"Don't apologize," Retief said. P'Toi was beckoning. "Pleasse, arll come." Retief turned and followed him. The portion of the table they were ushered to was covered with an embroidered white cloth, set with thin porcelain dishes. The Yill already seated there rose, amid babbling, and moved down the table. The black-clad Yill at the end table closed ranks to fill the vacant seats. Retief sat down and found Magnan at his side. "What's going on here?" the second secretary said angrily. "They were giving us dog food," Retief said. "I overheard a Yill. They seated us at the bottom of the servants' table----" "You mean you know their language?" "I learned it on the way out. Enough, at least." The music burst out with a clangorous fanfare, and a throng of jugglers, dancers and acrobats poured into the center of the hollow square, frantically juggling, dancing and back-flipping. Black-clad servants swarmed suddenly, heaping mounds of fragrant food on the plates of Yill and Terrestrials alike, pouring a pale purple liquor into slender glasses. Retief sampled the Yill food. It was delicious. Conversation was impossible in the din. He watched the gaudy display and ate heartily. III Retief leaned back, grateful for the lull in the music. The last of the dishes were whisked away, and more glasses filled. The exhausted entertainers stopped to pick up the thick square coins the diners threw. Retief sighed. It had been a rare feast. "Retief," Magnan said in the comparative quiet, "what were you saying about dog food as the music came up?" Retief looked at him. "Haven't you noticed the pattern, Mr. Magnan? The series of deliberate affronts?" "Deliberate affronts! Just a minute, Retief. They're uncouth, yes, crowding into doorways and that sort of thing...." He looked at Retief uncertainly. "They herded us into a baggage warehouse at the terminal. Then they hauled us here in a garbage truck----" "Garbage truck!" "Only symbolic, of course. They ushered us in the tradesman's entrance, and assigned us cubicles in the servants' wing. Then we were seated with the coolie class sweepers at the bottom of the table." "You must be.... I mean, we're the Terrestrial delegation! Surely these Yill must realize our power." "Precisely, Mr. Magnan. But----" With a clang of cymbals the musicians launched a renewed assault. Six tall, helmeted Yill sprang into the center of the floor and paired off in a wild performance, half dance, half combat. Magnan pulled at Retief's arm, his mouth moving. Retief shook his head. No one could talk against a Yill orchestra in full cry. He sampled a bright red wine and watched the show. There was a flurry of action, and two of the dancers stumbled and collapsed, their partner-opponents whirling away to pair off again, describe the elaborate pre-combat ritual, and abruptly set to, dulled sabres clashing--and two more Yill were down, stunned. It was a violent dance. Retief watched, the drink forgotten.