The Greatest Novels of Charles Reade. Charles Reade Reade

come in and insist on being served. “We can't refuse them plump, you know. The law forbids us.”

      “And how know you mine is not such a face?”

      “Out fie! it is the best face that has entered 'The Three Fish' this autumn.”

      “And mine, dame?” said Denys; “dost see no knavery here?”

      She eyed him calmly. “Not such a good one as the lad's; nor ever will be. But it is the face of a true man. For all that,” added she drily, “an I were ten years younger, I'd as lieve not meet that face on a dark night too far from home.”

      Gerard stared. Denys laughed. “Why, dame, I would but sip the night dew off the flower; and you needn't take ten years off, nor ten days, to be worth risking a scratched face for.”

      “There, our mistress,” said Marion, who had just come in, “said I not t'other day you could make a fool of them still, an if you were properly minded?”

      “I dare say ye did; it sounds like some daft wench's speech.”

      “Dame,” said Gerard, “this is wonderful.”

      “What? Oh! no, no, that is no wonder at all. Why, I have been here all my life; and reading faces is the first thing a girl picks up in an inn.”

      Marion. “And frying eggs the second; no, telling lies; frying eggs is the third, though.”

      The Mistress. “And holding her tongue the last, and modesty the day after never at all.”

      Marion. “Alack! Talk of my tongue. But I say no more. She under whose wing I live now deals the blow. I'm sped—'tis but a chambermaid gone. Catch what's left on't!” and she staggered and sank backwards on to the handsomest fellow in the room, which happened to be Gerard.

      “Tic! tic!” cried he peevishly; “there, don't be stupid! that is too heavy a jest for me. See you not I am talking to the mistress?”

      Marion resumed her elasticity with a grimace, made two little bounds into the middle of the floor, and there turned a pirouette. “There, mistress,” said she, “I give in; 'tis you that reigns supreme with the men, leastways with male children.”

      “Young man,” said the mistress, “this girl is not so stupid as her deportment; in reading of faces, and frying of omelets, there we are great. 'Twould be hard if we failed at these arts, since they are about all we do know.”

      “You do not quite take me, dame,” said Gerard. “That honesty in a face should shine forth to your experienced eye, that seems reasonable: but how by looking on Denys here could you learn his one little foible, his insanity, his miserable mulierosity?” Poor Gerard got angrier the more he thought of it.

      “His mule—his what?” (crossing herself with superstitious awe at the polysyllable).

      “Nay, 'tis but the word I was fain to invent for him.”

      “Invent? What, can a child like you make other words than grow in Burgundy by nature? Take heed what ye do! why, we are overrun with them already, especially bad ones. Lord, these be times. I look to hear of a new thistle invented next.”

      “Well then, dame, mulierose—that means wrapped up, body and soul, in women. So prithee tell me; how did you ever detect the noodle's mulierosity?”

      “Alas! good youth, you make a mountain of a molehill. We that are women be notice-takers; and out of the tail of our eye see more than most men can, glaring through a prospect glass. Whiles I move to and fro doing this and that, my glance is still on my guests, and I did notice that this soldier's eyes were never off the womenfolk: my daughter, or Marion, or even an old woman like me, all was gold to him: and there a sat glowering; oh, you foolish, foolish man! Now you still turned to the speaker, her or him, and that is common sense.”

      Denys burst into a hoarse laugh. “You never were more out. Why, this silky, smooth-faced companion is a very Turk—all but his beard. He is what d'ye call 'em oser than ere an archer in the Duke's body-guard. He is more wrapped up in one single Dutch lass called Margaret, than I am in the whole bundle of ye, brown and fair.”

      “Man alive, that is just the contrary,” said the hostess. “Yourn is the bane, and hisn the cure. Cling you still to Margaret, my dear. I hope she is an honest girl.”

      “Dame, she is an angel.”

      “Ay, ay, they are all that till better acquainted. I'd as lieve have her no more than honest, and then she will serve to keep you out of worse company. As for you, soldier, there is trouble in store for you. Your eyes were never made for the good of your soul.”

      “Nor of his pouch either,” said Marion, striking in, “and his lips, they will sip the dew, as he calls it, off many a bramble bush.”

      “Overmuch clack! Marion overmuch clack.”

      “Ods bodikins, mistress; ye didn't hire me to be one o' your three fishes, did ye?” and Marion sulked thirty seconds.

      “Is that the way to speak to our mistress?” remonstrated the landlord, who had slipped in.

      “Hold your whisht,” said his wife sharply; “it is not your business to check the girl; she is a good servant to you.”

      “What, is the cock never to crow, and the hens at it all day?”

      “You can crow as loud as you like, my man out o' doors. But the hen means to rule the roost.”

      “I know a byword to that tune.” said Gerard.

      “Do ye, now? out wi't then.”

      “Femme veut en toute saison,

      Estre dame en sa mason.”

      “I never heard it afore; but 'tis as sooth as gospel. Ay, they that set these bywords a rolling had eyes and tongues, and tongues and eyes. Before all the world give me an old saw.”

      “And me a young husband,” said Marion. “Now there was a chance for you all, and nobody spoke. Oh! it is too late now, I've changed my mind.”

      “All the better for some poor fellow,” suggested Denys.

      And now the arrival of the young mistress, or, as she was called, the little mistress, was the signal for them all to draw round the fire, like one happy family, travellers, host, hostess, and even servants in the outer ring, and tell stories till bedtime. And Gerard in his turn told a tremendous one out of his repertory, a MS. collection of “acts of the saints,” and made them all shudder deliciously; but soon after began to nod, exhausted by the effort, I should say. The young mistress saw, and gave Marion a look. She instantly lighted a rush, and laying her hand on Gerard's shoulder, invited him to follow her. She showed him a room where were two nice white beds, and bade him choose.

      “Either is paradise,” said he. “I'll take this one. Do you know, I have not lain in a naked bed once since I left my home in Holland.”

      “Alack! poor soul!” said she; “well, then, the sooner my flax and your down (he! he!) come together, the better; so—allons!” and she held out her cheek as business-like as if it had been her hand for a fee.

      “Allons? what does that mean?”

      “It means 'good-night.' Ahem! What, don't they salute the chambermaid in your part?”

      “Not all in a moment.”

      “What, do they make a business on't?”

      “Nay, perverter of words, I mean we make not so free with strange women.

      “They must be strange women if they do not think you strange fools, then. Here is a coil. Why, all the old greasy greybeards that lie at our inn do kiss us chambermaids; faugh! and what have we poor wretches to set on t'other side the compt but now and then a nice young——? Alack! time flies, chambermaids can't be spared long in the nursery, so how is't to be?”

      “An't please you arrange with my comrade for both. He is