"The thanks are yours," I replied. "To drink that wine is to live."
"It is good wine," he said thoughtfully; "and good wine is one of the factors of life—blessed be him that made it!"
"It is new to me as an Englishman," I answered; "and if I were not a stranger to you, I would ask questions."
"Son, he that asks questions is a poor learner; ask nothing from life, but take it as it comes to you. He that asks shall learn lies."
"You are a philosopher, I see."
He laughed scornfully in reply.
"la philosopher! Nay, my son, I am no philosopher. I am the concentration of life, which I have squeezed as you squeeze a lemon, until it has poured its last drop into my skin—blessed be he that made it!"
"Wonderful man! You have learned, then, to live, and you keep the secret to yourself?"
"Nay, not so, since you are here to share it. I have waited for you many days until I could give you what you wished; for what you wish is another factor of your life. To-night it is in my power to put before you the realization of the dream which has been in your mind the month past. I intend to do so without condition; for condition is not an element of satisfaction, though made one by your teachers here, who would have no sustenance or employment if limitation were not part of their gospel. To-night you are my guest in the secret of pleasure
