“Morbleu!” exclaimed another.  “What are the sophisters of Narbonne to the decretists of the Sorbonne, who will discuss you a position of Cornelius a Lapide, or a sentence of Peter Lombard, as readily as you would a flask of hippocras, or a slice of botargo.  Aye, and cry transeat to a thesis of Aristotle, though it be against rule.  What sayst thou, Capete?” continued he, addressing his neighbor, a scholar of Montaigu, whose modest gray capuchin procured him this appellation:  “are we the men to be thus scurvily entreated?”

“I see not that your merits are greater than ours,” returned he of the capuch, “though our boasting be less.  The followers of the lowly John Standoncht are as well able to maintain their tenets in controversy as those of Robert of Sorbon; and I see no reason why entrance should be denied us.  The honor of the university is at stake, and all its strength should be mustered to assert it.”

“Rightly spoken,” returned the Bernardin; “and it were a lasting disgrace to our schools were this arrogant Scot to carry off their laurels when so many who might have been found to lower his crest are allowed no share in their defense.  The contest is one that concerns us all alike.  We at least can arbitrate in case of need.”

“I care not for the honors of the university,” rejoined one of the Ecossais, or Scotch College, then existing in the Rue des Amandiers, “but I care much for the glory of my countryman, and I would gladly have witnessed the triumph of the disciples of Rutherford and of the classic Buchanan.  But if the arbitrament to which you would resort is to be that of voices merely, I am glad the rector in his wisdom has thought fit to keep you without, even though I myself be personally inconvenienced by it.”

“Name o’ God! what fine talking is this?” retorted the Spaniard.  “There is little chance of the triumph you predicate for your countryman.  Trust me, we shall have to greet his departure from the debate with many hisses and few cheers; and if we could penetrate through the plates of yon iron door, and gaze into the court it conceals from our view, we should find that the loftiness of his pretensions has been already humbled, and his arguments graveled. For la Litania de los Santos! to think of comparing an obscure student of the pitiful College of Saint Andrew with the erudite doctors of the most erudite university in the world, always excepting those of Valencia and Salamanca.  It needs all thy country’s assurance to keep the blush of shame from mantling in thy cheeks.”

“The seminary you revile,” replied the Scot, haughtily, “has been the nursery of our Scottish kings.  Nay, the youthful James Stuart pursued his studies under the same roof, beneath the same wise instruction, and at the self-same time as our noble and gifted James Crichton, whom you have falsely denominated an adventurer, but whose lineage is not less distinguished than his learning.  His renown has preceded him hither, and he was not unknown to your doctors when he affixed his programme to these college walls.  Hark!” continued the speaker, exultingly, “and listen to yon evidence of his triumph.”