IF I WERE KING

BY

JUSTIN HUNTLY McCARTHY

DEDICATION

To Her

Through Whom and For Whom

This Book was Written

"The Loveliest Lady this side of Heaven. "

XXI. XII. MCMI. 

 If I were king--ah love, if I were king! What tributary nations would I bring To stoop before your sceptre and to swear Allegiance to your lips and eyes and hair. Beneath your feet what treasures I would fling:-- The stars should be your pearls upon a string, The world a ruby for your finger ring, And you should have the sun and moon to wear If I were king. 

 Let these wild dreams and wilder words take wing, Deep in the woods I hear a shepherd sing A simple ballad to a sylvan air, Of love that ever finds your face more fair. I could not give you any godlier thing If I were king. 

CHAPTER I

IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN

In the dark main room of the Fircone Tavern the warm June air seemedto have lost all its delicacy, like a degraded angel. It was soddenthrough and through, as with the lees of wine; it was stained andshamed with the smells of hams and cheeses; it was thick and heavyas if with the breaths of all the rogues and all the vagabonds thathad haunted the hostelry from its evil dawn. Such guttering lightsand glimmering flames as lit the place--for there was a small fireon the wide hearth in spite of the fine weather--peopled the gloomwith fantastic quivering shadows as of lean fingers that unfoldedthemselves to filch, or clenched themselves to stab in the back. Butits patrons seemed to like the place well enough in spite of itsmiasma, and Master Robin Turgis, the fat landlord, drowsy with hisown wine and dripping from the heat, surveyed them complacently, andwallowed as it were in the rattle and clink of mug and can, thefull-throated laughter and the shrill chatter, crisply emphasized byoaths, which assured him of the Fircone's popularity with itsintimates. Master Robin's intelligence was limited; his wit wassimple; the processes of his mind moved easily along the lines ofleast resistance. The Burgundians might be hammering with mailedfists at the walls of Paris; the fire-new crown of Louis theEleventh might be falling from the royal forehead: it mattered not ajot to dishonest Robin so long as the Fircone brimmed with company. 

There was enough company in the room on this evening to content evenhis wish. It was not the kind of company that a wise man woulddesire to keep, but it delighted the innkeeper, for it drank deeplyand spent freely, and in Robin's view it was of no more concern tohim how the money that changed hands was come by than it was how theprofound potations might affect the brains and stomachs of hisclients. If any officer of the law had questioned him as to hisassociation with a certain mysterious Brotherhood of theCockleshells whose plunderings and pilferings were the pride of theCourt of Miracles and the fear of citizens with strong boxes, hewould have shrugged his fat shoulders and shaken his round head anddisowned all knowledge of any such unlawful corporation. Yet hisface wrinkled with smiles as his glance rested amiably upon thebodily presences of certain illustrious members of the brotherhood, wild men in withered frippery, wine-stained to the very bones. 

They were five in number, and four of them were huddled round atable in the cosiest corner of the room, the corner that wassheltered from the heat of the fire by the high-backed settle, thecorner that was nearest to the main door if one desired--as oneoften did--to slip out in a hurry, and to the red-curtained windows, if one desired--as one seldom did--a mouthful of fresh air. RobinTurgis knew them all, admired them all, feared them all, and yet heheld head against them because his Beaune wine was so adorable, andbecause he could keep his own counsel. Slender René de Montigny, ina jerkin of rubbed and faded purple velvet, with his malign, Italianate face and his delicate Italianate grace; rotund GuyTabarie, bluff, red and bald; Casin Cholet, tall and bird-like, withthe figure of a stork and the features of a bird of prey; Jehan leLoup, who looked as vulpine as his nickname; these Robin Turgis eyedand catalogued with a kind of pride. It was a fearsome privilege forthe Fircone to boast such patronage. On the settle, with his face tothe fire, Colin de Cayeulx sprawled in a drunken sleep, forgettingand forgotten, a harmless looking, good-natured looking knave whowas neither harmless nor good-natured. 

For every man of the gang there was a woman, and there was a womanover, who was easily the central star of the flaunting galaxy. Theshabby bravery of the men was matched by the shabby bravery of fiveout of the six women. Gaudy, painted, assertive strumpets withyoung, fair, shameless faces--worthy Jills of the ill-favoured Jackswho cuddled them--Jehanneton, the fair helm-maker; Denise, Blanche, Isabeau, and Guillemette, the landlord's daughter, who consortedgaily enough with these brightly-plumaged birds of a rogue'sparadise. But the sixth woman was a bird of quite another feather. 

Over all the clatter this woman's voice rose suddenly as clear asthe call of a thrush, and the hot space seemed to cool and the hotair to clean as she sang. She who sang was a girl of five andtwenty, whom it had pleased to clothe her ripe womanhood in a boy'shabit, that clasped her fine body as close as a second skin, and shemight have passed for a man no otherwhere than in a madhouse. Shelooked very charming in the stained and faded daintiness of her maleattire. She wore a green velvet doublet and green woollen hose, witha scarlet girdle and pouch about her waist, and a scarlet featherstuck defiantly in her green cap, beneath which her long fair hairtumbled in liberal confusion about her shoulders. She sat on theedge of a table swinging one shapely leg loose and strained upon itsfellow while she nursed her lute as if it had been a baby, andcarolled as if there were no other work in the world to do than tosing. The men and women who sat and sprawled around the table keptquiet, listening to her and staring at her; sleepy Colin pricked hisears; Robin Turgis was alert to hear, for he knew that it was worthwhile to listen when Huguette du Hamel chose to sing. Robin Turgisknew all about her. Her gentle blood was wild blood, and in spite ofher birth and her name she had drifted on the stream of strangepleasure to be the idol of the Fircone's shrine. Her voice was sweetand the tune had a tender, appealing grace, with a little minor wailin it that brought tears into the singer's eyes, and she mouthed thewords as if she found them sweet as honey. And this is what shesang:

 "Daughters of pleasure, one and all, Of form and feature delicate, Of bodies slim, and bosoms small, With feet and fingers white and straight, Your eyes are bright, your grace is great To hold your lovers' hearts in thrall; Use your red lips before too late, Love ere love flies beyond recall. "

Her voice dropped and her fingers tinkled over the strings. René deMontigny turned his dark, well-featured face in a sweeping leer thatseemed to taste the familiar graces with gusto. "Devilish goodadvice, Dollies, " he shouted, and as he spoke he hugged the nearestgirl close to him, and tilting up her chin with his free hand, kissed her noisily. The girl squealed a little at his roughness; theother pairs laughed and clasped after his example, only the singer, unheeding, lifted her sweet voice again, and this time there was asavour of gall in the sweetness of the honey:

 "For soon the golden hair is grey, And all the body's lovely line In wrinkled meanness slipped astray; The limbs so round and ripe and fine Shrivelled and withered; quenched the shine That made your eyes as bright as day: So, ladies, hear these words of mine, Love, ere love flutter far away. "

The drift of the music seemed sadder than before, and there was alittle silence when the last words floated away into the blackenedrafters, a silence broken by one of the girls. 

"Enne, that was a sad song, Abbess, " Isabeau sighed, and her faceseemed to have paled beneath its false colours and the lines abouther mouth and eyes to have grown older in surrender to inevitablethoughts. She whom the girl called Abbess laughed, and her mirthsounded harshly after the dreamy sweetness of her song. 

"Master François Villon made it for me t'other day, " she answered. "' You will grow old, Idol, ' he said, 'and I make you this song toteach you true things. '"

Guy Tabarie, whose red hair bunched out like little flames from thefiery sun of his countenance, clapped his hands to the girl's waistand thrust his face near to hers. "Kiss me and forget it, " hehiccoughed. The girl gave importunacy a little push which sent himstaggering back to his seat. "I have no kisses for any Jack of youall but François, " she said, while the others roared at the man'sdiscomfiture. "Ah, there is no one of you that can write songs likehim, or make one sad as he can in the midst of gladness. "

The girl whom purple-coated René had kissed so rudely shivered alittle. "A strange reason for liking a man, " she whispered, "that hemake you sad. " She glanced wistfully round at her companions: to thefaces of the women the influence of the song had lent an unwontedsoftness, but had brought no touch of tenderness to those of themen. Jehan le Loup banged his fist heavily on the table in furiousprotestation till the cans and flagons rattled. 

"Is this a Court of Love?" he grunted, baring his yellow tusks in aswinish rage. "There are other rooms for love-making, " and he jerkedhis thumb towards the roof. "We are here for drinking; we are herefor dicing; to the devil with smocks and sonnets. "

He jumbled the ivories lustily as he growled and the familiar jinglebanished unfamiliar fancies. He slapped the spotted cubes on thetable and as they rolled into equilibrium eager eyes counted them, and fingers eager or reluctant pinched or pushed at coins. The spellof the music was broken. The melodious Abbess, with eyes nowglittering and tearless, swung her supple body from table to bench, thrust herself a place among the players, shouted to Robin Turgis tobring more wine, and spreading some silver on the dingy boardsurrendered to speculation. Nobody heeded the faint clink which toldthat a hand troubled the latch of the street door; nobody heeded thefaint creaking which showed that it was being softly opened; nobodyheeded the man who put his head gently through the opening andlooked thoughtfully around him. The new-comer was a grim-visagedfellow, somewhere near the edge of middle age. He was dressed in thesober habit of a simple burgess, and he used the long fold that hungfrom his cloth cap very dexterously to hide his face. He peered intothe obscurity of the room with a disquieting smile that deepened inits unpleasing expression as its owner surveyed the noisy fellowshipin the corner, and nodded his head as he seemed to identify itsmembers. Confident that nobody marked him he stealthily entered theroom, and holding the door ajar, he motioned to one who still stoodwithout to enter. The summons was answered by the entrance ofanother figure, capped and habited like the first, who slipped inswiftly and furtively, and made at once for the farthest andloneliest angle of the room without looking to right or left, whilehis herald, after closing the door as noiselessly as possible, followed quickly in his footsteps. If Master Robin, dancingattendance upon his clamourous customers, could have divined theidentity of the newcomers whose advent he regarded so indifferently, his purple face would have paled and his stomach failed him at thethought that the Fircone sheltered the baleful presence of the kingand of his malign satellite, Tristan l'Hermite. 

The two strangers seated themselves at a small table in the verypole of the room to the place where the Abbess and her friends werebusy, and the second of the pair, drawing a little apart thedark-coloured fold of cloth that almost concealed his features, looked around him curiously. 

"Is this the eyrie?" he whispered, and his companion answered him inthe same low tone, "This is the Fircone Tavern, sire. " The other'sfinger was lifted to his lip at once in warning. "Hush, gossip, hush, " he muttered. "No title now, I beg of you. Here I am not Louisof France, but a simple sober citizen like yourself. I suppose wemust take something for the good of the house?" His henchmanpromptly replied that such action was indispensable. But Louis stilllooked doubtful. "Will the liquor be very detestable, " he asked, inserting two thin fingers in the black pouch at his belt. Tristanshook his head. "Nay, you can get good wine here if you know how toask for it--and how to pay for it. "

"No one knows better than I how to ask for anything, " chuckled theking. "Or worse, how to for it, " Tristan sneered. The king scowledat him. "Then, why do you keep my service?" he snapped. Tristanshrugged his shoulders. "Some dregs of devotion, I suppose. Herestands Master Innkeeper. " For by this time Robin Turgis was at theirelbow, scanning them narrowly with his small, pig--like eyes thatcould make little, however, of the well-muffled faces. He waited ontheir order with a kind of ferocious submission, draining his rankforehead with a sweep of his dirty palm. 

"Friend, " said Louis, sniffing sardonically at the too odoriferouspersonality of the taverner, "you behold here two decent cits whohave turned a penny, or twain in a bargain, and have a mind to wettheir whistles in consequence. Have you aught to offer that is goodalike 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 weretasting the wares he commended, "at two sols the flagon that isnoble drinking. "

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

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

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

Louis made no answer and was mournfully silent until the obeselandlord returned with the much-vaunted vintage, which he set downon the table with a brace of goblets. Louis fumbled with reluctantfingers in his pouch, extracted the exact amount necessary forpayment and dropped it into the fat paw of Robin Turgis. But Robinlingered and Louis looking at him in surprise met the admonishingglare of Tristan. "Give him a penny for himself, " Tristan whispered, and the king, with an unwillingness he was at no pains to conceal, added the demanded drink-money to the other coins, and eyed thedeparting back of the landlord with well-defined aversion. "You aregenerous with other people's pennies, friend, " he snapped at hiscompanion, but Tristan, paying no heed to his querulousness, filledthe two cups with the clear golden liquid and thrust one of themunder the nose of the sulky monarch. Its fine dry fragrance soothedLouis; he took a deep sip and was mollified; another and he hadforgiven if not forgotten his generosity. He winked at Tristanamiably over the rim of the goblet. "This is seeing life, friendTristan, " he murmured, contentedly, stretching his thin legs indelicious ease. But Tristan was in no holiday humour. 

"Let's hope it mayn't be seeing death, friend Louis" he snorted. "There are a couple of rogues in that covey who would spit you orsplit you or slit you for the price of a drink. "

Louis laughed affably. "And no such cheap bargain, " he commented, "seeing what wine costs here. But this is an interesting business. "

Tristan would concede nothing to the king's good-humour. "Where'sthe interest?" he asked. "A few bullies, bawds and bonarobas boozingtogether. You can keep the same company at court--only a shadecleaner--and not be out of pocket for the privilege either. "

The king's mouth puckered in appreciation of some memory. He leanedforward and touched Tristan's sleeve. 

"Gossip Tristan, there is at my court a scholar who told me anEastern tale. "

"Pray God it be a gay one such as your majesty loves, "

"Hush, man; no 'Majesty' here. 'Tis of an Eastern King, one Haroun, surnamed, as I shall be surnamed, The Just. "

Tristan grunted sceptically, but Louis, ignoring the ejaculation, went on. 

"It was his pastime to go about Bagdad of nights in disguise, andmingling with his people learn much to the advantage of the realm. Iam following his example, and I expect to learn much in my turn. "

Tristan looked pityingly at the complacent king. "You are likely tolearn how unpopular you are, which I could have told you withoutthis trouble; and you will be lucky if you do not get your throatcut into the bargain. "

Something almost like a smile disturbed the familiar composure ofthe king's wrinkles. He took another sip of the wine and hisaffability expanded. "You are always a bird of evil omen, " hechirped. "Be bright, man; look at me. The Burgundian Leaguer is atmy gates; my throne sways like a rocking-chair, yet I don't pull asad face. "

"It's a good thing that somebody is pleased, " Tristan commented. "Yes, " said Louis, opening out his thin hands and studying theirpalms attentively, "I am pleased--" Tristan interrupted him roughly. "Pleased that the Burgundians threaten you outside the walls ofParis; pleased that Thibaut d'Aussigny bullies you inside the wallsof Paris; pleased that your soldiers are mutinous; pleased that yourcitizens are sullen; by my faith, here are four royal reasons for aroyal pleasure. "

Louis shook his head playfully at his servant's grumbling. "GossipTristan, " he asked, "do you know why I have come to this hovelto-night? I do not walk abroad like a king-errant in mere idlenessof mind. I have come to learn what company my lord the GrandConstable keeps. " Tristan's shaggy eyebrows arched in surprise asthe king continued: "Our good Olivier assures us that our dearThibaut d'Aussigny has taken it into his head of late to walk thestreets by night and to haunt strange taverns such as this sameFircone. I am plagued with a womanish curiosity, Tristan, and Ithought I would peep over Messire Thibaut's shoulder and have an eyeon his cards. "

Tristan chuckled. "The Grand Constable bears you a grudge since youchose to turn a kind eye on the girl of Vaucelles. "

"She was a wise virgin to dislike Thibaut, " mused the king. "Was shea foolish virgin to mistrust your majesty?" questioned Tristan. Louis shrugged his shoulders. "She is a proud piece, gossip. When Itold her that she took my fancy she flamed into a red rage thatchastened me. But if she's not for me she's not for Thibaut either. ""The Grand Constable is a bad enemy, " Tristan commented. The kingreplied at random. 

"Tristan, I had a strange dream last night I dreamed that I was aswine rooting in the streets of Paris, and that I found a pearl ofgreat price in the kennel. I picked it up and set it in my crown--"

"A crowned pig, " Tristan interrupted. "'Tis like a tavern sign. "Louis did not seem to resent the interruption. 

"My good gossip, in a dream nothing seems strange. Well, as I said, I set this pearl in my crown and the light of it seemed to fill allmy good city of Paris with glory so that I could see every streetand alley, every tower and pinnacle, more clearly than in a summer'snoon. And then memought that the pearl weighed so heavy upon myforehead that I plucked it from its place and cast it to the ground, and would have trodden it under foot when a star shot swiftly fromHeaven and stayed me. "

The king looked eagerly at his companion, who seemed whollyuninterested in the narrative of the royal vision. "Dreams andstars, stars and dreams, " he sneered. "Leave dreams to weaklings, sire. " Louis frowned. "Don't sneer, gossip, but instruct, who arethese people?" and the sharp, lean face of the king thrust itselfforward a little, bird-like from the nest of its hood, in thedirection of the gamblers. His companion shrugged his shoulders. 

