The two extremities of this huge parallelogram were occupied，the one by the famous marble table，so long，so broad，and so thick that，say the old territorial records in a style that would whet the appetite of a Gargantua，'Never was such a slab of marble seen in the world'；the other by the chapel in which Louis XI caused his statue to be sculptured kneeling in front of the Virgin，and to which he had transferred—indifferent to the fact that thereby two niches were empty in the line of royal statues—those of Charlemagne and Saint-Louis：two saints who，as Kings of France，he supposed to be high in favour in heaven.This chapel，which was still quite new，having been built scarcely six years，was carried out entirely in that charming style of delicate architecture，with its marvellous stone-work，its bold and exquisite tracery，which marks in France the end of the Gothic period，and lasts on into the middle of the sixteenth century in the ethereal fantasies of the Renaissance.The little fretted stone rose-window above the door was in particular a master-piece of grace and lightness—a star of lace.
In the centre of the Hall，opposite the great entrance，they had erected for the convenience of the Flemish envoys and other great personages invited to witness the performance of the Mystery，a raised platform covered with gold brocade and fixed against the wall，to which a special entrance had been contrived by utilizing a window into the passage from the Gilded Chamber.
According to custom，the performance was to take place upon the marble table，which had been prepared for that purpose since the morning.On the magnificent slab，all scored by the heels of the law-clerks，stood a high wooden erection，the upper floor of which，visible from every part of the Hall，was to serve as the stage，while its interior，hung round with draperies，furnished a dressing-room for the actors.A ladder，frankly placed in full view of the audience，formed the connecting link between stage and dressing-room，and served the double office of entrance and exit.There was no character however unexpected，no change of scene，no stage effect，but was obliged to clamber up this ladder.Dear and guileless infancy of art and of stage machinery！
Four sergeants of the provost of the Palais—the appointed superintendents of all popular holidays，whether festivals or executions—stood on duty at the four corners of the marble table.
The piece was not to commence till the last stroke of noon of the great clock of the Palais.To be sure，this was very late for a theatrical performance；but they had been obliged to suit the convenience of the ambassadors.
Now，all this multitude had been waiting since the early morning；indeed，a considerable number of these worthy spectators had stood shivering and chattering their teeth with cold since break of day before the grand stair-case of the Palais；some even declared that they had spent the night in front of the great entrance to make sure of being the first to get in.The crowd became denser every moment，and like water that overflows its boundaries，began to mount the walls，to surge round the pillars，to rise up and cover the cornices，the window-sills，every projection and every coign of vantage in architecture or sculpture.The all-prevailing impatience，discomfort，and weariness，the license of a holiday approvedly dedicated to folly，the quarrels incessantly arising out of a sharp elbow or an iron-shod heel，the fatigue of long waiting—all conduced to give a tone of bitterness and acerbity to the clamour of this closely packed，squeezed，hustled，stifled throng long before the hour at which the ambassadors were expected.Nothing was to be heard but grumbling and imprecations against the Flemings，the Cardinal de Bourbon，the Chief Magistrate，Madame Marguerite of Austria，the beadles，the cold，the heat，the bad weather，the Bishop of Paris，the Fools'Pope，the pillars，the statues，this closed door，yonder open window—to the huge diversion of the bands of scholars and lackeys distributed through the crowd，who mingled their gibes and pranks with this seething mass of dissatisfaction，aggravating the general ill-humour by perpetual pin-pricks.
There was one group in particular of these joyous young demons who，after knocking out the glass of a window，had boldly seated themselves in the frame，from whence they could cast their gaze and their banter by turns at the crowd inside the Hall and that outside in the Place.By their aping gestures，their yells of laughter，by their loud interchange of opprobrious epithets with comrades at the other side of the Hall，it was very evident that these budding literati by no means shared the boredom and fatigue of the rest of the gathering，and that they knew very well how to extract out of the scene actually before them sufficient entertainment of their own to enable them to wait patiently for the other.
'Why，by my soul，'tis Joannes Frollo de Molendino！'cried one of them to a little fair-haired imp with a handsome mischievous face，who had swarmed up the pillar and was clinging to the foliage of its capital；'well are you named Jehan of the Mill，for your two arms and legs are just like the sails of a wind-mill.How long have you been here？'
'By the grace of the devil，'returned Joannes Frollo，'over four hours，and I sincerely trust they may be deducted from my time in purgatory.I heard the eight chanters of the King of Sicily start High Mass at seven in the Sainte-Chapelle.'
'Fine chanters forsooth！'exclaimed the other，'their voices are sharper than the peaks of their caps！The King had done better，before founding a Mass in honour of M.Saint-John，to inquire if M.Saint-John was fond of hearing Latin droned with a Prove l accent.'