Jacques put on his hat and followed him--possibly from a desire to escape the thanks and blessings of Sir Asinus. In vain did the noble knight charge him, _sotto voce_, from the closet with perfidy and fear; Jacques was not to be turned back. He issued forth and mounted his horse. Sir Asinus appeared at the window like an avenging demon. "Oh! you villain!" he cried, first assuring himself that Dr. Small had disappeared; "I will revenge myself!" "Ah?" said Jacques, settling himself in the saddle and smiling languidly. "Yes; you're afraid to remain." "No, no," remonstrated Jacques. "You are, sir! I challenge you to return; you have basely maligned my character. And that duel! You have not condescended to open your mouth upon that great event of the day, knowing as you did, all the time, that circumstances render it necessary that I should remain in retirement!" "Didn't I mention the duel?" sighed Jacques, gathering up his reins and looking with languid interest at the martingale. "No." "Ah, really--did I not?" "No. Come now, Jacques! tell me how it was," said Sir Asinus in a coaxing tone, "and I'll forgive all; for I'm dying of curiosity." "I would with pleasure," said Jacques, "but unfortunately I haven't time." "Time? You have lots!" "No, no--she expects me, you know." "Who--not----!" "Yes, Belle-bouche. Take care of yourself, my dear knight," said Jacques with friendly interest; "good-by." And touching his horse with the spurs, he went on, pursued by the maledictions of Sir Asinus. He had cause. Jacques had charged him with lunacy; said he designed assassinating the King; kept from him the very names of the combatants; and was going to see his sweetheart! CHAPTER XVII. CORYDON GOES A-COURTING. Have you never, friendly reader, on some bright May morning, when the air is soft and warm, the sky deep azure, and the whole universe filled to the brim with that gay spirit of youth which spring infuses into this the month of flowers, as wine is squeezed from the ripe bunch of grapes into the goblet of Bohemian glass, all red and blue and emerald--at such times have you never suffered the imagination to go forth, unfettered by reality, to find in the bright scenes which it creates, a world more sunny, figures more attractive than the actual universe, the real forms around you? Have you never tried to fill your heart with dreams, to close your vision to the present, and to bathe your weary forehead in those golden waters flowing from the dreamland of the past? The Spanish verses say the old times were the best; and we may assert truly that they are for us at least the best--for reverie.