"Some of the worst cats and rats in all Paris, " he answered. "Themen belong to a fellowship that is called the Company of theCockleshells, and babble a cant of their own that baffles thethief-takers. If your majesty--" but here a warning kick from Louismade him wince and change his words-"if you wished to savourrascality these are your blades. The women are trulls. Yondershe-thing in the man's habit is Huguette du Hamel, a wild wench, whom men call the Abbess for her nunnery of light o' loves. There befour of her minions with her now, Jehanneton la belle Heaulmiere asthey name her, Denise the slipper-maker, Blanche and Isabeau. Oh, they are delectable doxies!"

King Louis pursed his thin lips in austere censure. "They shall bereproved hereafter, " he said. "Who are the men?"

"Worthy Adams of such pestilent Eves, " Tristan answered. "Thatslender fellow in the purple jerkin is one René de Montigny, ofgentle birth, and a great breaker of commandments. He with the redhair is Guy Tabarie; they are sworn brothers in bawdry and larceny. The ferret-faced knave who is tickling the girl's knee is Jehan leLoup. Bullies and bawds, pandars and parasites: to enumerate theiroffenses would be to say the Decalogue backward. "

"You have a pithy humour, gossip, " and Louis grinned. "Our gallowsshall be busy anon. "

Tristan was abcut to open his mouth in approval of a sentiment sopleasing to his ears when his words and his purpose were alikearrested by a sound of a voice singing outside the tavern door. 

The voice was a man's voice, something rough and strained for finemusic, and yet with a kind of full and florid sweetness that carriedthe words clearly through the red-curtained windows. They seemed tomake a complaint of Fortune:

 "Since I have left the prison gate Where I came near to say good-bye To this poor life that needs must fly From the malignity of Fate, Perchance she now will pass me by Since I have left the prison gate. "

If the king pricked his ear to listen, and even Tristan moved alittle in his lethargy, the effect of the song upon the company ofgamblers was instant and pronounced. The Abbess leaped to her feet, crying out: "It is the voice of François!" "It is indeed his ownunutterable pipe, " agreed René de Montigny, sweeping his winningsinto his pouch. Robin Turgis raised his hands in a comical despairas he muttered: "Here is the devil out of hell again. " All the menand women were looking eagerly at the door. 

"Who is this?" asked Louis of Tristan, "whose coming seems so toflutter these night-birds?"

"The strangest knave in all Paris, " Tristan answered. "One FrançoisVillon, scholar, poet, drinker, sworder, drabber, blabber, good atpen, point, and pitcher. In the Court of Miracles they call him theKing of the Cockleshells. Judge him for yourself. "

CHAPTER II

MASTER FRANÇOIS VILLON

As Tristan spoke the tavern latch rattled, the tavern door was flungnoisily open, and the king's gaze rested on a strange figure framedin the entry. The man was of middle height, spare and slight andlean; his thin, eager face was bronzed with the suns and winds of ageneration, and lined with the stern ciphers of malign experiences. His dark, straight hair was long and unkempt; the finer lines of hischeeks and chin were blurred with the uncropped growth of a week-oldbeard; his eyes were bright and quick; his glance restless andcomprehensive. A cunning reader of features would have found a homefor high thoughts behind the fine forehead, the lines of infinitetenderness upon the mobile lips, the light of some nobleconflagration in the wild eyes. He was dressed in faded finery ofmany colours, so ragged and patched and hostile that he had verymuch the air of a gaudy scarecrow. His ruined cloak was tilted by along sword; his disordered thatch was crowned by a battered capgrotesquely adorned with a cock's feather. In his leathern belt asmall vellum bound book of verses kept company with a dagger. Forall his whimsical appearance the king's keen eyes could note asomething gallant in the carriage of the scamp, could spy outqualities of manhood beneath the battered bravery. He poised for amoment on the threshold in a fantastic attitude of salutation ere heslammed the door behind him and strode forward to meet his friends. 

"Well, Hearts of Gold, how are ye?" he cried joyously as he advancedwith head thrown back and open hands extended. "Did ye miss me, lads; did ye miss me, lasses?"

Abbess Huguette was at his side in an instant, with her arms abouthis neck fondling him and fawning upon him. "Surely I missed you, "she whispered. "Where have you been, little monkey?"

Master François looked at her for a moment with a curious pity. Thengently extricating himself from her embrace he called out, "Give mea wash of wine for my throat's parched with piping. "

Every man thrust his own mug towards Master François, beseeching himto drink of it, but he waved them all aside imperially. "Nay, I willhave my own, " he said. "Have we no landlord here? Master Robin, comehither. "

Robin Turgis, who had kept apart up to now, surveying the new-comerwith no excess of favour, moved slowly forward with his thumbs inhis girdle and a sour smile on his fat cheeks. Master Françoisaddressed him sternly, twitching as he did so the landlord's greasycap from his pate and sending it flying down the room. "Why do younot salute gentry when they honour your pot-house? A mug of yourbest Beaune, Master Beggar-maker, to drink damnation to theBurgundians. "

Robin Turgis made no motion to obey, but his small eyes seemed togrow smaller as they stared. "What colour has money now-a-days, Master François?" he asked doggedly. In a moment the brown, dirtyhand of the poet was clapped to his dagger and there was somethingof a wolfish snarl in his voice as he answered menacingly, "Thecolour of blood sometimes. " But the landlord, unabashed andundismayed, stood his ground. 

"None of your swaggering, Master François, " he said sturdily. "Thereis such a thing as a king in France and that king's name is writfair on his coinage. Show me a Louis XI. And I will show you myBeaune wine. "

The face of Master François flushed under its grime, and he fiddledat his dagger nervously, as one uncertain whether to laugh or cry atthe dilemma which confronted him. Huguette and Montigny alike haddipped their hands into their pouches for money to pay the poet'sscore when to the amazement of Tristan the king forestalled theirkindnesses. Rising to his feet with creditable alacrity he advancedtowards Master François and saluted him with a gracious wave of thehand. "Will you let me be of some small service to you, " he beganpolitely, and as Villon turned to stare at him in surprise hecontinued: "Will you honour me by drinking that Beaune wine our hostbrags of at my expense?"

Villon's astonishment had not unnerved his clutch at opportunity. Here was a god out of a machine, proffering cool liquor to drygullets. Master François gave back the salutation with a mien ofsplendid condescension, while the rest of the company glared at theburgess who thus thrust himself upon them, and Tristan, cursing theking for his temerity, felt for a hidden dagger. 

Villon's patronizing wave of the hand was magnificent in itseffrontery, and his words matched his gesture nobly. 

"You are a civil stranger, and I will so far honour you. " Louisbowed. "I left my purse under my pillow this morning"--a roar oflaughter saluted the ancient jape--"and this ungentle fellow deniesme credit. How rarely we meet with an ale-draper who is also agentleman. "

With an unmoved countenance Louis listened to Villon's words. "Yetthe sale of a thing so noble ought to beget a kind of nobility inthe vendor, " he said with great gravity; then turning to RobinTurgis, whose mouth was gaping at this colloquy, he bade him bring aflagon of his best, and as he did so he tendered him a silver coinfor which Robin extended his fat fingers--and extended them toolate. For at the sight of the silver the eyes of Master François hadglistened, and his lean, brown hand, swift and agile as a hawk, hadswooped between the king and the publican, and had secured the coin, which he promptly held up and surveyed in an apparent ecstasy ofadmiration. 

"Is this the good king's counter?" he asked, and as he did so heplucked off his shabby bonnet and paid the exalted coin a profoundobeisance. "Well, God bless his majesty, say I, for I owe him mypresent liberty. There was a gaol-clearing when he came to Paris, and as I happened to be in gaol at the time--through an error of thelaw"--here he paused to leer knowingly at his comrades, who yelledcommendation--"they were good enough to kick me into the free air. Will you add to your kindness, old gentleman"--and here MasterFrançois spun round and solemnly saluted his unknownentertainer--"by allowing me to guard and cherish this token of ourdear monarch in memory of this notable event?"

Louis' fortitude could not prevent him from making something of awry face as he hastily answered, "By all means. " He beckoneddiscreetly to Robin Turgis, who, making a wide circle round MasterFrançois, stole to the king's side, received from him another coinand hastened away to bring the drink it paid for. 

From his corner Tristan surveyed the episode with a grim enjoyment. "Master Villon, Master Villon, " he murmured to himself, "you'll besorry for this, very sorry indeed. " And in his mind's eye hetransferred the fantastic figure, posturing and grimacing beforeLouis, to the end of a long rope hanging from a high gallows. MasterFrançois, ignorant of the immediate irony of existence, wafted akiss airily from the tips of his fingers to his patron. "You are avery obliging old gentleman, " he said approvingly. 

Louis frowned slightly. "You harp on my age, sir, " he said. "Yet youare yourself no chicken. " This mild reproof seemed to irritateVillon's friends more than it irritated Villon. The men manifested amarked inclination to hustle so questioning a citizen; the womencackled at him angrily. Casin Cholet bluntly proposed to lend thecit a slap on the chops; and Huguette enquired with every emphasisof impoliteness: "What's his age to you, sobersides?" But Villonquietly waved his turbulent companions into tranquility. "Patience, damsels, " he said blandly. "Patience, good comrades of theCockleshell. If our friend is inquisitive at least he has paid hisfee, " and as he spoke he hid his face for a moment behind the hugemug of Beaune wine which Robin Turgis at that moment handed to him. Much refreshed by his mighty draught he resumed briskly: "For threeand thirty years I have taken toll of life with such result as yousee. A light pocket is a plague, but a light heart and a light lovemake amends for much. " And as he spoke he slapped his pocket whoseemptiness gave back no jingle, drummed lightly on his bosom andnodded gallantly to the admiring womenkind. "You are a philosopher, "said the king. "You are a little angel, " cried the Abbess, flingingher arms round the poet in an enthusiastic hug. The girl's homageseemed little to Villon's taste, for he disengaged himself swiftlyfrom the embrace, saying as he did so: "Gently, Abbess, gently! Myshoulders tingle and my sides ache too sorely for claspings. "

Villon's manner was so decisive and his meaning so obvious that thecuriosity of the gang burned keenly and found voice in René deMontigny, who asked what ailed him with commendable solicitude. Villon shook his head, applied himself again to the cannakin, andemerged from it with a most melancholy expression of countenance. "You behold in me, friends, " he sighed, "a victim of love, " and hisvisage showed so lugubrious that it sorely tempted Louis to laugh, and hotly moved Huguette to anger, for she raged up to Villon, challenging the meaning of his speech. Villon gently cooled herimpatience. "Hush, hush, my girl! There are many kinds of love, asyou ought to know well enough. I am a rogue and a vagabond, no less, and so sometimes I love you and other such Athanasian wenches;Isabeau there and Jehanneton. "

At this mention of her novices' names the Abbess turned on the twogirls fiercely. "You minxes, " she cried. "Do you make eyes at myman?" The pair shrank back from her fury, but Master Villon, whoseemed suddenly to have fallen into a meditative mood, rambled on ina, kind of reverie, as indifferent to the Fircone and all hissurroundings as if he were a lonely shepherd tending his sheep on alonely hillside. 

"But also I am, Heaven forgive me, a jingler of rhymes, with thestars for my candles and the roses for my toys, and singers of songssometimes love in another fashion. And so it has chanced to me formy sins and to my sorrow. "

Villon's chin had dropped upon his breast; the cock's featherdrooped dismally; the singer seemed quite chapfallen. Huguette, tired of glaring at her offending minions, again turned her scornfulattention to her dejected lover. "Cry-baby!" she sneered scornfully, pointing with derisive finger at Master François, in whose eyesindeed the close observer could discern the threatening of tears. Jehanneton came sidling round to Villon, piqued by naturalcuriosity, and the desire to vex Huguette. "Tell us your love-tale, François, " she pleaded, and her pleading found an immediatesupporter in Louis. The Arabian nature of his adventure enchantedhim, and he had a child's taste for a story. "May I support thelady's prayer, " he said, "unless a stranger's presence distressesyou?"

Villon turned to him with a mocking laugh. "Lord love you, no, " heanswered. "I have long since forgotten reticence and will discourseof my empty purse, my empty belly, and my empty heart to any man. Gather around me, cullions and cut-purses, and listen to the strangeadventure of Master François Villon, clerk of Paris. "

Joyous applause greeted his speech, Jehan le Loup, seizing upon anempty barrel that stood in a corner, trundled it forward, andstanding it on one end invited Villon to take his seat upon thiswhimsical throne. The poet sprang lightly upon the perch thusprovided for him, and sat there with his legs crossed, holding hislong sword against his knees with both hands. The men and womengathered about him, like bees about a rose-bush. Huguette placedherself on a stool at his feet. Jehanneton flung herself full lengthon the ground and stared up into his face. Robin Turgis straddled abench at some distance and grinned. Louis seized the opportunity towhisper behind his hand to Tristan that he found the fellowdiverting, to which Tristan replied gruffly that he for his partfound him a dull ape. Louis might have argued the point but hisinterest was claimed by the voice of Villon, who, being comfortablyinstalled on his wine-cask, was beginning his promised narrative. Aphilosopher would have discerned something pathetic in the pictureof the ragged rascal thus girdled about with blackguards of a basersort, his lean body quivering, his eager face alive with emotions, mockery on his lips and sorrow in his eyes: to the sardonic king itafforded nothing more and nothing less than amusement. "You mustknow, dear Devils and ever-beautiful Blowens, that three days ago, when I was lying in the kennel, which is my humour, and staring atthe sky, which is my recreation--I speak, honest citizen, but inparable or allegory, a dear device with the schoolmen--I saw betweenme and Heaven the face of a lady, the loveliest face I ever saw. "

Here the poor Abbess, indignation overcrowding her borrowedmannishness, began to sniffle and to assert that the speaker was afaithless pig, but Villon, unheeding her whimpers, went on withhis tale. 

"She was going to church--God shield her--but she looked my way asshe passed, and though she saw me no more than she saw thecobble-stone I stood on, I saw her once and for ever. Wesong-chandlers babble a deal of love, but for the most part we knowlittle or nothing about it, and when it comes it knocks us silly. Iwas knocked so silly that--well, what do you think was the sillything I did?"

Villon turned his alert face to each member of his audience, and hisderisive mouth belied the sadness of his eyes. 

"Emptied a can for oblivion, " Montigny suggested. Blanche was noless practical. 

"Kissed a wench for the same purpose, " she cried. "The times thatI've been wooed out of my name!"

"Picked the woman's pocket, " Casin Cholet hinted, wagging his shockhead wisely, while Jehan le Loup, with a hideous leer, sniggered:"Got near her in the crowd and pinched her, " and suited the actionto the word with finger and thumb on Blanche's plump shoulder. 

Master François dissipated all this roguish philosophy with acontemptuous gesture. 

"La, la, la, " he chirruped. "Sillier than all these. I followed herinto the church. "

The silence of astonishment fell upon the audience. Only Colin deCayeulx had sufficient presence of mind to formulate his amazementin a prolonged whistle. Louis crossed himself repeatedly under hisgown. "You are not a church-goer, sir?" he questioned sourly. Villonanswered him sweetly. 

"No, old Queernabs, unless there's an alms-box to open or a matterof gold plate to pilfer. " Guy Tabarie hurriedly interrupted him witha warning cry of "Cave!" and a significant glance at the strangers, but Villon derided his fears. 

"Nonsense, " he cried, leaning forward and playfully slapping Louison the back with his sword. "This good Cuffin has a friendly faceand can take a joke. Can't you, old rabbit?"

Louis winced and then grinned as Tristan gasped in anger. "I thankHeaven I have a sense ot humour, " he said, with a sly glance at hiscompanion. Villon went on with his story. 

"Well, I sprawled there in the dark, with my knees on the coldground, and all the while the sound of her beauty was sweet in myears, and the taste of her beauty was salt on my lips, and the painof her beauty was gnawing at my heart, and I prayed that I might seeher again. "

At this point Huguette, who had been following the narrative with afeline ferocity, caught up a wine-jug and made to throw it at thepoet's head, but was dexterously disarmed by Guy Tabarie before thevessel had time to quit her fingers. Sulkily she plumped herselfdown on her stool again, while Villon, quite unconscious of theaverted peril, rambled on dreamily. 

"And the incense tickled my nostrils and the painted saints sneeredat me, and bits of rhymes and bits of prayers jigged in my brain andI felt as if I were drunk with some new and delectable liquor. Andthen she slipped out and I after her. She took the Holy Water frommy fingers. "

Villon's voice sank reverently and Huguette took advantage of thepause. 

