me us not with thy ceorlish manners; crave
pardon of this Norman thegn, who will doubtless yield it to thee in pity.
Uncover thy face--and--"

Here the Saxon's rebuke was interrupted; for one of the servitors just
then approaching Godrith's side with a spit, elegantly caparisoned with
some score of plump larks, the unmannerly giant stretched out his arm
within an inch of the Saxon's startled nose, and possessed himself of
larks, broche, and all. He drew off two, which he placed on his friend's
platter, despite all dissuasive gesticulations, and deposited the rest
upon his own. The young banqueters gazed upon the spectacle in wrath too
full for words.

At last spoke Mallet de Graville, with an envious eye upon the larks--for
though a Norman was not gluttonous, he was epicurean--"Certes, and foi de
chevalier! a man must go into strange parts if he wish to see monsters;
but we are fortunate people," (and he turned to his Norman friend, Aymer,
Quen [56] or Count, D'Evreux,) "that we have discovered Polyphemus
without going so far as Ulysses;" and pointing to the hooded giant, he
quoted, appropriately enough,

"Monstrum, horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum."

The giant continued to devour his larks, as complacently as the ogre to
whom he was likened might have devoured the Greeks in his cave. But his
fellow intruder seemed agitated by the sound of the Latin; he lifted up
his head suddenly, and showed lips glistening with white even teeth, and
curved into an approving smile, while he said: "Bene, me fili! bene,
lepidissime, poetae verba, in militis ore, non indecora sonant." [57]

The young Norman stared at the speaker, and replied, in the same tone of
grave affectation: "Courteous sir! the approbation of an ecclesiastic so
eminent as I take you to be, from the modesty with which you conceal your
greatness, cannot fail to draw upon me the envy of my English friends;
who are accustomed to swear in verba magistri, only for verba they
learnedly substitute vina."

"You are pleasant, Sire Mallet," said Godrith, reddening; "but I know
well that Latin is only fit for monks and shavelings; and little enow
even they have to boast of."

The Norman's lip curled in disdain. "Latin!--O, Godree, bien
aime!--Latin is the tongue of Caesars and senators, fortes conquerors and
preux chevaliers. Knowest thou not that Duke William the dauntless at
eight years old had the Comments of Julius Caesar by heart?--and that it