"And now," she cried, rising, impetuously, "he says that women are devils! What shall we do with him?"
"Pelt him out!" answered the countess. "Pelt him out!"
With peals of merriment and triumphant shouts, the court, of one accord, directed a fusillade of fruits, nuts and other viands at the head and person of the raging and hapless buffoon, the countess herself, apple in hand—Eve bent upon vengeance—leading in the assault. The other tables responded with a cross-fire, and heavier articles succeeded lighter, until after having endured the continuous attack for a few moments as best he might, the unlucky dwarf raised his arms above his head and fairly fled from the hall, leaving behind in his haste a bagpipe and his wooden sword.
"So may all traitors be punished!" said the bishop unctuously, as he reached for a dish of confections that had escaped the fair hands in search of ammunition.
"Well," laughed the Countess d'Etampes, "if we have the support of the Church—"
"I will confess you, myself, Madam," gallantly retorted the bishop.
"And all the Court of Love?" asked Marguerite.
"Ah, your Highness—all?—I am old—in need of rest—but with an assistant or two—"
"Assistant or two!" interrupted Catharine, imperiously. "Would the task then be so great?"
"Nay"—with gentle expostulation—"but you—members of the court—are many; not your sins."