venting their freedom from stern Saxon policing
according to their own fashion. Not the King of France, but the Lord
of Misrule held the sceptre in the capital.

It was not long therefore before a band of rufflers swung round a
corner arm-in-arm, taking the whole breadth of the narrow causeway
with them as they came. It chanced that their leader espied the four
Scots standing in the wide doorway of the house opposite the Hotel de
Pornic.

"Hey, game lads," he cried, in that roistering shriek which then
passed for dashing hardihood among the youth of Paris, "here be some
holy men, pilgrims to the shrine of Saint Denis, I warrant. I, too, am
a clerk of a sort, for Henriet tonsured me on Wednesday sennight. Let
us see if these men of good works carry any of the deceitful vanities
of earth about with them in their purses. Sometimes such are not ill
lined!"

The youths accepted the proposal of their leader with alacrity.

"Let us have the blessing of the holy palmers," they cried, "and eke
the contents of their pockets!"

So with a gay shout, and in an evil hour for themselves, they bore
down upon the four Scots.

"Good four evangelists," cried the youth who had spoken first--a tall,
ill-favoured, and sallow young man in a cloak of blue lined with
scarlet, swaggering it with long strides before the others, "tell us
which of you four is Messire Matthew. For, being a tax-gatherer, he
will assuredly have money of his own, and besides, since the sad death
of your worthy friend Judas, he must have succeeded him as your
treasurer."

"This is the keeper of our humble store, noble sir," answered the Lord
James Douglas, quietly, indicating the giant Malise with his left
hand, "but spare him and us, I pray you courteously!"

"Ha, so," mocked the tall youth, turning to Malise, "then the
gentleman of the receipt of custom hath grown strangely about the
chest since he went a-wandering from Galilee!"

And he reached forward his hand to pull away the cloak which hung
round the great frame of the master armourer.

Malise MacKim understood nothing of his words or of his intent, but
without looking at his tormentor or any of the company, he asked of
James Douglas, in a voice like the first distant mutterings of a
thunder-storm, "Shall I clout him?"

"Nay, be patient, Malise, I bid you. This is an ill town in which to
get rid of a quarrel once begun. Be patient!" commanded James Douglas
under his breath.

"We are clerks ourse