"I wish it had burned you to the bone, " she interrupted spitefully. Master Villon shook his head. 

"It burned deeper than that, believe me. Outside, on God's steps, stood a yellow-haired, pink-faced puppet who greeted her and theyambled away together, I on their heels. Presently they came to agateway and in slips my quarry, and as she did so she turned to hersquire and I saw her face again and lost it, for the tears came intomy eyes. " With a heavy sigh he turned to Louis. "I suppose youwonder why I talk like this, but when my heart's in my mouth I mustspit it out or it chokes me. "

"I have learned to wonder at nothing, " Louis answered sagely. Villonpicked up the dropped thread of his tale. 

"I saluted the gallant and begged to know the lady's name. He tookme for a madman, but he told me. "

In a second Huguette was on her legs again and nestling her eagerface close to that of Villon as she whispered coaxingly:

"What was the lady's name, dear François?"

Master François looked into her watchful eyes with a wise smile. 

"Be secret, sweet, " he murmured. "It was Her Majesty, the Queen. " Awild roar of laughter from Villon's friends greeted this sally, andthe fury it brought to Huguette's face. Louis, royally angered, madeas if to rise in protest, but the heavy hand of Tristan fell on hisshoulder and restrained him, and Villon, noticing his irritation, waved him down with a pacifying gesture. 

"Now, now, my rum duke, " he cried, "your loyalty need not take fire. It was not her majesty, but her name I shall keep to myself, thoughit is written on my shoulders in fair large blue and black bruises. "

This statement stirred a murmur of surprise in the gathering. "Didthe pink and gold popinjay beat you?" Montigny asked, interpretingthe general curiosity. 

"No, no, " Villon answered. "It came about thus. We tinkers of versesset a price on our wares that few find them worth, yet with thelove-fever in my veins I wrote rhymes to this lady and sent them toher fairly writ on a piece of parchment that cost me a dinner. "

"Did you think she would come to your whistle like a bird to alure?" Louis enquired playfully. Villon sighed again. 

"In this kind of madness a minstrel thinks himself a new Orpheus whocould win a woman out of hell with his music. But I got myanswer--oh, I got my answer. "

He dropped suddenly into a moody silence, which was not to the tasteof the fellowship who were interested in the adventure. Montigny, leaning forward, gave Villon a clap on the back which made himshrink, and shouted "What was the answer?"

Villon began to laugh, a loud, mirthless laugh that had no humanwarmth in it. 

"A fellow like a page boarded me here three days ago. He asked me ifI had sent certain verses to a certain quarter. If so I was tofollow him at once. I followed like a sheep with my heart drummingtill we came to a quiet place, and there four boobies with yard-longcudgels fell upon me. I was taken unawares, I had no weapon but myjackdagger, the blows were raining upon me as fast as acorns fly ina high wind, so I thought it no shame to take to my heels. Thevarlets pursued me, full cry, till I led them to a part of Pariswhere their lives would not have been worth a minute's purchase andthey had to stay their chase. But I have been rarely drubbed androundly basted, and my poor back and sides are most womanishlytender. I go abroad no more without Excalibur. " He tapped his swordhilt as he spoke. Huguette glared fiercely up at him. "Will it teachyou not to play the fool again?" asked, with a vicious snap of herwhite teeth. 

"It will teach me not to play the fool again, " Villon answeredsadly. "The mark of the beast is upon me and I shall dream no moredreams. " He shook himself as if he were trying to shake awayclinging memories and extended his empty can to Montigny, saying:"I'm thirsty again. More liquor. "

As Montigny filled up for his leader, Louis commented, "You drinkmore than is good for your health, sir. " Villon rounded on himangrily, with flushed face and shining eyes. 

"Mind your own business!" he shouted, and the rest shouted with himapplaudingly. "What can a man do but drink when France is going tothe devil, with the Burgundians camped in the free fields where Iplayed in childhood, and a nincompoop sits on the throne and letsthem besiege his city?" The rascals laughed. Tristan whispered tohimself, "You'll be sorry you spoke, Master Villon. " The kingpropounded a problem. "No doubt you could do better than the king ifyou wore the king's shoes?"

Villon rolled about on his barrel in an ecstasy of entertainment. "If I could not do better than Louis Do-Nothing, Louis Dare-Nothing, having his occasions and advantages, may Huguette there never kissme again. "

His boon companions laughed. Huguette whispered sulkily, "Perhaps shenever will. "

Isabeau came sidling and bridling up to Louis, wheedling like a catas she said: "Our François has made a rhyme of it, sir, how he wouldcarry himself if he wore the king's shoes. "

Louis was always ready for any kind of gallantry. He put his armsaround the girl's slim body and drew her on to his knee. "Has he, indeed, pretty minion?" he said. "May we not hear it, Master Poet?"

Villon, with mock modesty, had tried to restrain Isabeau fromspeaking of the work, but now he changed his tune. "You may; youshall; for 'tis a true song, though it would cost me my neck if itcame to the king's ears, very likely. But you are not tall enough towhisper in them, so here goes. "

With a shout Villon sprang to his feet, draped his tattered cloakclosely about him, struck a commanding attitude, and began to recitewith great solemnity. Louis scooped his claw-like fingers behind hisear, that he might hear the better the words that fell from the wildpoet's mouth:

 "All French folk, whereso'er ye be, Who love your country, soil and sand. From Paris to the Breton sea, And back again to Norman strand, Forsooth ye seem a silly band, Sheep without shepherd, left to chance-- Far otherwise our Fatherland If Villon were the King of France!"

Louis glanced grimly at Tristan; the rogues rubbed their hands andchuckled. Villon smiled in pride and went on:

 "The figure on the throne you see Is nothing but a puppet, planned To wear the regal bravery Of silken coat and gilded wand. Not so we Frenchmen understand The Lord of lion's heart and glance, And such a one would take command If Villon were the King of France!"

The king's face was a study in sardonics. Tristan was poppy-red withrage. The gang applauded and Villon glowed with their applause. 

 "His counsellors are rogues, Perdie! While men of honest mind are banned. To creak upon the Gallows Tree, Or squeal in prisons over-mann'd; We want a chief to bear the brand, And bid the damned Burgundians dance; God! Where the Oriflamme should stand If Villon were the King of France!"

Mugs and cans clattered approval. The rhymer's eyes widened as hedrew breath to blow forth the envoi of his ballade. 

 "Louis the Little, play the grand; Buffet the foe with sword and lance; 'Tis what would happen, by this hand, If Villon were the King of France!"

A roar of enthusiasm came from the full throats of the band. Montigny slapped Villon on the back with a "Well crowed, Chanticleer!" Huguette flung her arms around him and hugged him asshe cried passionately: "I forgive you much, for that light in youreyes. "

But the poet seemed weary after so much heat. He pushed the girlaway and drooped on his hogshead. The rogues rattled away to theirtable again, and Villon was left alone with Louis, who questionedhim drily: "You call yourself a patriot, I suppose?"

Villon had recovered sufficient energy to drain a mug of wine. Heturned to the king, passing his hand over his forehead. "By no suchhigh-sounding title, " he answered. "I am but a poor devil with aheart too big for his body and a hope too large for his hoop. Had Ibeen begotten in a brocaded bed, I might have led armies and servedFrance; have loved ladies without fear of cudgellings, and toldkings truths without dread of the halter, while as it is, I consortwith sharps and wantons, and make my complaint to a dull littlebuzzard like you, old noodle! Oh, 'tis a fool's play and it were wellto be out of it. "

"You won't have long to worry, " Tristan muttered to himself underhis breath, and found great comfort in the thought. Louis merelysaid: "You are sententious!"

Villon took him up swiftly. "The quintessence of envy, no less. Ihave great thoughts, great desires, great ambitions, greatappetites, what you will. I might have changed the world and left amemory. As it is I sleep in a garret under the shadow of thegallows, and shall be forgotten to-morrow, even by the wolves I packwith. But this is dry thinking; let's to drinking!" As he spokeVillon rose to join his comrades, when his quick eye noted thatRobin Turgis had fallen asleep on his bench. Villon skipped lightlytoward him, dexterously unhooked his bunch of keys from his girdle, and, with a triumphant gesture, made on tiptoe for the cellar door, which he unlocked and through which he disappeared. Louis lookedafter him with an acid smile. Tristan leaned forward and plucked atthe kind's sleeve. "Shall I hang him to-morrow?" he asked, hoarsely. The king turned, musing, to his henchman. "We shall see! He is aloose-lipped fellow, but he might have been a man. He has set methinking of my dream. I was a swine rioting in the streets of Parisand I found a pearl-well, well. Let us kill the time with cards tillThibaut d'Aussigny comes. " Tristan produced a pack of cards from hispouch and laid them on the table. "Do you think he will come?" heasked. 

"He does not expect to find me here, I promise you, " Louis answered. "He would not come if he did. Barber Olivier is to warn me of hiscoming. " As he spoke the inn-door opened a little and the king, hearing the click of the catch, asked: "Is that he?"

Tristan glanced round over his shoulder. The door was pushed partlyopen, and an old, stooped woman was peeping curiously into the room. Tristan shrugged his shoulders. 

"No, sire, " he snarled, "another old woman. "

By this time the king had arranged the cards to his satisfaction. Hemade an imperative gesture to his companion to seat himself and in afew seconds had forgotten everything else in the excitement of thegame. Meanwhile the old woman, having pushed the door wide open, came softly into the room. She was a quiet, mild-faced creature, oneof those human shadows who suggest without tragedy faded youth andwithered comeliness. She was very poorly but very neatly dressed, inworn grey and rusty black, and the linen folds about her lined facewere scrupulously clean. She looked anxiously around her, shadingher eyes with her hand, in the dim light of the tavern, unable todiscern much but evidently eager to discern something. 

René de Montigny, tired of teasing Isabeau, suddenly looked up andcaught sight of the old woman as she stood, very helpless andwistful, peering about her. An impish spirit floated leaf-like onthe surface of his mind. He rose to his feet and danced towards herin a fantastic manner, sweeping her a profound salutation as heapproached her. 

"Your pleasure, sweet princess?" he said with mock deference. 

The old woman turned her wrinkled visage up to his in wonder. 

"Is Master François Villon in this company, sir?" she faltered. 

Montigny treated her to another profound bow. 

"Sweet creature, " he simpered, "I kiss your hand and inquire. "

He turned to his companions at the table and his eye restedmockingly on the bowed figure of Huguette. After Master Villon hadtold his tale Huguette had been glum enough, and her comradesfinding her snappish wisely left her to herself. She had pulled apack of cards from her scarlet pouch; she had been spelling out herfortune silently, and the death card insisted itself again and againwith grim pertinacity. With a sense of despair that was strange toher airy nature she had bowed her face on her arms and was sobbingsoftly to herself. Montigny was not a man to be touched by a woman'ssorrow. He mockingly gesticulated over her bent shoulders as hecried to the others in a false whisper, "There is a beautiful woman at the door, beseeching our François. "

The moment these words fell on Huguette's ears, they stung her intolife and activity. She leaped to her feet in a flash. 

"What do you say?" she raged, and then, seeing a woman's form a fewfeet away from her, she rushed towards the stranger furiously whilethe others rose in cages expectation of some new excitement. 

"What do you seek here?" she asked fiercely of the old woman, andthen as she saw the pitiful wrinkled face staring up at her, shestarted back in surprise. 

The old woman, misinterpreting the sex of her questioner from thedress that Huguette wore, began apologetically. 

"Asking your pardon, young gentleman, " and for a moment her wordswere drowned in a shout of delighted laughter, as the listeningrogues appreciated the blunder she had made. 

"Asking your pardon, young gentleman, I seek Master FrançoisVillon. "

Huguette snapped at her impatiently, "Seek him and find him. " Thenturning to René, she cried, "Montigny, you beast!" and with her handon her dagger, made hotly for him. 

Montigny, grinning like a delighted monkey, skipped for safety, dodging her around the table, while the others perceiving a victimin the bewildered old woman, joined hands in a ring and begandancing wildly around her, singing a ribald song. The old woman, asfrightened and timid as a mouse might be if it suddenly found itselfthe centre of a circle of dancing cats, stood still. 

At this moment the cellar door opened, and François reappeared, carrying in his arms a large jug of wine. Perceiving that thelandlord still lay in his heavy sleep, he smiled delightedly tohimself, closed the cellar door softly and placed his booty in thecorner of the fireplace nearest to the settle. The noise of thetumult attracted him from his successful plunder, and looking up, hebecame aware of what was happening. In a second his contented mienchanged, and dashing into the dancing crowd, he struck Jehan le Loupa heavy blow with the bunch of keys, which felled him to the groundlike a log. In a moment the cluster of rascals dissipated, andVillon caught the old woman in his arms. 

"Damn you, chubs!" he shouted at them. "It's my mother. " Then as hedrew the trembling old woman towards the fireplace, he whispered inher ears, "Don't be frightened, mammy, they meant no harm. "

A certain hang-dog air of contrition was on the faces of most of themembers of the gang as they stood apart and eyed the mother and sonshame-facedly. Guy Tabarie, who had a wholesome dislike to quarrels, slipped quietly into the cool street to seek pleasure in some placewhere the atmosphere might be less stormy. 

Robin Turgis wakened from his heavy sleep, clapped his handinstinctively to his girdle and found that his keys were missing. 

"My keys! my keys!" he shouted--"where are my keys?" And then, catching sight of them where they lay by the prostrate form of Jehanle Loup, he rushed forward and secured them greedily. 

By this time Jehan le Loup had recovered the senses which Villon'sswinging blow had knocked out of him and was crawling slowly into asitting posture. He glared ferociously at Master François and hisevil right hand stole to the pommel of his dagger. 

"You have cracked my crown, curse you, " he grunted, and then swiftlysprang to his feet with the bare blade in his hand and rushed at hisassailant. But Villon was too alert to be taken unawares. He had nottime to draw his sword, but in a second he had snatched a spit fromthe fire and extending it scientifically kept Jehan le Loup at arm'slength. Huguette seized Jehan by the dagger arm. 

"She is his mother!" she said angrily. "You all had mothers, Isuppose? Let him alone!"

Jehan le Loup unwillingly sheathed his weapon; Huguette dragged himback to the table; Villon replaced the spit, which had somewhatburned his fingers, and sat down by his mother's side on the settle, in peace. 

"Did they frighten you, mammy?" he whispered. "But they meant noharm. Boys and girls, girls and boys. "

The old woman put her arms tightly about him. Villon grimaced. Herloving touch was as painful as a hostile one to his bruised body, but he made no attempt to repress her embrace. 

"Come home, François, " she said. "Come home. Where have you beenthese three days?"

Villon caressed the old woman very tenderly, as he answered:

"Very busy, mammy--state secrets. Mum's the word. How did you findme out?"

"They told me at the Unicorn, " the old woman said, "that I mightfind you here. "

Villon made a gesture of contempt. 

"Oh, the Unicorn is no longer fashionable. They want payment on thenail there, confound them! Besides, this is nearer the walls and wecan hear the Burgundians shouting. It is as good as a relish withour wine. "

Mother Villon shook her grey head sadly. 

"Come away, " she entreated. "You have had wine enough. "

Villon contradicted her instantly. 

"Never in my life, mammy. I have a fool's head and always get intomy altitudes too soon. "

Then, seeing the look of disappointment that made her grey old facelook greyer still, --he added, "I cannot come home just now, mammy, but there is something I can do for you. Do you remember when I wasa little child--"

Something in the words made him stop suddenly. The hideous contrastbetween the phrase and the place wherein he was, between the motherwho fondled him and the wild men-savages and women-savages who werehis daily friends and who were drinking and dicing behind him at theother side of the settle, came upon him like a great wave of painand knocked the mirth out of him. He turned away from his mother andrepeated to himself dismally, "God! when I was a little child!" Themother's pity, the mother's protection immediately assertedthemselves. 

"You were the prettiest child woman ever bore, " she said, softly. 

Villon turned towards her again, while he tried to wink the tearsout of his eyes. 

"You used to sing me to sleep, " he said, and as he spoke he rockedher slowly backward and forward in his arms, while he crooned thewords of that old nurse's song which has soothed so many generationsof French children to sleep, "Do, do, l'enfant do, l'enfant dormiratantot. "

"Well, mammy, your dutiful son has made a song for you to singyourself to sleep with. I went to church the other day. Oh, on myhonour, I did"--this was in reply to a startled look of surprisethat flooded the old woman's face--"and a prayer came into myhead--a prayer for you to say to our Lady. "

The old woman kissed him fondly on the forehead. 

"My love bird, " she said, and as she spoke a boyish look that hadlong been absent from Villon's face came back to it for a moment. 

"Here it is, " he said. "Listen. " And he whispered to her the verseshe had made, while the old woman crossed herself reverentially. 

