As Madame Eleanore, handed by the Bishop, took her place at the head of the table, the band of musicians in the stone gallery overhead sent out a noisy blast of trumpets, and everybody sought a place. Beside madame, supported by Courtoise, came Lenore; and again by her were Alixe, with Anselm the steward. When these were all standing behind their tabourets, monseigneur repeated the grace, in Latin. Immediately upon the amen, the trumpets rang out again, and there was a great rustling as everybody sat down and, in the same breath, began to talk. After a wait of not less than ten seconds, there appeared four pages, bearing high in their hands four huge platters, on each of which reposed a stuffed boar’s head, steaming fragrantly. Two more boys followed these first, carrying immense baskets of bread,—white to go above the salt, black for those below. Then came Grichot, the cellarer, rolling into the room a cask of beer, which was set up in the space between the two ends of the curved table, and tapped. Instantly this was surrounded by a throng of struggling henchmen, friars, and peasants, each with his horn in his hand, eager to be among the first to drink allegiance to their lady. Madame and her little party in the centre of the table were served with wine of every description known to the north; besides mead or punches for whosoever should call for them. Lenore was seated between Courtoise and monseigneur; and for her alone of all the company, apparently, the feast held less of merriment than of sadness. When every one was seated, and the clatter of tongues had begun, she looked about her, vaguely wondering how many times she should, by this feast, measure a year passed in the grim Castle. Looking along the table either way, at the double rows of men and women, Lenore saw every mouth working greedily upon food already served, and every hand outstretched for more, as rapidly as the various dishes could be brought in. She saw burly men, roaring with the laughter of animal satisfaction, drinking down flagon after flagon of bitter beer. She caught echoes and fragments of coarse jokes and coarser suggestions; and her delicate nature revolted at the scene. She turned to look toward the mistress of the Castle, wondering how madame, who was of a fibre as fine as her own, could endure such sights and sounds. Eleanore sat calmly listening to monseigneur, her eyes lifted a little above the level of the scene, her lips smiling, her air pleasantly animated, though she was scarcely eating, and only a cup of milk stood before her place. As for the Bishop, he was unfeignedly enjoying himself. A generous portion of roast peacock was on his plate, and a bottle of red wine stood close at his elbow. His wit was at its best, and he was entertaining all his immediate neighborhood with such stories and reminiscences as he alone could relate. Lenore found relief in the sight of him and madame, and,