Having thus spoken their permission, the people once more dispersed themselves over the ground; while the two officers, arm in arm, commenced strolling through the encampment—followed by a crowd of the lower class of peasants, who continued to gratify their curiosity by gazing upon the steel-clad strangers.
Sir Marmaduke and his friends had returned to their former stand—upon the elevated crest of the moat, and at some distance from the causeway, where the officers had entered. The latter saunteringly proceeded in that direction; freely flinging their jests among the crowd who accompanied them; and now and then exchanging phrases of no very gentle meaning, with such of the peasant girls as chanced to stray across their path.
The host of the fête had resolved not to offer the intruders a single word of welcome. The rude demand made by the comet, coupled with the coarse dialogue between the two officers—part of which he had overheard—had determined Sir Marmaduke to take no notice of them, until they should of themselves declare their errand.
He had ordered the morris dance to be resumed. In front of where he stood the dancers had reformed their figures; and, with streaming ribbons and ringing bells, were again tripping it over the turf.
“By the toes of Terpsichore, a morris dance!” exclaimed the captain of cuirassiers, as he came near enough to recognise the costume and measure. “An age since I have seen one!”
“Never saw one in my life,” rejoined Stubbs; “except on the stage. Is it the same?”
No doubt Stubbs spoke the truth. He had been born in the ward of Cheap, and brought up within the sound of Bow-bells.
“Not quite the same,” drawled the captain, “though something like—if I remember aright. Let’s forward, and have a squint at it.”
Hastening their steps a little, the two officers soon arrived on the edge of the circle; and without taking any notice of the “people of quality,” who were stationed upon the platform above, they commenced flinging free jibes among the dancers.
Some of these made answer with spirit—especially Little John and the Jolly Friar, who chanced to be fellows of a witty turn; and who in their own rude fashion gave back to the two intruders full value for what they received.