 "Lady of Heaven, Queen of Earth, Empress of Hell, I kneel and plead You pity, by the holy birth, The humblest Christian of the Creed; I cannot write; I cannot read; I am a woman poor and old, But in the Church, where I behold The gates of Paradise, I cry Woman to woman, make me bold In thy belief to live and die. "

"There, mammy, there is a pretty prayer for you. "

Mother Villon was dissolved in tears and sobbed on his shoulder. 

"You should have been a good man, " she said. 

Villon stroked her hair very gently. 

"We are as Heaven pleases, dear. " He paused for a moment, thensuddenly remembering the silver coin which he had confiscated fromthe king, he dipped his fingers into his pouch and produced it. 

"Here is something for you, mammy, " he said, and as the old woman, with a faint flush on her worn cheeks, seemed about to protest, heinsisted. "Oh, yes. Take it, take it. It was honestly come by, andyou will spend it more honestly than I should. " He forced the coininto her lean, brown hand, and added, "Now run away, mammy, and prayyourself to sleep, You shall see me soon, I promise you. "

He led her gently across the tavern floor to the door, which heopened for her. As she turned to go, she looked up to him andrepeated two lines of his prayer:

"Woman to woman, make me bold In thy belief to live and die. "

As the door closed and Villon turned to come back to his seat, Jehanle Loup, who had been eyeing him and who was eager to pay off thescore of his cracked crown, rose to his feet, dragging Isabeau withhim, and barred his passage. 

"Kiss a young mouth for a change, " he said, and thrust the girlagainst the poet. Villon brushed them both aside. 

"Go to the devil, " he said angrily, and passed them. Once againJehan's hand sought his weapon and once again he was restrained. 

"He is in one of his bad moods, " said Isabeau. "Leave him tohimself, " and she drew her reluctant companion back to the table, while Villon seated himself in a corner of the settle, staring intothe fire. 

At the moment the tavern door was thrust open violently and GuyTabarie rushed into the room, his great moon face sweating, his eyesbulging, his fringe of crimson locks flaming out from the eggshelldome of his bald head, his mighty belly swaying with a passion ofexcitement. 

"Friends!" he shrieked, at the top of his voice, "there's a fight atFat Margot's between two wenches. They are stripped to the waist andat it hammer and tongs. Come and see for the love of God!"

The whole band was afoot in an instant, clamantly agog. Guy Tabarieturned as he finished speaking and rushed through the open door intothe shining moonlit street. The rest trailed after him, wanderingstars in the tail of a dishonourable comet, shouting, screaming, laughing, pushing, panting, eager for the promised sport. 

"I'll crown the victor!" cried Montigny as he ran and "I'll consolethe vanquished!" shouted Jehan le Loup, as he brought up the rear ofthe road and vanished, clattering, into the night. Only Huguetteremained of all the fellowship, and she turned instinctively toVillon when he crouched over the dying fire. 

"Will you come, François?" she whispered softly. Villon lifted hishead for a moment from his hands to signify a refusal. 

"Nay, I am reading. "

Huguette blazed out at him a fierce "You lie!" which failed to movethe poet from his melancholy resolve. 

"A man may read without book, " he said. "Go your ways, girl, andskelp both the hussies!" He drooped into a dejected heap again, oblivious of the girl, who looked at him half sadly, half angrilyfor an instant, and then disappeared in her turn into the causeway, calling upon her knavish heralds to wait for her. 

Robin Turgis, shutting the door after her with a sigh ofsatisfaction, retired to his own quarters to seek sleep until customshould return. Louie and Tristan, deep in their cards, paid littleheed to anything else. 

"Your barber tarries, " Tristan said, after a panse. 

"The game makes amends, " Louis answered. 

"You are winning, sire, " Tristan grunted. The king chirrupedmerrily. 

"My grandsire will be remembered longer than most kings for the sakeof these wasters and winners that they made to soothe his madness. "

But even as he spoke his mirth faded, for a turn of Fortune gaveTristan an opportunity. 

"My game, sire!" he said, and swept the stakes into his pocket. 

The king fell into a frowning silence as Tristan dealt the cardsagain, and scrutinized his new hand with a sombre care, as if thefate of Empire depended upon it. Scarcely a sound disturbed theheavy quiet of the room. Master François Villon glooming in hissettle corner, sucked a long noiseless draught from his stolen jugand meditated drearily. Between wine and weariness his head wasbeginning to swim. His head felt as heavy as lead and his brain aslight and foolish as a wind-tumbled feather. Two women's facesdanced before his eyes, one proud and beautiful and young, the otherhumble and pitiful and old, and he tried his best to shut both ofthem out of his senses. Vaguely he tried to shape a ballade, a nobleballade in honour of all things good to eat. He had got at least anexcellent overword. "A dish of tripe's the best of all. " He mouthedthe line with a relish, but his eyes were seeing straws and hisstubbled chin scraped his breast. There came a click at the latch, but he did not heed it. He would scarcely have heeded a Burgundiancannon shot; he had drifted into a lumpish doze. And yet the way ofthe world depended, for him, upon that lift of a latch. 

CHAPTER III

THE COMING OF KATHERINE

The door opened and a woman entered the room, a woman closelymuffled after the fashion adopted by discreet ladies when theywalked abroad in Paris in the fifteenth century. She was followed byan armed serving-man to whom she turned and spoke in a whisper asshe paused upon the threshold. 

"You are sure this is the place?" she asked, and the man answered--

"Sure!"

"Wait outside!" the muffled lady commanded, and the servant with anobeisance stepped back into the street. The woman looked cautiouslyabout her, only her bright eye showing over the lifted fold of hercloak. Villon was hidden from her while he sat; there was no one inher view save the two men playing cards. She came cautiously forwardand touched Tristan, who was nearest to her, on the shoulder. Heswung round, with hooded face, to answer the challenge, and as hedid so Louis took advantage of his turned back to examine Tristan'shand, which he had laid upon the table, and to substitute a cardfrom his own hand for one of his adversary's. 

"Has Master François Villon been here to-night?" the woman asked. Her voice was full and sweet, and Tristan knew it well though helistened unmovably. She had lowered her cloak enough to allow him aglimpse of a young, lovely face, but he needed no, glimpse to assurehim. 

"Yonder he squats by the hearth, " he answered, masking his own voicewith hoarseness and jerking his thumb towards the settle. The girl'seyes followed the signal and saw for the first time the huddledfigure on the bench. "I thank you, " she said simply, and moved awayinto the background, her eyes fixed on the crouching form, herfingers clasped nervously, waiting an impatient patience uponresolution. 

Tristan leaned hurriedly over to the king. 

"Zounds, sire! do you know who that was?"

Louis, smiling at his adopted cards, answered carelessly, "Somebonaroba who took you for a gull, " but Tristan's nest words prickedhim from his indifference. 

"It was your majesty's kinswoman, the Lady Katherine de Vaucelles. "

The king rose cautiously to his feet. 

"Oh, ho, Oh, ho!" he chuckled. "Does lovely Katherine come to meetThibaut?"

"She seeks François Villon, sire. "

The king started. 

"Is she the girl he spoke of? Do we catch her tripping?"

Louis looked at the motionless figure of the girl, then his gazetravelled rapidly around the room. Behind him was a doorway. Soundlessly he opened it, saw that it gave on to a dark passage, motioned Tristan through it, bade him in a whisper to wait in thedarkness. As Tristan disappeared the girl seemed to make up her mindand moved slowly across the floor toward the dozing poet. The kingwatched her narrowly as he, too, began to move, skulking among theshadows along the wall. His goal was the distant space behind thesettle, where his cunning mind discerned a good listening place--forto listen was Louis' passion. The king's cread was cat-quiet--theking's breath was mouse-still; for a moment he paused at thestreet-door as if about to pass out, but seeing that he wasunnoticed he drifted unheeded through obscurity to his haven andnestled there just as the girl, bending forward, touched the sleeperfirmly on the shoulders and then drew back, defiantly abiding by hertemerity. 

Villon moved uneasily, as if resenting the interruption to hisslumbers that the firm touch had disturbed, and he grumbledsullenly, without looking up, "What is it?"

The woman bent towards him again and whispered "A word with you. "

Villon rose wearily to his feet, and as he did so the woman drewback towards the open centre of the room, which now appeared to herto be empty. Her nerves were too highly strung to note anythingsurprising in the disappearance of the two visitors. If she thoughtof them at all it was only to be glad that they had gone their waysand left the place so lonely. Villon followed her almostunconsciously, too sleepy for wonder. Suddenly the woman threw offthe folds that muffled her face and the vision that had haunted himflashed on his frightened eyes, the vision so proud, so beautifuland young. He crossed himself as he questioned in a voice thatsounded strangely alien to him, "Are you real?"

"Do I look like a ghost?" the fair woman answered. 

In an ecstasy of joy Villon fell on his knees as he seldom kneeledin prayer, while he gasped, "If this be a dream, pray Heaven I may never wake. "

The girl drew from her bosom a little piece of folded parchment andheld it out towards him. 

"You wrote me these verses. My elders tell me that poets say muchand mean little; that their oaths are like gingerbread, as hot andsweet in the mouth and as easily swallowed. 'Are you such a one?"

Villon rose to his feet. He knew that this exquisite presence wasflesh and biood; that her speech was human speech. He answered hervery gravely--

"My words are life. I love you!"

"Just because I show a smooth face?"

A great wave of rapture swept over the poet's soul and his brainseemed as busy with words as a hive with bees. He spoke slowly likea man inspired. 

"Because you are the loveliest she alive. If all my dreams ofloveliness had been pieced together into one perfect woman she wouldhave been like you. All my life I have read tales of love and triedto find their secret in the bright eyes about me--tried and failed. I might as well have been seeking for the Holy Grail. But when I sawyou the old Heaven and the old Earth seemed to shrivel away and Iknew what love might mean, and God-like desire and God-likesurrender. The world is changed by; your coming, all sweet tastesand fair colours and soft sounds have something of you in them. Ieat and drink, I see and hear in your honour. The people in thestreet are blessed because you have passed among them. That stone onthe ground is sacred, for your foot has touched it; or the dustybooth at the corner, which your sleeve has brushed in passing. Ilove you! All philosophy, all wisdom, religion, honour, manhood, hope, beauty lie in those words--I love you!"

The girl looked at him with wide eyes, quite fearless, muchastonished, as a brave maid might look at some wild beast of thewoods that came in her way. But the purport of his words seemed toplease her, for she answered him quickly and readily. 

"Well, I have come to you to put your protestations to the proof. Ifyou meant every word you said, every syllable, every letter, you canserve me well. If not, good-night and good-bye. "

And with these words she moved a little as if she were ready to sayfarewell to him then and there. Villon put forward an appealing handthat stayed her. 

"I wrote with my heart's blood, " he protested, and even a green girlcould not fail to read the truth in his voice. Now she came close tohim, speaking very low but very distinctly. 

"Listen. I am one of the Queen's ladies; Thibaut d'Aussigny, theGrand Constable of France, loves me a little and my broad landsmuch. He wills that I should marry him. He tried to force me to hiswill, to shame me to his pleasure, and so I hate him, and so shouldyou, for it was he who gave you your beating. "

Villon, who had been listening to her in wonder, started as if hehad been struck anew. 

"Oh, it was he?" he interrupted. The girl came a little closer, became a little more confidential. 

"He gave your rhymes to me and told me how you had been treated. When I read them I said--here, if a poet speaks truth, is the oneman in France who can help me. "

Villon drew himself back with a little shiver of intelligence. Thelumes of wine, the fumes of wonder were drifting away from him, leaving him face to face with naked, amazing reality. 

"Why not your yellow-haired, pink-faced lover?" he asked. Katherinefrowned disdain. 

"Noel le Jolys is a man many women might love, but I love no man; Ionly hate Thibaut d'Aussigny. Do you understand?"

"I begin to understand, " Villon answered, sadly. 

The girl came nearer to Villon. Her face was very pale in the dimlight, and a fleeting image of the moon in clouds teased his fancy. Her lips were as red, he thought, as the ruby of a bishop's ring, and her eyes out-starred Venus. So it was he who trembled and notthe maiden who was saying strange unmaiden-like words in a clear, steel-like whisper. 

"Kill Thibaut d'Aussigny. You are a skillful swordsman, they say. You are little better than an outlaw. You say you love me more thanlife. Kill Thibaut d'Aussigny!"

Villon looked at her queerly. To save his life he could not keep hisface from quivering. He was eating his heart and it tasted verybitter, and his own voice sounded far away to him, like a voiceheard in a dream. 

"So that you and Noel what's his name may live happily ever after?"

Katherine drew back from him, a little scorn in her eyes and on herlips. 

"Are you less eager to serve me than you were?"

The question struck him in the breast like the stroke of a sword. Heremembered his golden vows and his golden verses, and sickened athis shadow of disloyal doubt and anger. 

"No, by Heaven, but I've been dozing and dreaming, and I've got torub the sleep out of my eyes and the dream out of my heart. Tell mehow to serve you. "

She was reassured on the instant and neared him again confidently. 

"Thibaut d'Aussigny comes here to-night. He has come here before indisguise, for I have had him followed. I think he means to betraythe king to Burgundy, so you will serve France as well as me. How dosuch men as you kill each other?"

Villon looked at her ironically out of the corner of his eyes;answered her ironically out of the corner of his mouth. He sawhimself as she saw him, and was sadly entertained at the sight. 

"Generally in a drunken scuffle. Will you wait here till he comes, pretty lady, for I never saw him? Then leave the rest to me. "

Something in his voice, though it was firm and clear, seemed totouch the girl's ear more than any word he had yet uttered. A newcuriosity seemed to lurk in her eyes and there was almost a sound ofpity in her speech. 

"You love me very much?" she asked softly. Villon drew himself upproudly and answered her proudly. 

"With all the meaning that the word can have in Paradise. "

A faint shade of colour came into the woman's pale, pure cheeks. 

"You didn't expect to be taken at your word?"

Villon smiled brightly and his eyes were dancing, though his heartwas heavy enough. 

"I didn't hope to be, I will try to be worthy of the honour. "

The girl's eyes shone with wonder. 

"You love and laugh in the same breath, " she asserted. 

Villon made a deprecatory gesture with his hands, half in protest, half in approval. 

"That is my philosophy. "

This view of life seemed to astonish her not a little. She caughther breath for a moment, then suddenly glided close to him. 

"If you wish, " she said in an even whisper, "you may kiss me once. "

All the blood in the man's heart seemed to turn to fire and flameinto his face as he turned towards her, making as if he would takeher face in his hands and seal his soul upon her mouth. Then hesharply flung himself away from her. 

"Nay, I can fight and if needs must die in your quarrel, but if onceI touched your lips--that would make life too sweet to adventure. "

The woman's face had flushed a little at her offer: it now paledagain. 

"As you will, " she said, and as she spoke there came the noise ofshouting, singing and trampling feet outside. The poet dropped in amoment from the dizzy pinnacle of dreamland to the calm valley of acommonplace world. 

"These are my friends returning, " he said. "They mustn't see you. Come this way. " As he spoke he caught her hand and drew her acrossthe room to the stairs that led to the upper gallery. On the galleryhe bade her wait. 

"Here you can see without being seen. When he comes, show him to me. Then you can reach the street by this passage. "

Even as he spoke the main door was dashed open and the wild routfoamed into the room, bubbling with exhilaration, Huguette leapinglike a bubble on the eddies of their enthusiasm. Louis and Tristantook advantage of the confusion to emerge from their hiding placesand resume their seats at their table, "That was rare sport while it lasted, " Colin shouted. 

"It didn't last long enough, " Jehan yelled. 

"Things took a different turn when you came, Abbess, " Montigny said, patting the girl on the back approvingly. Huguette shook her longhair out of her eyes and laughed as she turned down her rolled-upsleeves. 

"I did as François bade me and basted both the jades. Wine, landlord, wine! My arms ache. "

Robin Turgis was prompt; flagons and pipkins rattled as the men andwomen gathered round their table and Renéwed their drinking anddicing with fresh zest from the scuffle they had just witnessed. GuyTabarie laughed one of his long fat laughs as he lingered overmemory's picture of the way Huguette had trussed and trounced eachof the amazons. "Lord, how they squeaked and wriggled!" he saidunctuously. 

Louis whispered to his companion. 

"Our mad poet may do me a good turn, Gossip Tristan. "

Even as he spoke the inn door opened and a man entered--a small man, plainly clad, with his hood about his face. He glanced about himanxiously till he caught sight of Louis and Tristan, for whom hemade immediately. Villon, craning over the balustrade, saw him andtouched the girl on the arm to call her attention to the new-comer. 

"Is that he?" he whispered. The girl shook her head. 

"No, no. Thibaut is a big man. Yet that figure seems familiar. "

The stranger came to the table and stooped between Louis andTristan. Louis looked up and grinned recognition of his barber, Olivier le Dain. 

