He was an Englishman belonging to the Four Nations, and had a huge
bull-dog at his heels.

"Away with Philip of Spain and his ambassador," cried a Bernardin.

"By the eyes of my mistress!" cried a Spaniard belonging to the College
of Narbonne, with huge mustaches curled half-way up his bronzed and
insolent visage, and a slouched hat pulled over his brow. "This may not
pass muster. The representative of the King of Spain must be respected
even by the Academics of Lutetia. Which of you shall gainsay me?--ha!"

"What business has he here with his suite, on occasions like to the
present?" returned the Bernardin. "_Tete-Dieu!_ this disputation is one
that little concerns the interest of your politic king; and methinks Don
Philip, or his representative, has regard for little else than
whatsoever advances his own interest. Your ambassador hath, I doubt not,
some latent motive for his present attendance in our schools."

"Perchance," returned the Spaniard. "We will discuss that point anon."

"And what doth the pander of the Sybarite within the dusty halls of
learning?" ejaculated a scholar of Lemoine. "What doth the jealous-pated
slayer of his wife and unborn child within the reach of free-spoken
voices, and mayhap of well-directed blades? Methinks it were more
prudent to tarry within the bowers of his harem, than to hazard his
perfumed person among us."

"Well said," rejoined the scholar of Cluny--"down with Rene de
Villequier, though he be Governor of Paris."

"What title hath the Abbe de Brantome to a seat among us?" said the
scion of Harcourt: "faith, he hath a reputation for wit, and
scholarship, and gallantry. But what is that to us? His place might now
be filled by worthier men."

"And what, in the devil's name, brings Cosmo Ruggieri hither?" asked the
Bernardin. "What doth the wrinkled old dealer in the black art hope to
learn from us? We are not given to alchemy, and the occult sciences; we
practice no hidden mysteries; we brew no philtres; we compound no slow
poisons; we vend no waxen images. What doth he here, I say! 'Tis a
scandal in the rector to permit his presence. And what if he came under
the safeguard, and by the authority of his mistress, Catherine de'
Medicis! Shall we regard her passport? Down with the heathen abbe, his
abominations have been endured too long; they smell rank in our
nostrils. Think how he ensnared La Mole--think on his numberless
victims. Who mixed the infernal potion of Charles the