A wench was humming, —
“Bonsoir mon p�re et ma mere,
Les derniers couvrent l� feu.”
Two card players were disputing, —
“Knave!” cried the reddest faced of the two, shaking his fist at the other; “I’ll mark you with the club.
You can take the place of Mistigri in the pack of cards of monseigneur the king.”
“Ugh!” roared a Norman, recognizable by his nasal accent; “we are packed in here like the saints of Caillouville!”
“My sons,” the Duke of Egypt was saying to his audience, in a falsetto voice, “sorceresses in France go to the witches’