"He is coming, sire, " Olivier said. 

"You are sure?"

"We dogged his footsteps all the way, till I slipped ahead. Here hecomes!"

With finger on lip Olivier glided through the door behind whichTristan had been concealed a few moments before. The king rubbed hishands and chuckled. Even Tristan looked pleased. 

CHAPTER IV

ENTER THIBAUT

Once again the door swung on its hinges admitting a very tall, powerful man, dressed like a common soldier, his brawny bulkpanoplied in steel and leather. He glanced about him as he entered, exchanged looks with René de Montigny and came down to the settle, where he flung his vast body with a clatter while he called to thelandlord in a bull's bellow to bring him some wine. 

Katherine leaning and looking gave a little gasp. "That is he!" shebreathed into Villon's ear. Villon gave an involuntary sigh, partlyindeed of satisfaction at the thought that his quarry was beforehim, a very vast and royal stag for a hunter's hand to threaten, butpartly too of exquisite regret. It had been very sweet to crouchthere in the darkness of the stairway so close to the one fair womanof all the world, to feel her breath upon his cheek, almost to hearher heart-beats, to know that once if only for once they were alonetogether and allied in a common purpose, to feel the touch of hersoft gown, to know that if he chose he could touch her hair with hisoutstretched hand. Those seconds of strange intimacy seemed to beworth all the rest of his life--and now they had come to an end. Nowhe had to show that he deserved them. "Good, " he said, and leavingher side he softly descended the stairs, crept cat-foot across thetavern floor and insinuated himself dexterously into the society ofhis friends, who were by this time far too mad and merry to show anysurprise at his sudden re-appearance, or to question whence he came. Only one of the fellowship was away from the board--René deMontigny, who had risen as soon as the soldier had taken his seat bythe fireplace, and had come down to greet him in a seeminglycareless, off-hand fashion. Villon dexterously moving from friend tofriend managed to niche himself by the back of the settle where hecould catch some of the words that passed between Montigny and thestranger, whose meeting was also the subject of unsuspected scrutinyon the part of the unassuming burgesses who sat apart and to whom noone now gave heed. 

"A fine evening, friend, " Montigny said affably. 

"Pretty fine for the time of year, " the soldier answered. "How isyour garden, friend?"

Montigny smiled whimsically. 

"Very salubrious, if it were not for the shooting stars. "

Then as the soldier stared at him he hastened to explain. 

"My quip. The shooting star was a Burgundian arrow a cloth-yard longwhich came winging its way over the walls at noon and made itself athome in my garden. Here is what the arrow carried. "

He pulled from his pouch a small piece of parchment folded andsealed, and handed it to the seeming soldier. The disguisedconstable took the missive and scanned it narrowly. 

"The seal has not been tampered with, " he said to himself. Rencaught him up with a noble gesture of indignation. 

"I never read other people's letters, " he protested. 

Thibaut shrugged his shoulders. 

"It would have profited you little if you had, " he said, as he brokethe seal and turning aside stooped a little to read by the faintfire light what the letter said. It was couched in words that seemedcommonplace enough, but Thibaut knew their secret meaning, knew thatthe Duke of Burgundy would do all that he asked, give him a duchy, give him the girl he coveted, all that he might ask for or lust forif he would only play the traitor and deliver Louis into the Duke ofBurgundy's hands. As this was precisely what Thibaut was resolved todo, a pleased smile played over his lips as he tossed the parchmentinto the glowing ashes and watched it wither into nothingness. Heturned to Montigny, who was watching him attentively. 

"Can you command some safe rogues of your kidney who think better ofBurgundian gold than of the fool on the throne?"

Montigny answered him behind his hand. "Aye. I know of half a dozenstout lads who would pilfer the king from his palace of the Louvreif they were paid well enough for the job, " and he jerked his thumbover his shoulder in the direction of his carousing comrades. Thibaut nodded approval. He thrust some gold into Montigny's readypalm, whispered to him to meet him again to-morrow, and as Montignyrejoined his friends he turned to leave the tavern. 

To his surprise he found himself confronted by Villon, who feigningintoxication barred his passage with an air of great hilarity. "Youwalk abroad late, honest soldier, " he hiccoughed. 

"That's my business, " Thibaut answered, trying to pass, but Villonstill delayed him. 

"Don't be testy. Come and crack a bottle. "

"I've had enough, and you've had more than enough, " Thibaut growled. "Go to bed!"

Villon's false good humour changed in a clap. 

"You're a damned uncivil fellow, soldier, and don't know how totreat a gentleman when you see one. "

Thibaut began to lose patience. 

"Get out of the way!" he said, and gave Villon a little push withhis open hand that made him stagger. Villon's voice rose to a yell. 

"I will not get out of the way! How do I know you are an honestsoldier? How do I know that you are a true man?"

As Villon's voice rose the altercation attracted the attention ofthe revellers. Montigny glided to Villon's side and whispered him. 

"Let him alone, François; he's not what he seems. "

"Seems! Who cares what he seems?" Villon shouted. "It's what he is Iwant to know. Perhaps he's not an honest soldier at all. Perhap'she's a damned Burgundian spy!"

Thibaut lifted his hand to crush Villon, but the poet's naked daggermenaced him and he paused. 

"Fling this drunken dog into the street, " he commanded angrily. Villon's friends snapped at him furiously. Villon flung back thephrase. 

"Drunken dog, indeed! You are a lying, ill-favoured knave! Keep thedoor, friends, this rogue has insulted me. Pluck out your iron, soldier!"

In a moment the whole pack were between Thibaut and the door, everywoman a fury, every man a fighter, every man with the exception ofRené de Montigny, who, dexterously disentangling himself from themass of his companions, made for the side door and slipped out of itunheeded in the confusion. It was his intention to alarm the watchand intervene for the protection of his powerful patron, and withthis purpose in his mind he disappeared into the darkness of thestreet and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. 

In the meantime the quarrel at the Fircone raged hotter. Thibaut, glaring at his enemies as a bull might glare at barking dogs, askedsavagely of the poet who was brandishing his sword:

"Who the devil are you?"

Villon flung has head back defiantly and flourished his sword. 

"I am François Villon, and my sword is as good as another man's. "

The moment the name fell on Thibaut's ears the giant gave a giant'slaugh. 

"Are you François Villon?" he thundered. "Lend me a cudgel, someone, " and he looked around as if seeking for the weapon he askedfor.. Villon snatched up a mug and flung the heel taps in thesoldier's face, spotting his cheeks with drops of crimson thattrickled on to his breast plate. With a choking cry of rage Thibautdragged his sword into the air. 

"You fool, " he hissed, "I'll kill you!"

"We shall see, " Villon answered gallantly, as he stood on guardalert and wary. 

For a moment the he-rascals and she-rascals held their breath. Thegreat figure in the shining steel seemed so to dominate the slightframe of their favourite that anything like an equal contest betweenthe two men seemed little less than ridiculous. What skill ofVillon's could hope to avail against the mighty sweep of that hugesoldier's weapon? Suddenly the swift spirit of Huguette solved theproblem. Springing forward with the delicate agility of a youngpanther, she poised, opinionative, between the opponents. 

"Fair play!" she screamed. "This is David and Goliath, " and as shespoke she pointed with one hand at Villon while with the other shestruck with her open palm a ringing blow on the cuirass of Villon'santagonist. "Let them fight it out with sword and lantern in thedark. "

A loud shout of applause greeted the girl's suggestion. Thatfantastic form of duello was not unfamiliar to the free companionsof the Court of Miracles, and Villon himself, eager as he was forthe combat, was keen enough to see how well this way might work forthe surety of his purpose. Skill, inches, tricks of fence, allthings were equal when men fought as shadows in shadowland. 

"What do you say, Goliath?" he laughed, and the grim face of Thibautsmiled responsive. 

"As you please, " he said, serenely confident in his strength andlength of arm. "It is all one to me. " Then suddenly looking round onthe leering, sullen faces about him, a wolfish girdle of ferocity, he caught back his agreement and held it for a moment. "On thiscondition, " he added. "When there is an end of you, there is an endof the quarrel. Your friends here must agree to that. "

Villon agreed on the instant. He was all for ridding the world ofThibaut, but he wanted to do it himself for the sake of the whitegirl crouching on the stairway. 

"I promise, " he said, "for myself and for them, " and turning to thegirl, he insisted, "Promise, Huguette; swear it!"

"I swear it, " Huguette answered. 

"That is settled, " said Villon. "Now, friends, make a ring and dowsethe glim. "

In another instant, the preparations for the combat were afoot, Robin Turgis, angrily protesting against the desecration of hisorderly hostelry and shouting wild words about summoning the watch, was promptly overpowered by Jehan le Loup, who forced him on to abench and kept him there with a dagger's point at his throat. Thewomen huddled, screaming and excited, on the stairway a little belowthe place where Katherine crouched, holding her breath and peepingthrough the railings. The men stood behind tables and on benches, while Casin Cholet and Colin de Cayeulx dived into the landlord'squarters and reappeared bearing each in his hand a lighted lantern. While these preparations were being hurried toward, Tristan, full ofalarm, leaned forward and plucked at the king's mantle. 

"This must be put a stop to, sire, " he whispered; but the king shookhis head with a grim smile of satisfaction. 

"On the contrary, gossip, " he answered, "whichever of these rascalskills the other, does the state a service and saves the hangman somelabour. "

Villon crossed the room and came close to where Thibaut waitedsullen. "I think I shall square our reckoning, Master Thibaut, " hewhispered. The giant stared at him. "You know me?" he gasped. "Yourvarlets thumped me yesterday, " Villon answered. "I shall tickle youto-day. Turn, turn about, friend Thibaut. "

Even as he spoke Guy Tabarie puffed out the last candle left alightin the room, which was plunged instantly into almost total darkness. Even the faint moonlight that had come through the window wasswiftly veiled by Huguette, who drew the crimson curtains closetogether. The dim light from the fire only seemed to accentuate andintensify the darkness through which the two lanterns burned, paleplanets of yellow fire, in the hands of Casin and Colin. Villonsnatched the one and Thibaut took the other. There was a moment ofintense silence; then the voice of Huguette cried out of theblackness: "Are you ready?"

Both combatants cried, "Yes!" in the same breath, and in the nextthe battle began. 

No stranger fight had ever been fought within those walls before, oreven perhaps within the walls of Paris. In the dense obscurity thetwo antagonists groped for each other, alternately guided andbaffled by the light of the lanterns, as their holder lifted hislight suddenly in the air or dexterously concealed it under the foldof his mantle. Every now and then the swords would meet with aclash, there would be a hurried exchange of thrust and blow, andthen the adversaries would drift back again to grope and gleam andseek each other anew, their lanterns flashing and disappearing likeaccentuated glow-worms, and their blades now shining in suddenillumination like streaks of blue lightning across the blackness andnow invisible even to those who held them in their hands. 

Tristan had in vain endeavoured to persuade the king to leave beforethe preliminaries for the fantastic strife had been completed, butLouis was firm in his determination to remain. 

"I would not miss this for the world, man, " he had insisted. All hischildlike delight in the adventurous was being sated to the fullthis evening, and there was no happier man at that moment in thekingdom than the man who by strange fortune was its king. 

The fight persisted for some minutes that seemed like hours to morethan one of the anxious spectators. Now the room would be steeped inthe deepest silence, and now, as the revealed lantern glowed and thenaked weapons met, some woman's scream or some man's suppressed oathwould fill the place with a sense of watching, eager humanity. 

Suddenly, when the tension of watcher and watched was keenest, therecame a mighty crashing at the door and a voice shouted loudly asummons to open in the king's name. 

Tristan knew well enough what the summons meant. "It is the watch, sire, " he whispered to the king. 

Thibaut too, groping for his nimble antagonist and beginning todespair of crushing the man, heard and understood the summons. Hewas tired of the baffling struggle. 

"Open the door!" he shouted noisily, and the cry stirred Villon to amore vehement assault. He sprang like a cat at the giant, flashedthe lantern dazzlingly in his eyes, and as Thibaut, furious, made awild lunge at him, Villon dexterously swung his lantern on to hisenemy's sword point and in another second had driven his own bladeinto Thibaut's side. 

"Not so fast, rat-catcher!" he shouted exultantly, and as Thibautfell with a heavy crash of rattling armour on the floor, the doorwas dashed open and the armed watch poured in with blazing torches, filling the room with light and armoured men. François, after amoment's glance of triumph at the fallen giant, sprang round andglanced up at the gallery. 

Katherine, standing, leaned over the balustrade and flung a knot ofribbon to her champion, who caught it as it skimmed through the air, pressed it to his lips and thrust it into the bosom of his jerkin. In another moment Katherine had disappeared and Villon found himselfroughly held in the strong grasp of two soldiers, while the captainof the watch surveyed the scene with some astonishment, and therogues were overawed by the bills of the new-comers. 

"What is this tumult?" the captain demanded. Villon answered himairily, smiling over the crossed pikes that penned him. 

"A fair fight, good captain, conducted according to the honourablelaws of sword and lantern. "

The captain of the watch turned his attention to Thibaut, who, assisted by one of the soldiers, had raised himself upon one elbowand was glaring vindictively at Villon. 

"Who is this man?" he asked. 

A desire for revenge got the better of the wounded man's discretion. 

"I am Thibaut d'Aussigny, " he gasped. "I am the Grand Constable. "

A little shiver of surprise and alarm ran round the room at thesound of that dreaded name. The captain of the watch kneeled insalutation. 

"Monseigneur, " he said, "how did this happen?" Thibaut's senses wererunning away from him with his running blood, but malignityovercrowed weakness for a moment. He pointed at Villon. "Take thatfellow and hang him on the nearest lantern, " and as he spoke heswooned. Promptly the captain turned towards his prisoner. "Takethat fellow outside and hang him, " he commanded curtly. Villonglanced wildly about for a way to escape and saw none. His friendsgave a groan of sympathy, but they could do no more, for thesoldiers overawed them. Huguette flung her arms about him, sobbing. The grasp of his captors tightened and Villon shivered at the clasp. Suddenly the little insignificant burgess at the table rose andadvanced towards the soldier. 

"Stop, sir, " he said imperatively. "That young gentleman is myaffair. " The soldier turned angrily upon the interfering citizen. 

"Who are you, " he growled, "who dare to interfere with the king'sjustice?"

The citizen pulled his heavy cap from his head and revealed thewrinkled, eager visage that was so well known and so well feared. 

"I am the king's justice, " he said simply, while Tristan behind himcried "God save the king!" and the astonished soldier bent the kneein homage. Villon, staring, dumfounded, caught the humour of thesituation and could not hold his tongue. 

"The king! Good Lord!" he said, and punctuated his comment with aprolonged whistle. 

CHAPTER V

THE VOICES OF THE STARS

Louis loved roses. All that was royal in his nature went out to theroyal flower; whatever desire of beauty lay hidden in his heartfound its gratification in its splendid colours, in its splendidodours. The Greeks believed that the red rose only came into beingon the fair day when Venus, seeing Ascanius slumbering on a bed ofwhite roses, pressed handsful of the blossoms to her lips, and thepale petals blushed into their crimson loveliness beneath the kissesof the goddess. Louis the Eleventh knew nothing of the legend, butthe red rose was his fancy and a corner of the royal garden wasdedicated to its service. In the oldest part of the palace, hard bythe grey and ancient tower where the king loved to out-watch thestars and to brood over strange wisdom, overlooked by a terracewhose very steps were littered with petals, the caressed earthglowed into a very miracle of roses. Every shade of red that a rosecan wear was represented in that dazzling pleasaunce, from the faintpink that surely the lips of divinity had scarcely brushed to thesmiling scarlet that suggested Aphrodite's mouth, from the imperialpurple of a Caesar's pomp to the crimson so deep that it was almostblack, black as the congealed blood on the torn thigh of Adonis. Here, when the stars eluded or deceived him, King Louis would come, creeping down the winding stairs of his tower, with the names ofsaints upon his thin lips, to breathe the sunlit or moonlitfragrance of his roses, to seek a little rest for his restless mind, a little quiet for his unquiet heart. 

On the morning after his visit to the Fircone Tavern King Louis satin his rose garden and snuffed the scented air with pleasure, whilehis keen eyes shifted from a scroll of parchment on his knee to theface of one who stood beside him, and spoke in a low voice, pointingas he spoke to marks and figures on the outspread parchment. Theking's companion was an old man in a furred gown, whose countenancewas seamed with years and study, and whose eyes seemed always to begazing at objects that others could not see. In his right hand heheld a large sphere of crystal, and whenever the king lapsed intosilent study of his scroll the sage would lift the shining globe andgaze into its glassy depths with an air of exaggerated wisdom. 

From one of these moments of abstraction the king suddenly lookedup, and immediately the astrologer's glance swung from the sphere tothe face of Louis. 

