“Hm! Raimond V. does well to be hospitable,” growled the recorder; “he is one of those old strife-stirrers, always ready to draw his sword against any established power; but patience, clerk, good courage, the reign of men of peace and justice has come, thank God! All these arrogant disputants, with long rapiers and spurs, will keep as quiet in their strong castles as wolves in their dens, or, on my oath, we will rase their houses to the ground and sow salt on them. However,” added Master Isnard, as if he wanted to give himself artificial courage, “we are always sure of the support of the cardinal; just let them touch a hair of our heads,--why, you see, clerk, that it would be the same as pulling a hair out of the beard of his Eminence!” “Which would be dreadfully injurious to the said Eminence, Master Isnard, as they say he has a regular cat’s beard,--thin and sharp.” “You are an ass!” said the recorder, shrugging his shoulders, and giving his horse a thrust of the spur. The clerk lowered his head, said no more, and blew through his fingers by way of keeping in countenance. The little caravan followed the road for some time along the beach, the sea on the right, and interminable rocks on the left, when they were joined by a traveller modestly seated on a donkey. The tawny complexion of this man, with his overcoat of leather, his red cap, from which escaped a forest of black hair, curled and standing on end, and a little portable forge, fastened to one side of the pack-saddle on the back of his donkey, proved him to be one of those strolling Bohemians who go from farm to village, offering their services to housekeepers as repairers of household utensils. Notwithstanding the cold, the legs and feet of this man were naked. His delicate and nervous limbs, and his expressive face, scarcely shaded by a black and distinctly marked beard, presented the type peculiar to the men of his race. His donkey was quiet and tractable, and had neither bit nor bridle,--he guided it by means of a stick which he held to the animal’s left eye, if he wished to go to the right, and to the right eye if he wished him to go to the left. As he approached the recorder and his attendants, the Bohemian took the donkey by one of his long, pendent ears, and stopped him suddenly. “Can you tell me, sir,” said the Bohemian to the recorder, respectfully, “if I am still far from La Ciotat?” The recorder, thinking, doubtless, the man unworthy of a reply from him, made a disdainful gesture, and said to his scribe: “Answer him, clerk,” and rode on. “The mouth is the mistress, the ear is the slave,” said the Bohemian, bowing himself humbly before the clerk. The clerk inflated his thin cheeks, assumed a haughty air, seated himself on his mule with triumphant dignity, and said to the valet who followed him, as he pointed to the Bohemian: “Lackey, reply to him,” and passed on.