Berenger paid little attention to this, but calling Landry Osbert, and a couple of his men, he bade them take their swords and bucklers, and escort him in his walk through Paris.  He set off with a sense of escape, but before he had made many steps, he was obliged to turn and warn Humfrey and Jack that they were not to walk swaggering along the streets, with hand on sword, as if every Frenchman they saw was the natural foe of their master.

Very tall were the houses, very close and extremely filthy the streets, very miserable the beggars; and yet here and there was to be seen the open front of a most brilliant shop, and the thoroughfares were crowded with richly-dressed gallants.  Even the wider streets gave little space for the career of the gay horsemen who rode along them, still less for the great, cumbrous, though gaily-decked coaches, in which ladies appeared glittering with jewels and fan in hand, with tiny white dogs on their knees.

The persons of whom Berenger inquired the way all uncapped most respectfully, and replied with much courtesy; but when the hotel of the English ambassador had been pointed out to him, he hardly believed it, so foul and squalid was the street, where a large nail-studded door occupied a wide archway.  Here was a heavy iron knocker, to which Osbert applied himself.  A little door was at once opened by a large, powerful John Bull of a porter, whose looks expanded into friendly welcome when he heard the English tongue of the visitor.  Inside, the scene was very unlike that without.  The hotel was built round a paved court, adorned with statues and stone vases, with yews and cypresses in them, and a grand flight of steps led up to the grand centre of the house, around which were collected a number of attendants, wearing the Walsingham colours.  Among these Berenger left his two Englishmen, well content to have fallen into an English colony.  Landry followed him to announce the visitor, Berenger waiting to know whether the Ambassador would be at liberty to see him.

Almost immediately the door was re-opened, and a keen-looking gentleman, about six-and-thirty years of age, rather short in stature, but nevertheless very dignified-looking, came forward with out-stretched hands—­’Greet you well, my Lord de Ribaumont.  We expected your coming.  Welcome, mine honoured friend’s grandson.’

And as Berenger bent low in reverent greeting, Sir Francis took his hand and kissed his brow, saying, ’Come in, my young friend; we are but sitting over our wine and comfits after dinner.  Have you dined?’

Berenger explained that he had dined at the inn, where he had taken lodgings.

’Nay, but that must not be.  My Lord Walwyn’s grandson here, and not my guest!  You do me wrong, sir, in not having ridden hither at once.’

’Truly, my Lord, I ventured not.  They sent me forth with quite a company—­my tutor and six grooms.’

‘Our chaplain will gladly welcome his reverend brother,’ said Sir Francis; and as to the grooms, one of my fellows shall go and bring them and their horses up.  What!’ rather gravely, as Berenger still hesitated.  ’I have letters for you here, which methinks will make your grandfather’s wish clear to you.’