"You know the aspect of the planetary bodies, " said the king, "andyou know of the strange dream that I have dreamed three nightsrunning. "

The sage inclined his head gravely. The king had told him of thedream in all its particulars at least a dozen times that morning. Itseemed to be mixed up with the sunlight and the scent of the roses;to be a portion of the chorus of the birds. But he listened to thenarrative with the same air of surprised attention that he hadoffered to its first recital. 

"I dreamed that I was a swine rooting in the streets of Paris, andthat I found a pearl of great price in the gutter. I set it in mycrown and it filled all Paris with its light. But it seemed to growso heavy for my forehead that I cast it from me and would havetrodden it into the earth, but that a star fell from heaven andstayed me, and I awoke trembling. "

The king's nasal voice droned through the familiar repetition; thenhe suddenly turned his head with a kind of bird-like alacrity uponthe astrologer and asked sharply: "Well, what do you make of it?"

The astrologer shook his head. "The stars are bright, " he saidslowly, "but their brightness is bewildering to mortal eyes and itis hard to read between the lines of their effulgence. Dreams aredim, and it is difficult for mortal minds to interpret theirobscurity. "

The king frowned. "I know well enough, " he said, "that stars arebright and that dreams are dim, but your wisdom is clothed andhoused and nourished for deeper knowledge than this. Interpret mydream for France as Joseph interpreted the vision of the Egyptian. "

With an unmoved face the astrologer scanned the crystal. "Thus Iseem to read the riddle of your dream, sire, " he answered. "There isone in the depths who, if exalted to the heights, might do you greatservice and who yet might irk you so greatly that you would seek tocast him back again into the depths from which he rose. The starsseem to speak of such a coming, and, as it seems to me, thisstranger should have potent influence for good for a period of sevendays from this day. I have sought and sought in vain to seesomething of this man in the crystal. I only see confusedly greatcrowds of people, pageants and masques, and movings of manysoldiers, battle and bloodshed, and great victory for France--andthen a star falls from heaven and all the vision vanishes. "

The king was silent for a moment; then with an imperative gesture hedismissed the astrologer, who entered the tower and climbed thewinding stairs to the room where he pursued his occult studies. Theking walked restlessly up and down, indifferent to the roses, thinking only of the stars. 

"If François Villon were the king of France, " he muttered. "How thatmad ballad maker glowed last night. Fools are proverbiallyfortunate, and a mad man may save Paris for me as a mad maid savedFrance for my sire. "

A heavy tread behind him stirred him from his meditations. Turning, he beheld the companion of his adventure of the previous evening. 

"Well, Tristan?" he questioned apprehensively, for Tristan had theevil smile on his face which he always wore when he had news of anydisagreeable kind to impart. 

"The bird has flown, sire, " he said. "Thibaut d'Aussigny's wound wasmuch slighter than we thought last night. After we carried him tohis house, he made his escape thence in disguise, and has, as Ibelieve, fled from Paris to join the Duke of Burgundy. "

The king shrugged his shoulders indifferently. 

"I wish the duke joy of him, " he said. "He is more dangerous to myenemy when he is on my enemy's side. Where are the rascals of lastnight?"

"The tavern rabble are in custody of Messire Noel. "

"And my rival for royalty?"

"Barber Olivier has charge of him. I would have hanged the rogue outof hand. "

"Your turn will come, gossip, never doubt it. But the stars warn methat I need this rhyming ragamuffin. There is a tale of Haroun alRaschid--"

Tristan stifled a yawn and a sneer. "Another tale, sire, " he saidwith something like piteous protest, for the king's tales did notalways entertain Tristan. 

Louis went on, however, indifferent to his companion's feelings:

"How he picked a drunken rascal from the streets and took him to hispalace. When the rascal woke sober, the courtiers persuaded him thathe was the Caliph, and the Commander of the Faithful found greatsport in his behaviour. I promise myself a like diversion. "

Tristan stared in surprise. This form of entertainment was new tohim and did not seem to be particularly amusing. 

"Are you going to let him think he is king, sire?" he asked. 

A queer smile wrinkled the king's malign face. 

"Not quite, " he said. "When he wakes, he is to be assured that he isthe Count of Montcorbier and Grand Constable of France. His anticsmay amuse me, his lucky star may serve me, and his winning tonguemay help to avenge me on a certain froward maid, who disdained me. Send me here Olivier. "

Tristan bowed gravely and turned on his heel. In his heart he wasinclined to a kind of contempt for the monarch's humours. When therewas a chance of hanging a man, it seemed to him a waste of time toplay the fool in this fashion. The cat and mouse policy was neverTristan's way. He was ever for the dog's way with the rat. 

Louis resumed his restless walk with his hands folded behind him andhis head thrust forward as if he were scanning the ground for somelost object. His mind was busy revolving many thoughts. He knew verywell how precarious his position was, how unpopular he was with hispeople, how strong were the forces that the Duke of Burgundy hadarrayed against him, how little he could count upon the allegianceof the people of Paris if once the enemy were able to put a footwithin the walls of the capital city. He was very ambitious, he wasvery confident, he was very brave, and yet he felt that ambition, confidence and courage were not enough at that crisis to give histhrone support. The superstitious side of his nature turnedrestlessly to the unknown and his spirit dived into crystals orsoared among the spinning planets, struggling for occultenlightenment. To the superstitious, trifles are the giants ofdestiny, and the king's escapade of the previous evening had taken afirm hold on his fancy. The picturesque blackguard who had mouthedso gallantly his desire to reign over France and save her would inany case have tickled the king's taste for the eccentric, but whenthe encounter with the poet came upon the heels of the king'sstrange dream and was followed by the vague prognostications of thestar-gazer, the business loomed majestic in his eyes. He had alwaysbefore his mind the memory of the radiant, saintly maiden who hadcome like a messenger from heaven to help his father when hisfather's fortunes seemed to be in the very dust, and it was in allseriousness that he permitted himself to hope and almost to believethat some such succour might be vouchsafed him from the fantasticrhymester who had so lately hectored him in tho Fircone Tavern. Asthe king lifted his eyes a fairer form than that of Villon's wasimpressed upon his consciousness and yet the sight only served tostrengthen the current of the king's thoughts. 

A very beautiful girl, tall, stately, imperious, was coming down oneof the roseways with her arms full of the great crimson blossoms. Ifthe king had been a scholar in the learning of the Greeks he wouldhave compared the girl to some one of the glorious goddesses of theHellenic Pantheon. As it was, he was merely aware in a fierce waythat the girl was very beautiful, that her beauty appealed to himvery keenly, and stirred in him a keen sense of resentment at hisslighted homage. This girl, whom Thibaut d'Aussigny wanted to marry, this girl whom the king coveted, this girl whom the mad poetworshipped, what part would she play in the fantastic comedy whichwas gradually shaping itself in the distorted mind of Louis?Katherine de Vaucelles saw the king, and dropped him a statelycurtsey. 

"Where are you going, girl?" Louis asked. 

She answered quietly, "To her majesty, sire, who bade me gatherroses. "

"Give me one, " said the king, and then as the girl handed him one ofthe longest and reddest of her splendid cargo, the king lightlyswaying the flower, brushed the girl's flower face with it andsurveyed her mockingly. 

"You are a pretty child, " he said. "You might have had a king'slove. Well, well, you were a fool. Does not Thibaut d'Aussigny wooyou?"

"He professes to love me, sire, and I profess to hate him. "

"He was sorely wounded last night in a tavern scuffle. "

The girl gave a little cry of disappointment. 

"Only wounded, sire?"

The king laughed heartily. 

"Your solicitude is adorable. Be of cheer. He may recover. And wehave clapped hands on his assassin. He shall pay the penalty. "

Katherine drew a little nearer to the king. Her eyes were veryeager, and there was eagerness in the tones of her voice. 

"Sire, I bear this man no malice for hurting Thibaut d'Aussigny. "

"You are clemency itself. It would never do to have a woman on thethrone. But to hurt a great lord is to hurt the whole body politic. He shall swing for it. "

The girl frowned slightly. 

"This man should not die, sire. Thibaut was a traitor, a villain--"

Louis' mirth deepened but he kept the gravity of his speech. 

"Take care, sweeting, lest you wade out of your depth. But you womenare fountains of compassion. If this knave's life interests you, plead for it to my lord the Grand Constable. "

The girl made a gesture of despair. 

"Thibaut is pitiless, " she said. Her mouth hardened as she thoughtof the man she hated and of her own failure to thrust him from herpath, but it softened again on the next words of the king. 

"Thibaut is no longer in office. Try your luck with his successor. "

She leaned forward beseechingly. 

"His name, sire?"

Louis looked at her thoughtfully. 

"He is the Count of Montcorbier, " he said. "He is a stranger in ourcourt, but he has found a lodging in my heart. He came under safeconduct from the South last night. He is recommended to me highly byour brother of Provence. I believe he will serve me well, and I amsure he will always be lenient to loveliness. "

The king smiled affably as the ready lies slipped smoothly from hislips. He was amusing himself immensely with the threads of the fairytale he was spinning. 

"You shall have audience with him. " The king paused. He caught sighton the steps of the dark familiar figure of the royal barber, whowas approaching him deferentially. He called to him:

"Olivier, by and by, when my Lord of Montcorbier takes the air inthe garden, bring this lady to him. You understand?"

He turned to Katherine again and once more tickled her chin with theswaying rose. 

"Now, go, girl, or my wife and your queen will be wanting herroses. "

Katherine again saluted the king and went slowly up the steps intothe palace. Louis watched her as she went, watched her until she wasout of sight, and then turned sharply upon his servant. 

"Well, goodman barber, what of François Villon?"

"A pot of drugged wine last night sent him to sleep in a prison. This morning he woke in a palace, lapped in the linen of a royalbed. He has been washed and barbered, sumptuously dressed and rarelyperfumed. He is so changed that his dearest friend would not knowhim again. He does not seem to know himself. He carries himself asif he had been a courtier all his days. "

The king chuckled. 

"I have little doubt that when the jackass wore the lion's skin hethought himself the lion. But is he not amazed?"

"Too much amazed, sire, to betray amazement. His attendants assurehim, with the gravest faces, that he is the Grand Constable ofFrance. I believe he thinks himself in a dream, and, finding thedream delicate, accepts it. "

"Remember, " said Louis, "to keep to the tale. This fellow came herefrom Provence last night. None must know who he is save you and Iand Tristan. Blow it about to all the court that he is the Count ofMontcorbier, the favourite of our brother of Provence, and now myfriend and counsellor. I have a liking for you, Olivier, as youknow, and Tristan and I are very good friends, but neither of yourheads are safe on their shoulders if this sport of mine be spoiledby indiscretions. "

Olivier bowed deeply. 

"I cannot speak for Tristan, sire, " he said, "but I can speak formyself. The God Harpocrates is not more symbolical of silence than Iwhen it is my business to hold my tongue. "

"It is well, " said Louis. "I will answer for Tristan. Have thisfellow sent to me here. "

With another reverence Olivier left the king and ascended the stepsinto the palace. The king sniffed pensively at the rose whichKatherine had given to him. The perfume seemed to sooth him and hemused, sunning himself and feeding his fancy with the entertainmentwhich playing with the lives of others always afforded to him. 

"This Jack and Jill shall dance to my whimsy like dolls upon a wire. It would be rare sport if Mistress Katherine disdained Louis todecline upon this beggar. He shall hang for mocking me. But hecarried himself like a king for all his tatters and patches, and heshall taste of splendour. "

Glancing up at the terrace he perceived the returning figure ofOlivier le Dain, and guessed that his henchman was serving as heraldto the new Grand Constable. Behind Olivier came a little cluster ofpages, and behind them again the king could see a shining figure incloth of gold. 

"Here comes my mountebank, " he said to himself, "as pompous as if hewere born to the purple. " He moved swiftly to the door of the towerand entered it, disappearing as the little procession descended thesteps into the Rose Garden. There was a little grating in the doorof the tower, a little grating with a sliding shutter, and throughthis grating the king now peered with infinite entertainment at theprogress of the comedy himself had planned. Olivier had spoken trulywhen he said that Master Villon had been greatly changed. Thebarber's own handiwork had so cleansed and shaved his countenance, had so trimmed and readjusted his locks that his face now shone asdifferent from the face of the tavern-haunter as the face of themoon shines from the face of a lantern. He was as sumptuouslyattired as if he were a prince of the blood royal: the noonday sunseemed to take fresh lustre from his suit of cloth of gold, the airto be enriched by his perfume, the world to be vastly the better forhis furs and jewels. Though it was plain that the tricked-out poetwas in a desperate dilemma he managed to bear himself with a dignitythat consorted royally with his pomp. Olivier bowed low to thefigure in cloth of gold. 

"Will your dignity deign to linger awhile in this rose arbour?" heasked. 

The gentleman in cloth of gold looked at him in wonder. In truth, the gentleman in cloth of gold was in a very bewildered frame ofmind. He had seen but now a clean and smooth-shaven face in themirror, with elegantly trimmed hair, and he tried to associate theimage in the mirror with his own familiar face, unwashed, unkempt, unshaven. He eyed the splendid clothes that covered him and hismemory fumbled in perplexity over the horrors of a dingy, filthywardrobe, ragged, wine-stained and ancient. He looked at the solemnpages who stood about him with golden cups and golden flagons intheir hands, and he tried to remember how he had escaped from thesociety of Master Robin Turgis into this gilded environment. Hishead ached with the endeavour and he abandoned it. Olivier repeatedhis question, and at last Villon found words, though his voicesounded strange and hollow on his ears, and hard to command. 

"My dignity will deign to do anything you suggest, good masterBlackamoor, " he answered, but to his heart he whispered that it wasbetter to humour these strange satellites whose persons he found itimpossible to reconcile with any memories of the real world as heknew it. The barber bowed deferentially. 

"I shall have to trouble you presently with certain small cares ofstate, " he said. 

Villon beamed on him benignly. He was wondering what hisinterlocutor was talking about, but he felt that it was the courseof the wise man to betray no wonder. The conditions were, indeed, bewildering, but also they were not disagreeable, and it was as wellto take them cheerfully. 

"No trouble, excellent myrmidon, " he answered. "These duties arepleasures to your true man. "

Olivier bowed anew. 

"His majesty will probably honour you with his company later. "

Villon beamed again, and again his wonder found words which seemedto him to make the most and the best of the situation. Perhaps inthis singular region of dreams he was the king's man and the king'sfriend. At least it could do no harm to assume such friendship whenhis solemn companion seemed to take it for granted. 

"Always delighted to see dear Louis. He and I are very good friends. People say hard things of him, but believe me, they don't know him. "

He was trying his best to piece together the disordered fragments ofhis memory and to explain to himself how it came to pass that he wason terms of friendship with the king. His head was dizzy and heavyand he felt like a man in a dark room who was groping to find thedoor handle. The voice of the barber interrupted these mentalstruggles. 

"May we take our leave, monseigneur?"

Villon's face lighted. He felt that it would be pleasanter for himto be alone while he was attempting to regain control of hisfaculties, more especially as he noted that the pages had placedtheir golden cups and flagons on the marble table and that hisinstinct assured him that these precious vessels sheltered no lessprecious wine. 

"You may, you may, " he assented, and then as the barber made todepart, Villon's mood changed and he caught him by the sleeve anddrew him confidentially toward him. 

"Stay one moment, " he murmured. "You know this plaguy memory ofmine--what a forgetful fellow I am. Would you mind telling me againwho I happen to be?"

No look of surprise stirred the barber's face; there came no changein his extreme complaisance. 

"You are the Count of Montcorbier, monseigneur, " he answered, gravely. "You have just arrived in Paris from the Court of Provence, where you stood in high favour with the king of that country, butyour favour is, I believe, greater with the King of France, for hehas been pleased to make you Grand Constable. It is his majesty'swish that you contrive to remember this. "

Villon laughed a laugh which he tried hard to make hearty andnatural, but with indifferent success. 

"Of course, it was most foolish of me to forget. I suppose, goodmaster Long-toes, that a person in my exalted rank has a good dealof power, influence, authority, and what not?"

"With the king's favour, you are the first man in the realm. "

Villon gave a gasp of gratification. The dream was growing in glory. 

"Quite so. And does my exalted position carry with it any agreeableperquisite in the way of pocket money?"

"If you will dip your finger in your pouch--" Olivier suggested, pointing a thin forefinger at Villon's jewelled belt. 

Villon thrust his fingers into the pocket that hung from it andbrought them out again loaded with great golden coins, bright andclear from the mint, that gleamed joyously in the sunlight. He gavea little cry of delight as he let them run in a shining stream fromhollowed hand to hollowed hand, and contemplated their jingle andglitter with the delight of a new Midas. But the first thought thatwelled up in his heart to welcome this strange wealth was bravelyunselfish. 

