dried his hands in a cloth, or maybe forgot the ablution altogether, and ate his meat without purification.

The meal was a good and substantial dinner served at ten o'clock (indeed, except in the names of the repast, the French have scarcely changed for these four hundred years); it was plentifully accompanied by wine and honey-beer; and after it, the lady of Borsellen, retiring, concocted a cup of rich spiced wine with her own hands, which she served to her guest, who received it with many polite speeches. As the chaplain was not in the way, Jehan, with something of a sneer, bade the clerk, his brother, read the letter addressed to him, which Franck, blushing as usual, did; but he was delighted to receive many commendations on his learning from the knight, who told him that all the great lords of France, nowadays, were scholars as well as soldiers, and witnessed the Duke of . . . taken prisoner at Crecy; and he was going on to speak of the Prince who lately died at Paris, but here he stopped, for both he and Jehan de Borsellen were Burgundy's men, and the knight knew perfectly well Jehan's share in Orleans' death.

The Duke of Burgundy's letter was a summons to Jehan, one out of many score that the Prince had sent out, calling upon all the knights and gentlemen of his following to join him by a certain day in the marches of Picardy preparatory to a descent upon the men of Liège and the intruder of Liège, as the new bishop was called, whom they had elected. Against these men of Liège the Duke preached a sort of crusade: they had turned their rightful lord out of his bishopric, had taken his towns, had slaughtered his knights and nobles, had laid waste the Brabant country with fire and sword; and high time it was to avenge these injuries.

Jehan said he desired no better sport, and added that he knew very well that these Flemish commons possessed unheard-of riches, of which he longed to have a share; and the knight of CastelSarrasin, though he professed not to fight for wealth, but for honour only, showed, nevertheless, that he should be by no means averse to the plunder, which might justly be taken from these low-bred knaves who had used the nobles and forsaken their princes so abominably. In fact, he was of opinion that it was quite a holy war in which they were about to engage, and that plunder in such a case was lawful.

Jehan frankly gave his guest to understand that he did not care whether the war was holy or not; and that as for plunder, it, in his notion, was always lawful.

my

IV.

TABLE TALK.

"A PRETTY robe, Madam, and in the true Paris fashion; but if you will give me leave, the toes of your boots are not half long enough-why, they are not six inches above the foot, and should, upon the faith of a knight, be an ell long at least. The Queen, though, between ourselves, Madam, she is fat, inordinate fat and gross about the leg, wears the point of her poulaine tied by a chain to her knee-a filigree gold chain it is, prettily set with turquoise.'

'I warrant Messire Tristan has seen it,' cried Jehan, with a hoarse laugh.

'Manners, my good host of Borsellen, manners and discretion. Suppose I have seen it, that is no cause why I should tell-kiss and tell, oh, fie! We never do such things, fair demoiselle-by Venus we never do.'

Isabeau only laughed as the little ugly man threw a leer across the table to her, which was destined to take her heart by storm! Franck listened and wondered; he was too simple in the ways of the world to know as yet that people of Sir Tristan's nation very often tell without kissing, and took his stories for Gospel. Jehan, who had set up for a gallant too, on his return from Court, was rather sulky at being so completely put in the shade by his little talkative guest, and sate with one leg thrown over his arm-chair, dipping his nose into his great silver flagon every now and then, and looking as important as possible.

'You don't drink, Sir Tristan,' said he; 'the wine is good Gascony, I warrant you. Since the time when the lord my father-peace to his soul-was in those parts, he could abide no other drink.'

My poor house of Castel-Sarrasin must have been fully known to him then,' continued the knight— a mean mansion, ladies, but it has lodged fifty knights and their train in its time. Did your honoured sire never tell of it?'

'Never; and yet he knew the country well, sir, when he was for two years a prisoner of honour to the Black Prince of Acquitaine. He was a doughty knight, Messire Tristan, and ransomed for ten thousand crowns by Hugh Calverley, who took him at Najara.'

This story was told twice at least every evening by Jehan, who gave it at present in a very solemn voice, looking round at his family for approval, and then full in the face of the Frenchman.

'My father was a famous knight,' said Isabeau, tossing up her slim neck.

'Ay, truly,' cried Franck; 'look at his sword, Sir Knight, yonder great two-handed one; no one could wield it but he.'

'Jehan can,' said his mother, looking at her big son.

That I can,' growled John. My armour weighs thirty pounds more than those of my father, Sir Franck. I am an inch broader in the chest than he was, and am much longer in the leg.' Messire de Castel-Sarrasin, however, did not take the slightest notice of this family boasting, but continued rattling on about his castle and two miles of vineyards that he possessed on the banks of Garonne, that yielded him three hundred tonneaux of claret, that brought him three thousand silver marks yearly.

But,' said John, ' Picardy wine is a good drink: and though we make no wine in Flanders, they brew rare metheglin at Bruges.' 'I would ship you a few tons from Bordeaux, but for the wicked English cruisers.'

Hang the English,' answered Messire de Borsellen! the men of Liège have taken a parcel of their cursed archers into pay. I wish I was among them with my two-handed sword! I should have been rich but for them; they robbed my father of ten thousand crowns, or my lands would have been as big as your own, Messire de CastelSarrasin.

6

' And will be again, I am sure, if merit and polity can win them back,' said Sir Tristan. 'Look at the man, ladies-what a champion! What a chest! What a fist, to hold a war-axe! What a leg! (John grinned.) It would be held a thought too thick at Court,' continued the knight, glancing complacently at his own spindle shins, which were cased in parti-coloured breeches of red and yellow. By the way, why continue that odious fashion of buff? It's not decent-positively not decent; motley is your wear, sir, or blue, or what you will. A man in those odious tight buff hose looks like a wild Hirishman (I have lived three years among the kernes, Madam)—a wild Hirishman, who has no breeches at all-their very kings have never such a thing.'

'Oh, tell us about the wild Hirish kings without breeches,' burst out Franck, in eager delight. I have read in the legend of Saint Patrick, and long to know more of them.'