"Yet I called thee Will," insisted Herbert more gently. "'Tis my name as well as thine, and we have lovingly exchanged it before now, or my memory cheats me." "'Tis a name lightly exchanged in love." With a glance at the white-cloaked page Shakespeare turned on his heel. "La, Will, where be thy manners?" cried one of the women. "Welcome, my young Lord; and welcome the boy beside thee for his pretty face! Step in, child, that I may pass thee round to be kissed." The page laughed and stepped forward with his chin defiantly tilted. His eyes examined the women curiously and yet with a touch of fear. "Nay, never flinch, lad! I'll do thee no harm," chuckled the one who had invited him. "Mass o' me, how I love modesty in these days of scandal!" "Music? Who called for music?" a foreign voice demanded: and now in the doorway appeared three newcomers, two men and a woman--the same three of whom the apprentice had caught a glimpse within the room at the stairs' foot. The spokesman, a heavily built fellow with a short bull-neck and small cunning eyes, carried a drum slung about his shoulders and beat a rub-a-dub on it by way of flourish. "Take thy tambourine and dance, Julitta-- _Julie, prends ton tambourin; Toi, prends ta flute, Robin_," he hummed, tapping his drum again. "So? So? What foreign gabble is this?" demanded John Shakespeare, following and laying a hand on his shoulder. "A pretty little carol for Christmas, Signore, that we picked up on our way through Burgundy, where they sing it to a jargon I cannot emulate. But the tune is as it likes you-- _Au son ces instruments-- Turelurelu, patapatapan-- Nous dirons Noël gaîment!_ Goes it not trippingly, Signore? You will say so when you see my Julitta dance to it." "Eh--eh? Dance to a carol?" a woman protested. "'Tis inviting the earth to open and swallow us." "Why, where's the harm on't?" John Shakespeare demanded. "A pretty little concomitant, and anciently proper to all religions, nor among the heathen only, but in England and all parts of Christendom-- _In manger wrapped it was-- So poorly happ'd my chance-- Between an ox and a silly poor ass To call my true love to the dance! Sing O, my love, my love, my love...._ There's precedent for ye, Ma'am--good English precedent. Zooks! I'm a devout man, I hope; but I bear a liberal mind and condemn no form of mirth, so it be honest. The earth swallow us? Ay, soon or late it will, not being squeamish. Meantime, dance, I say! Clear back the tables there, and let the girl show her paces!" Young Herbert glanced at Burbage with lifted eyebrow, as if to demand, "Who is this madman?" Burbage laughed, throwing out both hands. "But he is gigantic!" lisped the page, as with a wave of his two great arms John Shakespeare seemed to catch up the company and fling them to work pell-mell, thrusting back tables, piling chairs, clearing the floor of its rushes. "He is a whirlwind of a man!"