The knight pushed on, the squire behind, They cared not tuppence for the wind, Nor for the strange and sudden noises, Nor the discreetly whispering voices, Nor all those signs which long ago Did duty for a "_numero_". They passed the gates of bronze. They came To gates of crystal. Here they tapped. A lady-porter asked their name: Whereat the leader boldly rapped Out that which you've already heard, viz:-- "Herr Hans Van Branbourg, at your service." The doors flew wide, and to their eyes Revealed the Sibyl's paradise. What saw they? Antoine de la Sale, Who wrote _Les quinze joies_ and all _Les cent nouvelles nouvelles_ as well, What I could not invent can tell; Seeing he came in 1420 To hold an inquest on the spot, And information got in plenty,-- Indeed he clambered to the grot, But only peeped inside the cavern-- Later, however, at the tavern He learnt the truth of what befell Van Branbourg in the Sybil's hell. They saw a crowd of pretty girls-- These were the Sybil's seneschals-- Who bade them change their dirty linen And rigged them out "from the beginning" (The text has _ab initio_); Up strike the fiddles; off they go Through pretty rooms and splendid halls And gardens framed in sheltering walls, The which were gay with flowers as well As comely "_dames et demoiselles_". Accompanied by knights and squires In divers fashionable attires, Much as our Longchamps beauties go Surrounded by their _gigolos._ Gaping they go; until they see 'La reine Sibylle', who from her throne Welcomed the strangers graciously, Observing she'd already known Men of their race, which (_vide Tacite_) Was honest, brave, but inficite,[2] And only that for want of practice In social arts and crafts. The fact is She much admired the Teuton physique, (I know some ladies can't abide it), So murmured, "You're my guests for this week: Later you'll tell me, when you've tried it, If you'll become my _pensionnaires._ I'll only add that we are here Until the crack of doom. And then?" Queried our cautious gentlemen.