And, commanding one of his rabble to hold a torch close to his head, he uncovered and showed a tonsured crown.

“And if we refuse?” said Lord James, quietly.

“Then, good Doctor Luke,” answered the youth, “we are ten to four—­and it would be our sad duty to send you all to heaven and then ease your pockets, lest, being dead, some unsanctified passer-by might be tempted to steal your money.”

“Surely I may clout him now?” came again like the nearer growl of a lion from Malise the smith.

Seeing the four men apparently intimidated and without means of defence, the ten youths advanced boldly, some with swords in their right hands and torches in their left, the rest with swords and daggers both.  The Scots stood silent and firm.  Not a weapon showed from beneath a cloak.

“Down on your knees!” cried the leader of the young roisterers, and with his left hand he thrust a blazing torch into the grey beard of Malise.

There was a quick snort of anger.  Then, with a burst of relief and pleasure, came the words, “By God, I’ll clout him now!” The sound of a mighty buffet succeeded, something cracked like a broken egg, and the clever-tongued young clerk went down on the paving-stones with a clatter, as his torch extinguished itself in the gutter and his sword flew ringing across the street.

“Come on, lads—­they have struck the first blow.  We are safe from the law.  Kill them every one!” cried his companions, advancing to the attack with a confidence born of numbers and the consciousness of fighting on their own ground.

But ere they reached the four men who had waited so quietly, the Scots had gathered their cloaks about their left arms in the fashion of shields, and a blade, long and stout, gleamed in every right hand.  Still no armour was to be seen, and, though somewhat disconcerted, the assailants were by no means dismayed.

“Come on—­let us revenge De Sille!” they cried.

“Lord, Lord, this is gaun to be a sair waste o’ guid steel,” grumbled Malise; “would that I had in my fist a stieve oaken staff out of Halmyre wood.  Then I could crack their puir bit windlestaes o’ swords, without doing them muckle hurt!  Laddies, laddies, be warned and gang decently hame to your mithers before a worse thing befall.  James, ye hae their ill-contrived lingo, tell them to gang awa’ peaceably to their naked beds!”

For, having vented his anger in the first buffet, Malise was now somewhat remorseful.  There was no honour in such fighting.  But all unwarned the youthful roisterers of Paris advanced.  This was a nightly business with them, and indeed on such street robberies of strangers and shopkeepers the means of continuing their carousings depended.

It chanced that at the first brunt of the attack Sholto, who was at the other end of the line from his father, had to meet three opponents at once.  He kept them at bay for a minute by the quickness of his defence, but being compelled to give back he was parrying a couple of their blades in front, when the third got in a thrust beneath his arm.  It was as if the hostile sword had stricken a stone wall.  The flimsy and treacherous blade went to flinders, and the would-be robber was left staring at the guard suddenly grown light in his hand.