“All the better for seeing you, mine old friend,” she cried. “I thought you were far away at Compostella.” “So verily I was. Here’s St. James’s cockle to wit—Santiago as they call him there, and show the stone coffin he steered across the sea. No small miracle that! And I’ve crossed France, and looked at many a field of battle of the good old times, and thought and said a prayer for the brave knights who broke lances there. But as I was making for St. Martha’s cave in Provence, I met a friar, who told me of the goodly gathering there was like to be here; and I would fain see whether I could hap upon old friends, or at any rate hear a smack of our kindly English tongue, so I made the best of my way hither.” “In good time,” said Lambert. “You will take the lady and the housewife to the stoop at Master Caxton’s house, where he has promised them seats whence they may view the entrance. I myself am bound to walk with my fellows of the Apothecaries’ Society, and it will be well for them to have another guard in the throng, besides old Anton.” “Nay, but my garb scarce befits the raree show,” said Ridley, looking at his russet gown. “We will see to that anon,” said Lambert; and ere supper was over, old Anton had purveyed a loose blue gown from the neighbouring merchants, with gold lace seams and girdle, peaked boots, and the hideous brimless hat which was then highly fashionable. Ridley’s trusty sword he had always worn under his pilgrim’s gown, and with the dagger always used as a knife, he made his appearance once more as a squire of degree, still putting the scallop into his hat, in honour of Dacre as well as of St. James. The party had to set forth very early in the morning, slowly gliding along several streets in a barge, watching the motley crowds thronging banks and bridges—a far more brilliant crowd than in these later centuries, since both sexes were alike gay in plumage. From every house, even those out of the line of the procession, hung tapestry, or coloured cloths, and the garlands of flowers, of all bright lines, with their fresh greenery, were still unfaded by the clear morning sun, while joyous carillons echoed and re-echoed from the belfry and all the steeples. Ridley owned that he had never seen the like since King Harry rode home from Agincourt—perhaps hardly even then, for Bruges was at the height of its splendour, as were the Burgundian Dukes at the very climax of their magnificence. After landing from the barge Ridley, with Grisell on his arm, and Anton with his mistress, had a severe struggle with the crowd before they gained the ascent of the stoop, where the upper steps had been railed in, and seats arranged under the shelter of the projecting roof.