elbow, scanning them narrowly with his small, pig--like eyes that
could make little, however, of the well-muffled faces. He waited on
their order with a kind of ferocious submission, draining his rank
forehead with a sweep of his dirty palm.

"Friend," said Louis, sniffing sardonically at the too odoriferous
personality of the taverner, "you behold here two decent cits who
have turned a penny, or twain in a bargain, and have a mind to wet
their whistles in consequence. Have you aught to offer that is good
alike for purse and palate?"

Robin Turgis nodded his round head and fondled his round stomach.
"We have a white wine of Beaune," he said unctuously, as if he were
tasting the wares he commended, "at two sols the flagon that is
noble drinking."

The king's sense of economy shivered at the sum; as if it had been a
wound.

"Pasques-Dieu!" he stammered. "So it should be at the price." Robin
Turgis remained unmoved: Tristan clinched the business. "Bring it,"
he said decisively, and as the landlord shambled away towards his
cellar, Tristan met the king's condemnatory frown squarely.

"I wear out my hands and feet in your service," lie said, "I want to
save my throat and stomach."

Louis made no answer and was mournfully silent until the obese
landlord returned with the much-vaunted vintage, which he set down
on the table with a brace of goblets. Louis fumbled with reluctant