We rode past pigs, cattle, and sheep, booths full of leather work from Château Renault, rough pottery from Tours and the Sologne, woollen material from Amboise, iron and copper ware, and cheap haberdashery from Blois and Orleans. There were stalls where chestnuts were roasting, and a warm wheat cake, a handful of hot chestnuts, and a draught of fresh milk were to be had for a brown piece. We were detained for a moment by an altercation between some soldiers of the garrison and a sutler from Montrichard, who had tried to palm off on them a skin of white Joué as a true Cote d’Or, and but escaped this to fall under the eye of a mad friar, who had climbed on to a cart laden with rye, or buckwheat flour, and from that elevation denounced the vengeance of heaven on the sins of Chenonceaux. His glance fell on us, and we at once became subjects for his invective. We, of course, took no notice, and pushed on, to find, this time, that we were completely hemmed in by a crowd that rushed to form a ring round a juggler, who prepared to show his wonders, while his companion, a black-eyed, dark-browed, and comely Arlesienne, beat a tambour, as she sang the shepherd’s song of her country to the morning star, “La Belle Maguelonne,” and coppers flew thick and fast. I thought that we had shown sufficient consideration to these _canaille_ in not riding some of them down ere this, and was about to vent my impatience, when I was checked by Marcilly. “_Mon ami!_” he said; “let them be--these are the bread-winners of France.” I knew he was right, and, feeling the reproof, reined back from him. We were, however, relieved from our difficulty by M. de Rabutin and his friends, who, using their canes freely for their own passage, soon caused the crowd to surge back, and opened a way for us. We rode forward, and would have passed de Rabutin and his companions, but, perhaps a little excited, they stood before our horses, still flourishing their canes and wearing a threatening aspect, until Marcilly called out: “Have a care, de Rabutin! Do you not know us?” “Jean de Marcilly, as I live, and de Vibrac too!” exclaimed de Rabutin, dropping his cane. “Where in the world have you sprung from, and where do you ride?” “To Orleans, de Rabutin, and we are hard pressed, else we had stayed at the château for a cup of d’Arbois.” “And heartily welcome! Will you not do so now?” “I fear we cannot, for our time is short, and we would have to fight the great St. Cyergue, whose invitation we have been compelled to refuse as well.”