great, gentle creatures.  So our travellers set out in high feather, and their entry into Poitiers, though not so magnificent as Alexander’s into Babylon, was still in very fine style indeed.  As they threaded their way through the narrow, tortuous streets of that ancient town, the noise of their horses’ iron shoes ringing out against the rough stone pavement, and the clatter of their wheels drew many inmates of the houses they passed to the windows, and a little crowd collected around them as they stood waiting for admission before the great entrance door of the Armes de France; the driver, meanwhile, cracking his whip till it sounded like a volley of musketry, to which the horses responded by shaking their heads, and making all the little bells about them jingle sharply and merrily.  There was a wonderful difference between this and their arrival at the last inn they had stopped at—­the night of the snow-storm—­and the landlord, hearing such welcome sounds without, ran himself to admit his guests, and opened the two leaves of the great door, so that the chariot could pass into the interior court.  This hotel was the finest in Poitiers, where all the rich and noble travellers were in the habit of alighting, and there was an air of gaiety and prosperity about it very pleasing to our comedians, in contrast with all the comfortless, miserable lodgings they had been obliged to put up with for a long time past.  The landlord, whose double, or rather triple chin testified to bountiful fare, and the ruddy tints of his face to the excellence of his wines, seemed to be the incarnation of good humour.

He was so plump, so fresh, so rosy and so smiling, that it was a pleasure only to look at him.  When he saw the tyrant, he fairly bubbled over with delight.  A troupe of comedians always attracted people to his house, and brought him in a great deal of money; for the young men of leisure of the town sought their company, and were constantly drinking wine with the actors, and giving dainty little suppers, and treats of various kinds, to the actresses.

“You are heartily welcome, Seignior Herode!  What happy chance brings you this way?” said the landlord, smilingly.  “It is a long time since we have had the pleasure of seeing you at the Armes de France.”

“So it is, Maitre Bilot,” the tyrant answered; “but we cannot be giving our poor little performances always in the same place, you see; the spectators would become so familiar with all our tricks that they could do them themselves, so we are forced to absent ourselves for a while.  And how are things going on here, now?  Have you many of the nobility and gentry in town at present?”

“A great many, Seignior Herode, for the hunting is over, so they have come in from the chateaux.  But they don’t know what to do with themselves, for it is so dull and quiet here.  People can’t be eating and drinking all the time, and they are dying for want of a little amusement.  You will have full houses.”