"At any rate, you are not sorry," said Sir Asinus, sighing; "and I return the compliment. I myself am not sorry to part with the unworthy men who have misunderstood me, and persecuted me. A martyr to political ideas--to love for my country--I go to foreign lands to seek a home." And having uttered this melancholy sentence, the woful knight twirled his thumbs, and sighed piteously. As for Jacques, he smiled. "When do you leave?" he said. Sir Asinus pointed to the placard. "On the morrow?" "Yes." "Well, there is time yet to attend the May-festival at Shadynook. Come along." "No, no," said Sir Asinus, sighing; "no, I thank you. I have had all my noble aspirations chilled--my grand ideas destroyed; my heart is no longer fit for merriment. I depart." And rising, Sir Asinus seated himself upon the table disconsolately. Jacques looked at him and smiled. "Do you know, my dear Asinus," he said, "that you present at this moment the grandest and most heroic picture? When a great man suffers, the world should weep." "Instead of which, you laugh." "I? I am not laughing." "You are smiling." "That is because, for the first time in my life, I am nearly happy." "Happy? Would that I were! Happy? It is a word which I seldom have use for," said Sir Asinus, dangling his legs and sighing piteously. "Why not endeavor to use it?" "I cannot." "Come and laugh with us at Shadynook." "I no longer laugh." "You weep?" "No: my grief is too deep for tears--it is dried up--I mean the tears." "Poor fellow!" "There you are pitying my afflictions--spare me!" "I do pity you. To see the noble and joyous Sir Asinus grow melancholy--to see those legs, which erst glided through the minuet and reel, now dangling wearily--to see that handsome visage so drawn down; is there no occasion for pity?" And Jacques sighed. "Well, well," said Sir Asinus, "I am glad you came, spite of your unworthy banter, you unfeeling fellow. I wish to send some messages to my friends." "What are they?" "First, to Belle-bouche--love and remembrance." "That is beautiful; and I never knew these words yet fail to touch the heart." "To all the boys, the fond regards of him who goes from them--a martyr to the attempt to uphold their rights." "That is affecting too." "To the little dame who passed with you some days ago--Miss Martha Wayles by name--but no; nothing to her." And Sir Asinus groaned. "Nothing?" said Jacques. "No; the memory of my love for her shall never grieve her; let us say no more, Jacques, my friend. I have finished." "And what do you leave to me?" said Jacques. "My affection." "I would prefer that violin." "No, no, my friend; it will comfort me on my voyage. Now farewell!" "Shall I see you no more?" "No more." "Why?" "Do I not depart to-day?" "True, true," said Jacques; "and if you really must go, farewell. Write to me." "Let us embrace." "Willingly." And Sir Asinus caught his friend in his arms and sniffled.