At length, however, he said, "I prithee, dame, double yon portion of steaks from the roe-deer, and add me some twenty eggs to the omelet. You will have more visiters shortly." The good woman started up with a look of some surprise, and might, perhaps, have thought her guest a conjuror, had not his words been followed so closely by the noise of horses' feet, that the source of his knowledge was evident at once. A moment after voices were heard calling, and the aubergiste, who had been aiding some of the servants at the other side of the kitchen, opened the door carefully and looked forth. The cold wind rushed in fiercely, like a besieging army into a stormed city, and the yellow wax flambeau which the host carried to the door, and which, in that land of bees, was in those days common to every country inn, was extinguished in a moment, notwithstanding the fierce flame wherewith it burned. All on that side of the wide, dingy room was now in darkness; but voices were heard as of many persons speaking, with cries for horseboys and hostlers, in the easily-distinguished tongues of attendants, while the landlord assured the travellers again and again that he would bestow upon them a thousand-fold better accommodation and entertainment than there was the least chance of their obtaining in reality. At the same time, a full, rich, merry voice was heard chuckling at the boasts of mine host, and exclaiming, "Ay, ay, landlord! is it not so? We shall have dolphins and mullets, ortolans and beccaficos, musk sherbet from Constantinople, true Roman Falernian mingled with honey, and, to crown all, a Pythagorean peacock! Nothing less will serve us in this cold night; though, methinks, a good capon and a tankard of mulled Avignon claret[1] would warm me well, were it but ready this minute." [Footnote 1: The first time I ever find the word claret used, it is applied to the wine of Avignon.] While the jovial priest, whom I have described in the first chapter of this true history, descended from his ass, joking at every movement with the host, Bernard de Rohan, smiling at his new companion's merriment, sprang to the ground and entered the kitchen of the inn, leaving his attendants to lead round the horses to the stables at the back of the building. It might not, it is true, be very satisfactory to him to find that the inn was so fully tenanted as he soon saw that it was; but he was one of those who fail not to enjoy what may fall to their lot as far as possible; and, as he advanced towards the fire, he thanked Heaven for a place of shelter from the rude buffeting of the storm.