would have happened." And he did not know what to say, and I would not speak, we kept silence for some time, till at last I broke out, "Why don't you say something? Any one would think that I was actually at the last gasp; but there's no use in sitting staring at me like a stuck pig! If you can't talk, go home! You do not go to see sick people just to hold your tongue; and for goodness' sake stop fiddling with that book, or whatever it is you have got there!"
The poor old fellow stood up. "I am going. Colas," he said gently. " I can see that the sight of me puts you out, but I thought — I had brought you this book, — Lives of Celebrated Men, by Plutarch; it is translated by Jacques Amyot, Bishop of Auxerre; — would you like it? — it might amuse you. It would perhaps be some consolation or companionship!" I could see that his mind was not quite made up, for it was like drawing teeth for him to lend his books, which he cherished even more dearly than his ducats.
If any one dared touch one of the precious volumes in his library, he was like a lover who sees rude hands laid on the lady of his affections. I was touched and softened by the greatness of the sacrifice, and held out my hand to my old comrade, telling him how grateful I was for his kindness to
