Sir Richard Pendragon plucked his cloak away fiercely from the old creature and walked on with his head in the air, as though he had not heard her. During the next moment, however, an unmannerly urchin had thrown a cake of mud at the Persian cockado.
By the time we had come to the gates of the Louvre, the press was so great that it had become difficult to proceed in it. Indeed, according to the Count of Nullepart’s computation, and he seemed to derive much pleasure from assessing it, it could not have been less than a thousand persons.
To the astonishment of our leader, when we came before the gates of the palace, the soldiers of the King’s Guard, who kept the royal entrance, declined to allow us to pass. And when Sir Richard Pendragon threatened peremptorily to cut off the ears of their captain, the prospect of our gaining admittance did not seem to improve. For some reason, which I cannot explain, the attitude of the King’s Guard seemed greatly to please the mob that was pressing around us.
Sir Richard Pendragon was fain to produce the cartel of our mistress duly sealed and inscribed: “To Lewis Our Nephew in His Court at Paris, by the hands of Our Good Servants.” Yet even this document went without effect, if only for the reason, as the Count of Nullepart assured us, that the captain of the King’s Guard was unable so much as to decipher the superscription.
In the next minute there was almost a riot in the open street. The English giant, seeming to detect cries of derision arising about him, turned to the ever-increasing multitude and observing a low fellow that was near him in the act of making an insulting grimace, he made no more to do, but lifted him up bodily, and flung him like a sack of flour upon the heads of the people.
Upon this, mud and stones began to fly past us. And a missile having struck Sir Richard Pendragon upon the cheek, he drew his sword and began to lay about him lustily with the flat of it.
Our situation was now one of great peril. Three persons, whatever their valour, were powerless to defend themselves from a press of this magnitude. I incline to think our fate would have been a sorry one had not the mother-wit of the Count of Nullepart arranged our deliverance. While the mob were surging angrily around us and stones were flying about our ears, our companion spoke some words in a low voice to the captain of the King’s Guard, and this time he used the French tongue. The effect was like magic. The captain instantly removed his plumed hat, and bowing very low, led us through the gate and into the precincts of the palace, leaving his company to deal in what sort it suited them with a mob that by now was in no gentle humour.
Once within the walls of the palace, the Count of Nullepart dismissed the King’s officer with a word of thanks; and then, under the count’s own direction, we entered an exceeding large antechamber, which was thronged with as fine a company as I have ever beheld. There were priests of high learning and dignity, wearing their soutanes; there were soldiers in bright doublets and shining armour; there were austere and sombre-coated ministers; there were gay and handsome courtiers in very modish and brilliant attire; and beyond all else there was a number of beautiful ladies.
This fine company was talking very loudly and laughing very gaily at the time we came into the room. But our entrance being a public one, mainly owing to the manner in which Sir Richard Pendragon clanked his spurs on the marble floor and the great voice in which he conversed with the Count of Nullepart, the attention of all present was immediately drawn upon us. Now I know not whether it was due to the magnificence of our apparel or the pride of our bearing, yet the lively talk and the gay mirth subsided in the most sudden manner. Each person in the room seemed to turn to regard us with a wonderment that scorned disguise; and then the silence was broken by a titter from one of the fine ladies.
The court gallants who surrounded them were not slow to follow their example.