"And have done well? Reaped a harvest from the merry lords and ladies?"
"There were many others there for that purpose," returned the jester, following the proprietor to the door of the hostelry.
"True. Still I'll warrant your fair companion cozened the silver pieces from the pockets of the gentry." And, smiling knowingly, he ushered them into the principal living room of the tavern.
It was a smoke-begrimed apartment, with tables next to the wall, and rough chairs and benches for the guests. Heavy pine rafters spanned the ceiling; the floor was sprinkled with sand; from a chain hung a wrought-iron frame for candles. Upon a shelf a row of battered tankards, suggesting many a bout, shone dully, like a line of war-worn troopers, while a great pewter pitcher, the worse for wear, commanded the disreputable array.
In this room was gathered a nondescript company: mountebanks and buffoons; rogues unclassified, drinking and dicing; a robust vagrant, at whose feet slept a performing boar, with a ring—badge of servitude—through its nose; a black-bearded, shaggy-haired Spanish troubadour, with attire so ragged and worn as to have lost its erstwhile picturesque characteristics. This last far from prepossessing worthy half-started from his seat upon the appearance of fool and jestress; stared at them, and then resumed his place and the ballad he had been singing:
"Within the garden of Beaucaire
He met her by a secret stair,
Said Aucassin, 'My love, my pet,
These old confessors vex me so!
They threaten all the pains of hell
Unless I give you up, ma belle,'—
Said Aucassin to Nicolette."
Watching the nimble fingers of the shabby minstrel with pitiably childish expression of amusement, a half-imbecile morio leaned upon the table. His huge form, for he was a giant among stalwart men, and his great moon-shaped head made him at once an object hideous and miserable to contemplate. But the poor creature seemed unaware of his own deformities, and smiled contentedly and patted the table caressingly to the sprightly rhythm.
Gazing upon this choice assemblage, the plaisant was vaguely conscious that some of the curious and uncommon faces seemed familiar, and the picture of the Franciscan monk whom they had overtaken on the road recurred to him, together with the misgivings he had experienced upon parting from that canting knave. He half-expected to see Nanette; to hear her voice, and was relieved that the gipsy on this occasion did not make one of the unwonted gathering. The landlord, observing the fool's discriminating gaze, and reading something of what was passing in his mind, reassuringly motioned the new-comers to an unoccupied corner, and by his manner sought to allay such mistrust as the appearance of his guests was calculated to inspire.
"We have to take those that come," he said, deprecatorily. "The rascals have money. It is as good as any lord's. Besides, whate'er they do without, here must they behave. And—for their credit—they are docile as children; ruled by the cook's ladle. You will find that, though there be ill company, you will partake of good fare. If I say it myself, there's no better master of the flesh pots outside of Paris than at this hostelry. The rogues eat as well as the king's gentlemen. Feasting, then fasting, is their precept."
"At present we have a leaning for the former, good host," carelessly answered the fool. "Though the latter will, no doubt, come later."