roes. And the reader of
men would for once in a way, have been in the right.

II

THE THRUST OF NEVERS

At the sight of the two men, the ruffians at the table set up a roar of
welcome and bumped their mugs lustily upon the board to a chorus of
greeting, in which the names of Cocardasse and Passepoil were repeated in
a variety of accents from German to Italian, from Portuguese to Biscayan,
from Spanish to Breton, but in all cases with the same degree of
enthusiasm and admiration. The big, gaudy fellow, patently pleased by the
tribute, struck a magnificent attitude and extended a benedictory hand
towards the drinkers. "Courage, chanticleers!" he shouted--"comrades
all," and, advancing towards the table, gave Staupitz a lusty slap on the
back, while Passepoil, following nervously behind him, whispered beneath
his breath and behind his lifted hand a timid "Greeting, gentlemen,"
which was hardly audible in the buzz of voices. But while Cocardasse was
busy engaging clasps of the hand with the men of many nationalities who
had been waiting for him, the attention of Passepoil was entirely
diverted by the appearance of the Inn maid, Martine, who at that moment
appeared upon the scene with a fresh pitcher of wine in honor of the
fresh arrivals. The lean and pale man blushed and sighed as he saw her.
Those in the room that knew the Norman were well aware that love of woman
was his weakness, and they paid no heed to his attempted philandering,
taking it, so far as they thought of it at all, as a matter of course and
honest Passepoil's way.

Though Martine was as little comely as need be, she was still a woman,
and a woman Passepoil had never seen before, and, sidling towards her, he
endeavored to enter into amicable conversation, which was received but
indifferently well. By this time Cocardasse had finished his greetings,
and, drawing back a step or two, surveyed the company with a look of
satisfaction not unmingled with astonishment.

"Why, Papa Staupitz," he said, "here we have many friends and all fine
blades. This is indeed a pleasure party." His eyes travelled from the
table to the window, where the man in black still sat and read quite
unconcernedly. Something like surprise puckered Cocardasse's rubicund
face. "You here, AEsop?" he questioned.

The man whom he called AEsop looked up for a moment from his book and
shrugged his shoulders. "Devil knows why!" he said. "If they want me,
they don't want the others.