He continued, with a smile,-- "It was a very pleasant thing to see.

To-day it is a morality made expressly for Madame the Demoiselle of Flanders." "Will they sing shepherd songs ?" inquired Gisquette.
"Fie!" said the stranger, "in a morality?
you must not confound styles.
If it were a farce, well and good." "That is a pity," resumed Gisquette.

"That day, at the Ponceau Fountain, there were wild men and women, who fought and assumed many aspects, as they sang little motets and bergerettes." "That which is suitable for a legate," returned the stranger, with a good deal of dryness, "is not suitable for a princess." "And beside them," resumed Lienarde, "played many brass instruments, making great melodies." "And for the refreshment of the passers-by," continued Gisquette, "the fountain spouted through three mouths, wine, milk, and hippocrass, of which every one drank who wished." "And a little below the Ponceau, at the Trinity," pursued Lienarde, "there was a passion performed, and without any speaking." "How well I remember that!" exclaimed Gisquette; "God on the cross, and the two thieves on the right and the left." Here the young gossips, growing warm at the memory of the entrance of monsieur the legate, both began to talk at once.
"And, further on, at the Painters' Gate, there were other personages, very richly clad." "And at the fountain of Saint-Innocent, that huntsman, who was chasing a hind with great clamor of dogs and hunting-horns." "And, at the Paris slaughter-houses, stages, representing the fortress of Dieppe!" "And when the legate passed, you remember, Gisquette?
they made the assault, and the English all had their throats cut." "And against the gate of the Chatelet, there were very fine personages!" "And on the Port au Change, which was all draped above!" "And when the legate passed, they let fly on the bridge more than two hundred sorts of birds; wasn't it beautiful, Lienarde ?" "It will be better to-day," finally resumed their interlocutor, who seemed to listen to them with impatience.
"Do you promise us that this mystery will be fine ?" said Gisquette.
"Without doubt," he replied; then he added, with a certain emphasis,--"I am the author of it, damsels." "Truly ?" said the young girls, quite taken aback.
"Truly!" replied the poet, bridling a little; "that is, to say, there are two of us; Jehan Marchand, who has sawed the planks and erected the framework of the theatre and the woodwork; and I, who have made the piece.

My name is Pierre Gringoire." The author of the "Cid" could not have said "Pierre Corneille" with more pride.
Our readers have been able to observe, that a certain amount of time must have already elapsed from the moment when Jupiter had retired beneath the tapestry to the instant when the author of the new morality had thus abruptly revealed himself to the innocent admiration of Gisquette and Lienarde.

Remarkable fact: that whole crowd, so tumultuous but a few moments before, now waited amiably on the word of the comedian; which proves the eternal truth, still experienced every day in our theatres, that the best means of making the public wait patiently is to assure them that one is about to begin instantly.
However, scholar Johannes had not fallen asleep.
"Hola he!" he shouted suddenly, in the midst of the peaceable waiting which had followed the tumult.