"Gold counters, on my honour. Dear drops from the divine stream ofPactolus. Good sir, will you straightway despatch some one you cantrust with a handful of these broad pieces to the Church of theCelestins and inquire of the beadle there for the dwelling of MotherVillon, a poor old woman, sorely plagued with a scapegrace son? Lethim seek her out--she dwells in the seventh story and therefore thenearer to the Heaven she deserves--and give her these coins that shemay buy herself food, clothes and firing. "

He was too confused to reason clearly with his situation, but hefelt sure that whoever he was and wherever he was in this amazingdream of his, the poor old woman whom he loved so well must needs bein it and might benefit by this gift of fairy gold. 

Olivier bowed deferentially. 

"It shall be done, " he said, transferring the great gold discs tohis own pocket. Then pointing to a small golden bell which one ofthe pages had placed upon the table, he added, "If there be anythingyour dignity should desire, he has only to strike upon this bell. "

"You are very good, " Villon responded solemnly, and on the phraseOlivier and the pages withdrew into the palace with every sign ofthe most profound respect. The king at his peep-hole was pleased toobserve that his commands were being obeyed most strictly and thatno hint of any secret mirth, no obvious consciousness of a hiddenjoke marred for one moment the monumental gravity of the parts whichOlivier and the pages had to play. 

As soon as Villon found himself alone he looked cautiously aroundhim, comprehending in his astonished glance the grey walls of thepalace, the moss-grown terrace, the petal-strewn steps, the old, stern tower with its ominous sun dial, and the wealth of wonderfulroses all about him, making the air a very paradise of exquisitecolours and exquisite odours. He shut his eyes for a few seconds andthen opened them sharply as if expecting to find that the scene hadvanished shadow-like into thin impalpable air, but castle andterrace, tower and roses remained as they had been, very plain tothe poet's astonished senses. Tiptoeing cautiously across the grass, he reached a marble seat which stood beneath a bower of roses andseemed to be protected by a great terminal statue of the god Pan, which had been given as a present to Louis by an Eastern prince whohad carried it from Athens. Pressing his hand to his forehead, Villon tried to recall the events of the evening before, which forsome fantastic reason seemed to lie long centuries behind him. Hecould remember dimly an evil looking cell with straw upon the floorand chains upon the walls; he could recall the sullen faces ofunfriendly gaolers. One of these gaolers he remembered had thrust amug of wine into his hand and bade him drink surlily, and he haddrunk greedily, as was his way when free drink was offered to him, and drinking, drank oblivion sudden and complete. 

But why he had gone to a dungeon? His senses ached as he askedhimself this, and faint pictures began to piece themselves togetherout of the episodes of the dead night. He saw again the squalidwalls of the Fircone Tavern and his mind jumped back to hisrecitation of the ballad and his fierce sense of indignation at thehumiliation of Paris, girdled by a wall of hostile Burgundians andgoverned by an impotent king. Then came the vision of an angel'svisit and a prayer that had more of devil than angel in it, and thencame a quarrel, and a fight in darkness shattered by the flamingtorches of the watch and Thibaut's huge body lying on the ground ahuddled heap of shining armour. He remembered the ribbon that hadbeen flung to him from the gallery and thrust his hand into thebosom of his vest of cloth of gold and found the token there, itsglossiness of white and gold soiled by its touch of the floor. Thencame his capture, his contumelious march through the gloomy streets, his taste of an unknown prison, his taste of poppied wine, and thensleep. 

His next consciousness was that he was lying on a soft bed insteadof on a truss of straw, and that the darkness about him was not thedarkness of the cell. Suddenly someone drew a curtain and in asecond the place where he lay filled with a soft light and showedthat to Villon which astonished him as much as if the gates ofParadise had parted before him and shown him the shining lines ofthe hosts of Heaven. He remembered that he was lying in a statelybed, nestled in snowy linen beneath a coverlet of crimson silk. Heremembered that the bed stood in a gorgeous room, heavy withmagnificent tapestry and roofed with a carved and painted ceilingthat glittered with gilt and stars. Curtains of purple velvetadmitted the daylight through windows on which rich armorialbearings glowed in coloured glass. Soft and delicate odoursimpregnated the atmosphere and tender strains of delicate musicstole wooingly on the senses from the strings of a distant lute. 

Then there carne, so kindly memory assured him, an obsequious man inblack, with no less obsequious attendants, and singular ceremoniesof bathing, perfuming and hair dressing and a putting on of sweetlinen and furred raiment and jewels, and all the ceremonials for thetransfiguration of a ragged robin into the likeness of a mightylord. On the top of all this preparation rose the sun of a splendidbanquet, served in ware of gold and silver and waited on by the sameobsequious figure in black and the same respectful pages. Thenfollowed the summons to walk into the air, the procession throughquiet corridors on to the cool grey terrace and the finalinstallment in the scented solitude of the rose garden. Villon washead-sick and heart-sick with the effort to put so much of the pasttogether. He felt as if in some strange titanic way he had ruined aworld and was suddenly called upon by Providence to piece thefragments together and make all whole again. He tapped his foreheadwonderingly. 

"Last night I was a red-handed outlaw, sleeping on the straw of adungeon. To-day I wake in a royal bed and my varlets call memonseigneur. There are but three ways of explaining this singularsituation. Either I am drunk or I am mad or I am dreaming. If I amdrunk, I shall never distinguish Bordeaux Wine from Burgundy--amelancholy dilemma. Let's test it. "

The marble table stood but a little way from him. The golden vesselsthat stood upon it had served him at that morning meal which wasstill an immediate excellent memory, and he remembered how hisattendants had told him that one held wine of Bordeaux and one wineof Burgundy. He rose and crept across the soft grass to the tableand lifted one of the golden flagons gingerly, sniffed at itfearfully and poured some of its contents carefully into a goldengoblet. Lifting it cautiously to his lips, he tasted it judiciously. A ripe, warm, royal flavour rewarded him. 

"By Heaven!" he cried; "no nobler juice ever rippled from Burgundianvineyards. "

He drained the cup and set it down to fill another from thecompanion vessel and to repeat the ceremony of sniffing, tasting andswallowing. Again the desire of his palate was pleased and pacified. He reflected as he sipped and swallowed. 

"This quintessence of crushed violets ripened no otherwhere than inthe valleys of Bordeaux. Ergo, I am not drunk. I do not think I ammad, neither, for I know in my heart that I am poor François Villon, penniless Master of Arts, and no will o' the wisp Grand Constable. Then I am dreaming, fast asleep in the chimney corner of the FirconeTavern, having finished that flask I filched, and everything sincethen has been and is a dream. The coming of Katherine, a dream. Myfight with Thibaut d'Aussigny, a dream. Then the king--popping upat the last moment, like a Jack-in-the-Box--a dream. These clothes, these servants, this garden--dreams, dreams, dreams. I shall wakepresently and be devilish cold and devilish hungry, and devilishshabby. But in the meantime, these dream liquors make gooddrinking. "

He was about to fill himself another cup when a shadow fell at hisfeet, the shadow of Olivier le Dain standing before him with his airof emphasized respect, which was beginning to pall upon thetransfigured poet. 

"Your dignity will forgive me, but it is the king's wish you shouldpass judgment on certain prisoners. "

Villon stared at him. 

"I? And here?"

"Such is the king's pleasure. "

"What prisoners?"

"Certain rogues and vagabonds, mankind and womankind, taken brawlingin the Fircone Tavern last night. "

Villon stroked his chin thoughtfully. An idea seemed to take commandof his confused mind. Here was a chance to learn something of thereality that lay at the core of all this mystery of roses and wineand fine raiment. He leaned forward curiously and almost whisperedto the attendant barber, "Tell me, is Master François Villon, Master of Arts, rhymer at hisbest, vagabond at his worst, ne'er-do-well at all seasons, andscapegrace in all moods, among them?"

Olivier smiled complacently as those in office are accustomed tosmile at the humours of great men. 

"Your dignity is pleased to jest. Shall I send you the prisoners?"Villon caught at the offer sharply. 

"Can I do with them as I wish?"

"Absolutely as you wish. Such is the king's will. "

Villon leaned back in resigned surrender to an astonishingsituation. He had dreamed strange dreams in his days and nights, butnever a dream like this dream. 

"Set a thief to try a thief, " he philosophized, "Well, bring themin. "

Olivier bowed and disappeared silently along the rose alley by whichhe had come. When he was alone again Villon slapped his foreheadresoundingly, as if he hoped to scare his senses back into sanity byviolent assault. 

"Oh, my poor head, " he moaned. "Am I awake? Am I asleep? What anembroglio!"

A sense of dislike to his respectful attendant surged up through hisperplexity. "That damned fellow in black is confoundedlyobsequious, " he muttered. "I wonder if I could order him to behanged; he has a hanging face. "

Even as this kind reflection came into his head, his meditationswere disturbed by the tramp of many feet and the rattle and clank ofweapons, and a small company of soldiers came wheeling round intothe rose garden from the side of the palace, guarding a number ofmen and women, in whom Villon instantly recognized his familiarfriends of the Fircone Tavern. At the head of the soldiers marched adapper gentleman, courtier-soldier or soldier-courtier, a thing ofsilk and steel, half dandy, half man-at-arms, exquisitely attiredand flagrantly aware of his own attractions. He, too, was familiarto the poet, for he was no other than the pink and white gentlemanwhom he had seen acting as escort to Katherine on the day when hefirst beheld her, and whose name, as he had learned on the previousevening from Katherine's own lips, was Noel le Jolys. 

"The puppet who dangles after my lady, " he grumbled to himself. "Hejars the dream. "

Villon felt profoundly sorry for his imprisoned playfellows, andprofoundly hostile to the pink and white gentleman. His friendslooked so wretched, so woebegone, so bedraggled, while their captorlooked so point-device and self-satisfied that Villon felt a fierceindignation burn within him over the injustices of the world. 

"How hang-dog my poor devils look and how dirty, " he thought tohimself, as the soldiers ranged their prisoners in a line before himat the base of the terrace, and their prinked and fragrant captaincame trippingly forward and saluted Villon, presenting to him at thesame time a piece of paper, covered with writing. 

"My lord, " he said, dapperly, "here are the names of these nightbirds. "

Villon took the paper and looked straightly into the young man'seyes. 

"Have we ever met before?" he asked. 

Noel le Jolys made a deprecatory gesture. 

"Alas! no, " he said. "Your lordship has swept into court like anunheralded comet. You shall tell us tales of Provence to please ourladies. "

Still gravely looking at him, Villon questioned him again. 

"Messire Noel, if you and I had a mind to pluck the same rose fromthis garden, which of us would win?"

The affable fribble's intelligence appeared to be baffled. 

"I do not understand you, " he protested. 

Villon shrugged his shoulders. "Never mind, " he said, seatinghimself again on the marble seat and looking at the familiar nameson the piece of paper. 

"Send me hither René de Montigny. "

He was fairly convinced by this time that he was not wandering inthe labyrinths of a dream, that he really was awake, but that forsome reason which he was unable to fathom, he had been thusstrangely transmuted into the semblance of splendour and authority. 

"The popinjay fails to recognize me, " he said to himself; "so may mybullies, " and as he thought, René de Montigny was pushed forward bya couple of soldiers and stood sullenly defiant before him. 

Villon leaned forward, oddly interested in the grotesque turn ofthings which put him in this position with his old companion andfellow-scamp. 

"You are--" he questioned. 

Montigny answered angrily, "René de Montigny, of gentle blood, fallen on ungentle days. "

"Through no fault of your own, of course?"

"As your grace surmises, through no fault of my own. I am poor, but, I thank my stars, I am honest. "

This remark, which was made aloud for the benefit of all and sundry, provoked a roar of laughter from Guy Tabarie which was promptlyconverted into a groan as an indignant soldier smote him intosilence by a lusty blow on the back. Villon caught him up on theassertion. 

"Since when, sir? Since last night?"

"I do not understand your grace. "

"When Jason was a farmer in Colchis he sowed dragons' teeth andreaped soldiers. What do you grow in your garden, Sire de Montigny?"

Montigny gave a little start of surprise but his answer came prompt. 

"Cabbages. "

Villon shook his head. "Arrows, Master René, Burgundian arrows, mostcondemnable vegetables. Have a care! 'Tis a pestilent crop and maypoison the gardener. Stand aside. "

René de Montigny stared at his interlocutor in a paroxysm ofamazement. Here was his dearest secret loose on the lips of hisquestioner. It was the first time that he had ventured boldly togaze into the face of authority and Villon returned his gazedefiantly. But there was no recognition in Montigny's eyes. He couldsee nothing in common between the splendid gentleman who nowaddressed him and the ragged rhymester who shared so many squalidadventures with him, and in an instant he averted his headrespectfully. 

"If your grace will deign, " he pleaded, stretching out his hands inentreaty, but Villon was inexorable. 

"Stand aside, " he repeated, and Montigny protesting was dragged backto his place with his fellows while Villon read the name of the nextrogue on the list, which happened to be that of Guy Tabarie. 

By this time Villon's spirit had entered into a very completeappreciation of the humours of the situation. Having realized thathis identity was safe even from the keen eyes of René de Montigny, he felt assured that he might defy the indifferent scrutiny of hisless alert companions. And though he made use of the long pendantfold of his cap to conceal in some measure his countenance, he wasnow so confident of his safety that he was prepared to greet eachprisoner with composure. 

Guy Tabarie cut a piteous figure as he tottered across the grass, rudely propelled by the violence of the soldier who escorted himtweaking him by the ear, and fell, a quaking mountain of flesh, atthe feet of the man whom he believed to be the Grand Constable ofFrance. With piteous gesticulations and trembling fingers, the red, gross man knelt and attempted to plead for mercy. Villon eyed himsternly though he found it hard to restrain his laughter. 

"You come with clean hands?" he asked, and Guy, answered, babbling, his words tumbling from him, incoherent and confused, holding outhis huge paws like a schoolboy reproved for want of soap and water:

"As decent a lad, my lord, as ever kept body and soul together bywalking on the straight and narrow path that leads to--"

He had stuttered thus far when Villon interrupted him. 

"The gallows, Master Tabarie. "

Guy's bulk quivered in piteous negation. 

"No, no; I have the fear of God in me as strong as any man inParis. "

Villon leaned over a little nearer to his victim and breathed aquestion into his ear:

"Do you know the Church of St. Maturin, Master Tabarie?"

The little pig-like eyes of Tabarie widened in surprise and hestammered a "No, my lord, " that was in itself a flagrant confessionof shameful knowledge. Villon wagged his head wisely. 

"Master Tabarie, Master Tabarie, your memory is failing you. Why, nolater than the middle of March last you broke into the church atdead of night and pilfered the gold plate from the altar. The fearof God is not very strong in you. "

If Master Tabarie had been listening to the words of a wizard, hecould not have been more astonished. 

"Saints and angels!" he cried aloud. "This Grand Constable is thedevil himself! My lord, I was led astray; my lord, I was notalone--"

Villon had had enough entertainment from his fat companion. 

He made a sign, and instantly a soldier swooped upon the grovellingfigure, twitched him to his feet and drew him apart, stutteringfurious protestations of innocence. 

Villon looked at the list in his hand, and this time he called fortwo names, "Colin de Cayeulx and Casin Cholet, " and as he spoke, thetwo knaves were pushed forward towards him. Villon drew the pair alittle way apart and stood between them, eyeing their roguish faceson which false affability struggled with a very real fear. 

"Are you good citizens, sirs?" he asked, and Colin immediatelyanswered him:

"I am loath to sing my own praises, but I can speak frankly for myfriend here. The king has no better subject, and Paris no morepeaceable burgess than Casin Cholet. "

As he spoke he waved Casin Cholet a warm salutation, and Choletresponded to his praises with a friendly grin and yet more friendlywords:

"If I have any poor merits, I owe them all to this good gentleman'sexample. I have followed his lead, halting and humble. 'Keep youreye on Colin de Cayeulx, ' I have ever said to myself, 'and learn howa good man lives. '"

The two men leered at each other across Villon, hoping that theirpraises of each other might have due effect upon the great lord whoseemed so condescending to them. Villon smiled. 

"You are the Castor and Pollux of purity? Do you remember the nightof last Shrove Tuesday and the girl you carried off to Fat Margot'sand held to ransom?"

The effect of his words upon the two men was startling. The uglyepisode loomed up in their memories and they shivered to find itknown. In a second the simulated friendship of bandit for banditvanished and the two men glared at each other with the ferocity offighting dogs as they hurled accusation and denial at each other:

"That was Colin's adventure!"

"That was Casin's enterprise!"

"I deplored it. "

"I had no hand in it. "

Forgetting their respect for authority in the fury of theirantagonism, they struck angrily at each other across theirquestioner and were for grappling in close combat when Villon made asignal and they, in their turn, were dragged back raging into theranks of their fellow prisoners. 

