the four heralds.

A vast carpet embroidered with fleurs-de-lys, made expressly for the
occasion, and called the "coronation carpet," covered the old flagstones
from one end of the cathedral to the other and concealed the tombstones
in the pavement. Thick, luminous smoke of incense filled the nave. The
birds that had been set at liberty flew wildly about in this cloud.

The King changed his costume six or seven times. The first prince of the
blood, Louis Philippe, Duke d'Orleans, aided him. The Duke de Bordeaux,
who was five years old, was in a gallery.

The pew in which Nodier and I were seated adjoined those of the
Deputies. In the middle of the ceremony, just before the King
prostrated himself at the feet of the Archbishop, a Deputy for the Doubs
department, named M. Hemonin, turned towards Nodier, who was close to
him, and with his finger on his lips, as a sign that he did not wish to
disturb the Archbishop's orisons by speaking, slipped something into
my friend's hand. This something was a book. Nodier took it and glanced
over it.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"Nothing very precious," he replied. "An odd volume of Shakespeare,
Glasgow edition."

One of the tapestries from the treasure of the church hanging exactly
opposite to us represented a not very historical interview between John
Lackland and Philip Augustus. Nodier turned over the leaves of the book
for a few minutes, then pointed to the tapestry.

"You see that tapestry?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what it represents?"

"No."

"John Lackland."

"Well, what of it?"

"John Lackland is also in this book."

The volume, which was in sheep binding and worn at the corners, was
indeed a copy of _King John_.

M. Hemonin turned to Nodier and said: "I paid six sous for it."

In the evening the Duke of Northumberland gave a ball. It was a
magnificent, fairylike spectacle. This Arabian Nights ambassador brought
one of these nights to Rheims. Every woman found a diamond in her
bouquet.

I could not dance. Nodier had not danced since he was sixteen years
of age, when a great aunt went into ecstasies over his terpsichorean
efforts and congratulated him in the following terms: "_Tu est charmant,
tu danses comme rim chou_!" We did not go to Lord Northumberland's ball.

"What shall we do tonight?" said I to Nodier. He held up his odd volume
and answered:

"Let us read this."

We read.

That is to say, Nodier read. He knew English (without being abl