Even the venal porter hesitated to let such a crew into the streets, but he gave way under the pressure of another coin. Cudgel in hand they went forth, and as they passed the hostel they called “Ape Hall” they sang aloud:
Come forth, ye apes, and scratch your polls,
Your learning is in question,
And while ye scratch, eat what ye catch,
To quicken your digestion.
Two or three “apes” looked out of the window much disgusted, as well they might be, and were driven back by a shower of stones. Onward—shouting, roaring, singing, but they met no one. All the world was in bed. The moon alone looked down upon them as she waded through the clouds, casting brilliant light here, leaving black shadows there.
All at once a light, the light of a torch, turned the corner. The tinkling of a small bell was heard. It was close upon them. A priest bore the last Sacrament to the dying—the Viaticum, or Holy Communion, so called when given in the hour of death.
“Down,” cried Ralph, and they all knelt as it passed, for such was the universal habit. Even vicious sinners thought they atoned for their vice by their ready compliance with the forms of the Church. Many a man in that day would have thought it a less sin to cut a throat than to omit such an act of devotion.
But Martin recognised the priest. It was Adam de Maresco in his gray Franciscan robes, and he thought the father recognised him. He turned crimson with shame at being found in such company.
At last they reached home, and sick at heart he knocked at the door. It was long before he was admitted, and then not without sharp words of reproof, at which his companions laughed, as they turned and went back to Le Oriole.
Martin bathed his head in water to drive away the racking headache. Fire seemed coursing through his veins as he lay down on the hard pallet of straw in his little cell.
He was awoke by a hideous purring; there, as he thought, upon his cast-off garments, sat the enemy of mankind: he had drawn the mark gained at the dice out of the gypsire, and was feasting on it with his eyes, ever and anon licking it with great gusto, and meanwhile purr, purr, purring like a huge cat.
Martin, now awake, dashed from his couch—no fiend was there—he tore his gypsire open, took out the coin, opened his casement, and threw it like an accursed thing into the street. Then he got in bed again and sobbed like a child.