As may be supposed, the scuffle which had taken place, attracted the attention of those in its immediate vicinity; and when the cause of it became known, as it presently did throughout both tables, great indignation was expressed against Sir Francis, who was censured on all hands, jeered and flouted, as he moved to the door.  So great was the clamour, and so opprobrious were the epithets and terms applied to him, that the knight was eager to make his escape; but he met Cyprien in his way; and the droll young Gascon, holding a dish-cover in one hand, by way of buckler, and a long carving-knife in the other, in place of a sword, opposed his egress.

“Let me pass, knave,” Sir Francis cried in alarm.

“By your leave, no,” returned Cyprien, encouraged by the laughter and plaudits of the company.  “You have come hither uninvited, and must stay till you have permission to depart.  Having partaken of the banquet, you must, perforce, tarry for the rerebanquet.  The sweets and cates have yet to come, Sir Francis.”

“What mean you, sirrah?” the knight demanded, in increased trepidation.

“Your presence is necessary at a little entertainment I have provided to follow the dinner, sweet Sir Francis,” Madame Bonaventure cried, advancing towards him; “and as you have a principal part in it, I can by no means spare you.”

“No one can spare you, sweet Sir Francis,” several voices chimed in, derisively.  “You must remain with us a little longer.”

“But I will not stay.  I will not be detained.  There is some conspiracy a-foot against me.  I will indict you all for it, if you hinder me in going forth,” the knight vociferated, in accents of mingled rage and terror.  “Stop me at your peril, thou saucy Gascon knave.”

“Cornes du diable!—­no more a knave than yourself, gros usurier!” Cyprien cried.

“Laissez-lui, Cyprien,” Madame Bonaventure interposed;—­“the courteous knight will yield to my entreaties, and stay of his own free will.”

“I have business that calls me hence.  I must go,” Sir Francis said, endeavouring to push by them.

“Let the door be closed,” an authoritative voice cried from the head of the table.

The order was instantly obeyed.  Two serving-men stationed themselves before the place of exit, and Sir Francis found himself a prisoner.

The roof rang with the laughter and gibes of the guests.

“This is a frolic, gentleman, I perceive.  You are resolved to make me your sport—­ha! ha!” Sir Francis said, trying to disguise his uneasiness under an appearance of levity—­“But you will not carry the jest too far.  You will not maltreat me.  My partner, Sir Giles Mompesson, will be here anon, and will requite any outrage committed upon me.”

“Sir Giles is impatiently expected by us,” a spruce coxcomb near him replied.  “Madame Bonaventure had prepared us for his coming.  We will give him the welcome he deserves.”