'And was it just for the sake of employing these rascally chanters of the King of Sicily that he did that？'cried an old woman bitterly in the crowd beneath the window.'I ask you—a thousand livres parisis4 for a Mass，and that too to be charged on the license for selling salt-water fish in the fish-market of Paris.'
'Peace！old woman，'replied a portly and solemn personage，who was holding his nose as he stood beside the fishwife；'a Mass had to be founded.Would you have the King fall sick again？'
'Bravely said，Sir Gilles Lecornu，5 master furrier to the royal wardrobe！'cried the little scholar clinging to the capital.
A burst of laughter from the whole band of scholars greeted the unfortunate name of the hapless Court furrier.
'Lecornu！Gilles Lecornu！'shouted some.
'Cornitus et hirsutus！'6 responded another.
'Why，of course，'continued the little wretch on the capital.'But what is there to laugh about？A worthy man is Gilles Lecornu，brother to Master Jehan Lecornu，provost of the Royal Palais，son of Master Mahiet Lecornu，head keeper of the Forest of Vincennes，all good citizens of Paris，married every one of them from father to son！'
The mirth redoubled.The portly furrier answered never a word，but did his best to escape the attention directed to him from all sides；but he puffed and panted in vain.Like a wedge being driven into wood，his struggles only served to fix his broad apoplectic face，purple with anger and vexation，more firmly between the shoulders of his neighbours.
At last one of these neighbours，fat，pursy，and worthy as himself，came to his aid.
'Out upon these graceless scholars who dare to address a burgher in such a manner！In my day they would have first been beaten with sticks，and then burnt on them.'
This set the whole band agog.
'Holá！hè！what tune's this？Who's that old bird of ill omen？'
'Oh，I know him！'exclaimed one；'it's M re Andry Musnier.'
'Yes，he's one of the four booksellers by appointment to the University，'said another.
'Everything goes by fours in that shop！'cried a third.'Four nations，four faculties，four holidays，four procurators，four electors，four booksellers.'
'Very good，'returned Jehan Frollo，'we'll quadruple the devil for them.'
'Musnier，we'll burn thy books.'
'Musnier，we'll beat thy servants.'
'Musnier，we'll tickle thy wife.'
'The good，plump Mlle.Oudarde.'
'Who is as buxom and merry as if she were already a widow.'
'The devil fly away with you all，'growled M re Andry Musnier.
'Mre Andry，'said Jehan，still hanging fast to his capital，'hold thy tongue，or I fall plump on thy head.'
Mre Andry looked up，appeared to calculate for a moment the height of the pillar and the weight of the little rascal，mentally multiplied that weight by the square of the velocity—and held his peace.Whereupon Jehan，left master of the field，added triumphantly，'And I'd do it too，though I am the brother of an archdeacon.'
'A fine set of gentlemen those of ours at the University，not even on a day like this do they see that we get our rights.There's a may-pole and a bonfire in the town，a Fools'Pope and Flemish ambassadors in the city，but at the University，nothing！'
'And yet the Place Maubert is large enough，'observed one of the youngsters，ensconced in a corner of the window-ledge.
'Down with the Rector，the electors，and the procurators！'yelled Jehan.
'We'll make a bonfire to-night in the Champs-Gaillard with M re Andry's books！'added another.
'And the desks of the scribes！'cried his neighbour.
'And the wands of the beadles！'
'And the spittoons of the deans！'
'And the muniment chests of the procurators！'
'And the tubs of the doctors！'
'And the stools of the Rector！'
'Down！'bellowed little Jehan in a roaring bass；'down with M re Andry，the beadles and the scribes；down with the theologians，the physicians，and the priests；down with the procurators，the electors，and the Rector！'
'Tis the end of the world！'muttered M re Andry，stopping his ears.
'Talk of the Rector—there he goes down the square！'cried one of those in the window.And they all strained to catch a glimpse.
'Is it in truth our venerable Rector，Mre Thibaut？'inquired Jehan Frollo du Moulin，who from his pillar in the interior of the Hall could see nothing of what went on outside.
'Yes，yes，'responded the others in chorus，'it is M re Thibaut，the Rector himself.'
It was in fact the Rector，accompanied by all the dignitaries of the University going in procession to receive the ambassadors，and in the act of crossing the Place du Palais.The scholars crowding at the window greeted them as they passed with gibes and ironical plaudits.The Rector marching at the head of his band received the first volley—it was a heavy one.
'Good-day，Monsieur the Rector—Holá there！Good-day to you！'
'How comes it that the old gambler has managed to be here？Has he then actually left his dice？'
'Look at him jogging alone on his mule—its ears are not as long as his own！'
'Holá，good-day to you Monsieur the Rector Thibaut！Tybalde aleator！7 old numskull！old gamester！'
'God save you！How often did you throw double six last night？'
'Oh，just look at the lantern-jawed old face of him—all livid and drawn and battered from his love of dice and gaming！'
'Where are you off to like that，Thibaut，Tybalde ad dados，8 turning your back on the University and trotting towards the town？'
'Doubtless he is going to seek a lodging in the Rue Thibautodè！'9 cried Jehan Frollo.
The whole ribald crew repeated the pun in a voice of thunder and with furious clapping of hands.
'You are off to seek a lodging in the Rue Thibautodè，aren't you，Monsieur the Rector，own partner to the devil！'
Now came the turn of the other dignitaries.
'Down with the beadles！Down with the mace-bearers！'
'Tell me，Robin Poussepain，who is that one over there？'
'It is Gilbert de Suilly，Gilbertus de Soliaco，the Chancellor of the College of Autun.'
'Here，take my shoe—you have a better place than I have—throw it in his face！'
'Saturnalitias mittimus ecce nuces！'10
