sits black care."

"Courage, Master Simon!"

"Good day, Mister Elector!"

"Good night, Madame Electress!"

"How happy they are to see all that!" sighed Joannes de Molendino, still
perched in the foliage of his capital.

Meanwhile, the sworn bookseller of the university, Master Andry Musnier,
was inclining his ear to the furrier of the king's robes, Master Gilles
Lecornu.

"I tell you, sir, that the end of the world has come. No one has ever
beheld such outbreaks among the students! It is the accursed inventions
of this century that are ruining everything,--artilleries, bombards,
and, above all, printing, that other German pest. No more manuscripts,
no more books! printing will kill bookselling. It is the end of the
world that is drawing nigh."

"I see that plainly, from the progress of velvet stuffs," said the
fur-merchant.

At this moment, midday sounded.

"Ha!" exclaimed the entire crowd, in one voice.

The scholars held their peace. Then a great hurly-burly ensued; a vast
movement of feet, hands, and heads; a general outbreak of coughs and
handkerchiefs; each one arranged himself, assumed his post, raised
himself up, and grouped himself. Then came a great silence; all necks
remained outstretched, all mouths remained open, all glances were
directed towards the marble table. Nothing made its appearance there.
The bailiff's four sergeants were still there, stiff, motionless, as
painted statues. All eyes turned to the estrade reserved for the Flemish
envoys. The door remained closed, the platform empty. This crowd had
been waiting since daybreak for three things: noonday, the embassy from
Flanders, the mystery play. Noonday alone had arrived on time.

On this occasion, it was too much.

They waited one, two, three, five minutes, a quarter of an hour; nothing
came. The dais remained empty, the theatre dumb. In the meantime, wrath
had succeeded to impatience. Irritated words circulated in a low tone,
still, it is true. "The mystery! the mystery!" they murmured, in hollow
voices. Heads began to ferment. A tempest, which was only rumbling in
the distance as yet, was floating on the surface of this crowd. It was
Jehan du Moulin who struck the first spark from it.

"The mystery, and to the devil with the Flemings!" he exclaimed at the
full force of his lungs, twining like a serpent around his pillar.

The crowd clapped their hands.

"The mystery!" it repeated, "and may all the devils take Flanders!"

"We m