"Behold," cried the pedant, "our guiding star! as welcome to us weary
travellers, lost in the desert, as the polar star to the distressed
mariner 'in periculo maris.' That blessed star yonder, whose rays shine
far out into the darkness, is a light burning in some warm, comfortable
room, which forms--Heaven be praised!--part of the habitation of human
and civilized beings--not Laestrygon savages. Without doubt there is a
bright fire blazing on the hearth in that cosy room, and over it hangs
a famous big pot, from which issue puffs of a delicious odour--oh,
delightful thought!--round which my imagination holds high revel, and
in fancy I wash down with generous wine the savoury morsels from that
glorious pot-au-feu."
"You rave, my good Blazius," said the tyrant, "the frost must have
gotten into your brain--that makes men mad, they say, or silly. Yet
there is some method in your madness, some truth in your ravings, for
yonder light must indicate an inhabited dwelling. This renders a change
in the plans for our campaign advisable. We will all go forward together
towards the promised refuge, and leave the chariot where it is; no
robbers will be abroad on such a night as this to interfere with its
contents. We will take our few valuables--they are not so numerous or
weighty but that we can carry them with us; for once it is an advantage
that our possessions are few.
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