glass. Drink it, and cry to Thaïs. ’Twill put new strength into you.” Thus urged Peregrine took the glass. “To Thaïs!” he said, and sipped the wine. Very sweet to the palate it ran warm down his throat. “The divine Thaïs!” he cried laughing, remembering the toast he had heard. He drank the remainder at a draught, flung the glass to the floor. “Ah!” he said. “It puts new life in a man. Your name?” he asked on a sudden of the other. “They call me Phrixus,” came the answer, “since as a child I escaped from my stepmother, a very sharp-tongued woman. Truly ’twas by the skin of my teeth I did so, and on no golden-fleeced ram neither. Phrixus I have been since, and still am. May I ask a name for a name?” “Peregrine, at your service. A fool as I dare swear myself. A wanderer as you have perceived.” “A lucky wanderer,” quoth the other, and took him by the arm. Very gently he propelled him towards the great hall.