“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 Maître 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 Maître 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 Maître 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, Maître 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 Maître 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

“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

“Doubtless he is going to seek a lodging in the Rue Thibautodè!”⁹

The whole ribald crew repeated the pun in a voice of thunder and with furious clapping of hands.