and
which was level with the window; then he made a silent sign to Ursus to
look out. A carriage, swarming with plumed footmen carrying torches and
magnificently appointed, was driving off at a fast trot.

Ursus took the piece of gold between his forefinger and thumb
respectfully, and, showing it to Master Nicless, said,--

"She is a goddess."

Then his eyes falling on the carriage which was about to turn the corner
of the field, and on the imperial of which the footmen's torches lighted
up a golden coronet, with eight strawberry leaves, he exclaimed,--

"She is more. She is a duchess."

The carriage disappeared: The rumbling of its wheels died away in the
distance.

Ursus remained some moments in an ecstasy, holding the gold piece
between his finger and thumb, as in a monstrance, elevating it as the
priest elevates the host.

Then he placed it on the table, and, as he contemplated it, began to
talk of "Madam."

The innkeeper replied,--

"She was a duchess." Yes. They knew her title. But her name? Of that
they were ignorant. Master Nicless had been close to the carriage, and
seen the coat of arms and the footmen covered with lace. The coachman
had a wig on which might have belonged to a Lord Chancellor. The
carriage was of that rare design called, in Spain, _cochetumbon_, a
splendid build, with a top like a tomb, which makes a magnificent
support for a coronet. The page was a man in miniature, so small that he
could sit on the step of the carriage outside the door. The duty of
those pretty creatures was to bear the trains of their mistresses. They
also bore their messages. And did you remark the plumed cap of the
page? How grand it was! You pay a fine if you wear those plumes without
the right of doing so. Master Nicless had seen the lady, too, quite
close. A kind of queen. Such wealth gives beauty. The skin is whiter,
the eye more proud, the gait more noble, and grace more insolent.
Nothing can equal the elegant impertinence of hands which never work.
Master Nicless told the story of all the magnificence, of the white skin
with the blue veins, the neck, the shoulders, the arms, the touch of
paint everywhere, the pearl earrings, the head-dress powdered with gold;
the profusion of stones, the rubies, the diamonds.

"Less brilliant than her eyes," murmured Ursus.

Gwynplaine said nothing.

Dea listened.

"And do you know," said the tavern-keeper, "the most wonderful thing of
all?"

"What?" said Ursus.