There was only one left now--Jehan le Loup--who stood with foldedarms and lowering brows, surveying the efforts of hiscomrades.. Villon made a sign, and the man was dragged into hispresence. Villon clapped him on the shoulder. 

"You seem a brisk, assured fellow for a man in duress. "

The friendly demeanour of the great man cheered the prisoner and heanswered bluffly:

"My good conscience sustains me. "

Villon's demeanour was still amicable as he put his next question ina voice that came only to Jeban's ears. 

"I am glad to hear it. How did Thevenin Pensete come to his death?"

The muscles of Jehan le Loup's face twitched for a moment, but heclinched his fingers tightly to restrain himself and answered with asurly impassability, "How should I know, my lord?"

Villon drew him nearer and spoke lower still. 

"Who better? That nasty quarrel over the cards, the high words and asnatch for the winnings, a tilted table, an extinguished taper, astab in the dark and a groan. Exit Thevenin Pensete. Your daggerdoesn't grow rusty!"

Jehan's grey face grew greyer and uglier, but he kept hiscountenance. 

"Monseigneur, " he answered, "I loved him like a brother. "

"As Cain loved Abel, " Villon said. He made a sign, and Jehan le Loupwas taken back to his fellows. 

So far Villon had been sufficiently diverted. He had played upon theterrors of his friends, he had bewildered them to the top of hisdesire. He now foresaw the possibility of sport more delicate as hisglance fell upon the group of girls who clustered together likefrightened birds at the foot of the statue of Pan. He made a sign toMessire Noel, and the gilded exquisite drew near. 

"Bring me hither those four gentlewomen, " he commanded. 

The fop's face lengthened with amazed disapprobation. 

"Gentlewomen, messire? Those four doxies?"

Villon reproved him. 

"They are women, good captain, and you and I are gentlemen, orshould be, and must use them gently. "

Messire Noel frowned and his hand made a gesture in the direction ofhis sword-hilt; then he remembered the folly of quarrelling with sogreat a man and contented himself with shrugging his shoulders as hequestioned, "And the demirep in the doublet and hose?"

"Let her stay for the present, " Villon answered, and in obedience toa sign from Noel the four girls came timidly forward with downcasteyes, while Huguette remained apart, leaning composedly against theimage of Pan and surveying the scene with a good-humouredindifference. 

When the girls were close to him, Villon spoke:

"Well, young ladies, what is this trade of yours that has broughtyou into trouble?"

Jehanneton dropped a curtsey. 

"I make the caps that line helmets. "

Isabeau followed quickly, "I am a lace weaver. Enne, an honest trade. "

Blanche came next, "I am a slipper maker. "

Denise ended the catalogue. 

"And I a glover. "

Mischief danced in Villon's eyes. 

"No worse and no better. A word in your ear. " He whispered somethinginto each girl's ear in turn, and as he did so, each girl started, drew back, looked confused, laughed and blushed. 

It is ever to be deplored that the worthy Dom Gregory, whoseecclesiastical history of Poitou is the source of so much curiousinformation concerning Villon, should have omitted, from a mistakensense of delicacy, to chronicle precisely what it was that the poetwhispered in the ears of each of the girls. All he condescends torecord in his crabbed, canine Latin, is that Villon showed suchintimate acquaintance with certain physical peculiarities orwhimsical adventures private to each damsel that she believed thespeaker's knowledge to be little less than supernatural. Literatureof the skittish sort must deplore the monastic reticence, buthistory can do no more than accept it and leave imagination to fillin the blank as best it pleases. 

All history is certain of is that the girls gathered together, chatting like sparrows, each speaking rapidly:

"The gentleman is a wizard. Why, he told me--"

"Enne, a miracle; he reminded me--"

"Why, he knows--"

"What do you think he said?"

Each girl was whispering to the other what Villon had told her, whenVillon interrupted them. 

"Young women, young women, the world is a devil of a place for thosewho are poor. I could preach you a powerful sermon on your folliesand frailties, but, somehow, the words stick in my gullet. Here is agold coin apiece for you. Go and gather yourself roses, my roses, totake back to what, Heaven pity you! you call your homes. "

Jehanneton gave a little gasp of surprise. 

"Are we free?"

Villon answered her sadly, "Free? Poor children! Such as you are never free. Go and pray Heavento make men better, for the sake of your daughter's daughters. "

His extended hands were full of gold pieces, but they were soonemptied by the eager girls who pounced upon them. Then they left himwith many curtsies and salutations and drifted away delightedly intothe mazes of the rose garden. 

Villon turned to look at the men prisoners, who were anxiouslyscanning his actions. 

"As for these gentlemen, " he said to Noel, "let them go where theywill, but first give them food and drink and a pocketful of money. "

The effect of his words was almost as paralyzing upon the rogues asit was upon Messire Noel. It pleased the one as much as itdispleased the other. 

Noel looked the contempt he did not venture to express. The menrushed forward, choking with gratitude. 

"God save you, sir. "

"Your Excellency is of a most excellent excellence. "

"Long live the Grand Constable!"

"A most rare Constable. "

Villon waved them away. 

"Go your ways, " he said, "and if you can, mend them. "

Shouting and dancing for joy, the men took advantage of hispermission and disappeared in their turn among the alleys of therose garden, seeking and finding the wandering women and vanishingwith them in due course into the labyrinths of Paris. 

Villon turned to Noel. 

"You may dismiss your soldiers, " he said. "Attend me within call, "and as Noel obeyed him, he advanced to where Huguette was standing, with a smile of scornful indifference still on her fair face. 

Villon asked himself as he went:

"Why, in God's name, does the world appear so 'different to-day? Isit the thing they call the better self, or merely this purple andfine linen?"

What he said when he came to the girl was, "Fair mistress, you have a comely face and you make it very plainthat you have a comely figure. Why do you go thus?"

The girl shrugged her green shoulders and shifted the balance of herbody from one green leg to the other, as she answered impudently, "For ease and freedom, to please myself, and to show my fine shapeto please others. "

Last night this girl had been his own familiar friend; to-day shelay leagues away from his fairy greatness. There was pity in hisnext speech. 

"Are you a happy woman, mistress?"

"Happy enough, " she answered as she snapped her fingers defiantly, "when fools like you don't clap me into prison for living my life inmy own way. "

"I may be a fool, but I did not clap you into prison. Heavenforbid!"

A curious look came into the girl's eyes, and she drew a littlenearer to him. Her voice was a caress; the tenor of her hands was acaress; every supple curve of her alluring body caressed. She seemedto coax him, cat-like, as she whispered:

"Your voice sounds familiar, Monseigneur. Had I ever the honour toserve you?"

Villon drew away from her. He felt suddenly body-sick and soul-sick;sorry for the woman, sorry for himself. 

"Who knows?" he answered. The girl laughed and turned aside. 

"Who cares? What are you going to do with me?"

"Set you free, my delicate bird of prey. Those wild wings were nevermeant for clipping and caging. Is there anything I can do to pleaseyou?"

On the instant her enticement shifted; all her being was a tremulousentreaty. 

"What has come to Master François Villon?"

"Why do you ask?"

"He was with us when we were snared last night. But he did not shareour prison and he is not with us now. Does he live?"

Villon hesitated for a moment before speaking. 

"He lives. He is banished from Paris, but he lives. "

Huguette clasped her hands in gratitude. 

"The sweet saints be thanked!" she said; and there was that in hervoice which made the simple words sound very sincere to Villon'sears. 

"What do you care for the fate of this fellow?"

"As I am a fool, I believe I love him. "

"Heaven's mercy! Why?"

"I cannot tell you, Messire. A look in his eyes, a trick of hisvoice--the something--the nothing that makes a woman's heart runlike wax in the fire. He never made woman happy yet, and I'll swearno woman ever made him happy. If you gave him the moon, he wouldwant the stars for a garnish. He believes nothing; he laughs ateverything; he is a false monkey--and yet, I wish I had borne such achild. "

There was a sudden pain at Villon's heart, as if the girl's fingershad seized it and squeezed it, but he replied lightly:

"Let us speak no more of this rascal. He believes more and laughsless than he did. He is so glad to be alive that his foreheadscrapes the sky and the stars fall at his feet in gold dust. Parisis well rid of such a jackanapes. "

"You are a merry gentleman. "

"I would be more gentle than merry with you. Will you wear this ringfor my sake? Fancy that it comes from Master François Villon, whowill always think kindly of your wild eyes. "

"Let me see your face, " she requested, but Villon denied her. Hesigned to Noel le Jolys, where he stood apart, and the young soldiercame hurriedly to him. 

"Captain, " he said, "give this lady honourable conduct. "

He moved away and left the pair together--the mannish woman and thewomanish man, looking at each other, the man in admiration and thewoman in veiled disdain. 

"You are a comely girl, " Noel affirmed roundly. 

Huguette laughed. 

"This is news from no-man's land. "

Noel spoke lower. 

"Where do you lodge?"

Huguette was a woman of business in an instant. She flashed inNoel's face the ring the Grand Constable had given her as sheanswered:

"At the sign of the Golden Scull, hard by the Fircone. Will youvisit me?"

Noel clapped his hands together. 

"As I am a man, I will. "

A good understanding being thus established, the pair drifted awaytogether and were soon lost to sight. Villon looking after themmused:

"Heaven forgive me, I am becoming a most pitiful loud preacher. Every rogue there deserves the gallows, but so do I, no less, and Ihave not swallowed enough of this court air to make me a hypocrite. Well, all this justice is thirsty work, and, mad or sane, sleepingor waking, let me drink while I can. "

He returned to the golden flagons, poured out a full cup ofBurgundy, watched it glow in the sunlight, and lifted it to hislips. 

"To the loveliest lady this side of heaven!" he said for a toast, but ere he touched his lips to the cup, he lowered it again. 

Olivier le Dain had come on to the terrace, and with Olivier therecame a lady. 

"By heaven, " Villon cried, "my eyes dazzle, for I believe I seeher!"

CHAPTER VI

GARDEN LOVE

On the terrace the fair girl leaned and looked over at the gardenand its golden occupant. To the eyes of Villon her beauty had neverseemed rarer, and the wild passion which had prompted him to spinhis very soul into song burnt with a new, delicious strength ofhope. He stared at her as a worshipper might stare at some suddenvision of a long dreamed of goddess, and as he stared, Olivierdescended the steps, soft-footed, and came and stood before him. 

"My lord, there is a lady there who desires to speak with you. "

Villon turned his gaze unwillingly from the gracious apparitionabove him to the sombre servitor. 

"I desire to speak with her, " he said earnestly, and again his eyestravelled in the direction of the lady. 

Olivier came close to him and touched him respectfully on the wrist. 

"Remember, my lord, " he said, very softly, "that you are François ofCorbeuil, Lord of Montcorbier, Grand Constable of France, newly cometo Paris from the Court of His Majesty of Provence. Remember this asif it were written in letters of gold upon tables of iron. Forgetall else. The king commands it. "

The words sounded dully enough on Villon's brain, absorbed as he wasin the contemplation of his queen, but at least they served toconvince him of what he had already begun to assure himself, thatfor some purpose or other King Louis wished him well and granted himgolden chances. 

François of Corbeuil, Count of Montcorbier, stood in a verydifferent relation to the Lady Katherine from that of the lowly poetand gaolbird who had rhymed and sighed and battled in the FirconeTavern last night. 

"The king shall be obeyed, " he said gravely, and Olivier, turning, made a sign to Katherine, who descended the steps slowly. As shereached the last step, Olivier saluted Villon and the ladyprofoundly and, mounting the steps, vanished within the palace. 

The man and the woman were left alone in the rose garden. Villonfelt a sudden strange sensation at his heart, exquisite pain andexquisite pleasure, and he clasped his hands together. 

"I am awake, " he assured himself; "no dream could be as fair asshe. "

Even at the thought, Katherine flung herself swiftly at his feet, divinely gracious in her surrender of dignity as she kneeled to himwith uplifted imploring hands and eyes. 

"My lord, " she cried, "will you listen to a distressed lady?"

Villon stooped and caught her white fingers and drew her to herfeet. 

"Not while the lady kneels, " he said gently, and he looked with astrange apprehension into the frank, bright eyes of Katherine. Wouldshe know him for what he was, he wondered. He read no recognition inher sweet eyes. Katherine returned his gaze, unflinchingly regardinghim as a great lady might regard some stranger her equal of whom shecould ask a favour. 

"She does not know me, " Villon's delight cried in his heart, and atthe thought his spirit fluttered with fierce exaltation. The Lord ofMoncorbier, who was Grand Constable of France, might say many thingsthat were denied to the lips of François Villon. 

Katherine pleaded warmly:

"There is a man in prison at this hour for whom I would implore yourclemency. His name is François Villon. Last night he wounded Thibautd'Aussigny--"

Villon smiled a contented smile. 

"Thereby making room for me, " he suggested. 

Katherine went on unheeding:

"The penalty is death. But Thibaut was a traitor sold to Burgundy. "

"Did this Villon fight him for his treason?"

"No. He fought for the sake of a woman. He risked his life with alight heart because a woman asked him. "

"How do you know all this?"

"Because I was the woman. This man had seen me, thought he loved me, sent me verses--"

"How insolent!"

"It was insolence--and yet they were beautiful verses. I was inmortal fear of Thibaut d'Aussigny. I went to this Villon and beggedhim to kill my enemy. He backed his love tale with his sword--and helies in the shadow of death. It is not just that he should sufferfor my sin. "

Villon turned suddenly upon the beautiful suppliant. A thought hadcome into his brain so whimsical and so fantastic that it made himas dizzy for an instant as if the smooth grass beneath him hadyawned into a sheer and evil precipice. 

"Do you by any chance love this Villon?"

A little wave of disdain rippled over the girl's calm face. 

"Great ladies do not love tavern bravos. But I pity him, and I donot want him to die, though, indeed, life cannot be very dear to himif he would fling it away to please a woman. "

She had held a rose in her hand, and as she spoke she flung it fromher in dainty symbolism of the life which the poor tavern poet hadrisked so bravely for her sake. A mad resolve came into Villon'smind. If he was, indeed, all that this woman thought him to be, allthat those with whom he had spoken had assured him he was, now washis chance to play the lover to his heart's desire. If the GrandConstable had the power to pardon, surely the Grand Constable hadalso the right to woo. She had drawn a little way from him and hefollowed her up, standing so close to her that with a littlemovement he might have kissed her on the cheek. 

"Even when you are the woman? If I had stood in this rascal's shoes, I would have done as he did for your sake. "

The girl gave a joyous cry. 

"If you think this, you should grant the poor knave his freedom. "

Villon flung his hands apart with a magnificent gesture ofliberation. 

"That broker of ballads shall go free. Your prayer unshackles himand we will do no more than banish him from Paris. Forget that sucha slave ever came near you. "

The lady dropped him a magnificent curtsey, and her cheeks glowedwith gratitude. 

"I shall remember your clemency. "

She made as if she would leave his presence, but his boldness waxedwithin him as a fire waxes with new wood, and he caught her lightlyby the wrist. 

"By Saint Venus, I envy this fellow that he should have won yourthoughts. For I am in his case and I, too, would die to serve you!"

Surprise flamed in the girl's eyes, surprise and amusement mingled. 

"My lord, you do not know me, " she laughed, and her laughter was asfresh and merry as a milkmaid's in the meadows. 

"Did he know you? Yet when he saw you he loved you and made bold totell you so. "

Her forehead wrinkled prettily in a little protesting frown. 

"His words were of no more account than the wind in the eaves. Butyou and I are peers and the words we change have meanings. "

Villon caught his breath. The Lord of Montcorbier was, indeed, wardered by very different stars from the fellow of the Fircone. Hesaluted her banteringly. 

"Though I be newly come to Paris I have heard much of the beauty andmore of the pride of the Lady Katherine de Vaucelles. "

A little fire burned in the girl's pale cheeks, and she flung herhead back scornfully. 

"I am humble enough as to my beauty, but I am very proud of mypride. "

Villon, leaning forward with entreating hands, pleaded withbeseeching lips. 

"Would you pity me if I told you that I loved you?"

Katherine laughed, and the music of her laughter seemed to wakefaint echoes among the roses as if every blossom were a magic bellwith a fairy hand at the clapper. 

"Heaven's mercy, " she said. "How fast your fancy gallops. I carelittle to be flattered and less to be wooed, and I swear that Ishould be very hard to win. "

She turned to mount the steps as she spoke, as if she had said allthat she wanted to say, but Villon delayed her with imploringprotest. 

"I have more right to try than your taproom bandit. I see what hesaw; I love what he loved. "

Again the girl's laughter brightened the summer air. 

"You are very inflammable. "

Villon caught at her words. 

"My fire burns to the ashes. You can no more stay me from loving youthan you can stay the flowers from loving the soft air, or true menfrom loving honour, or heroes from loving glory. I would rake themoon from heaven for you. "

The girl swayed her head daintily, as a queen rose might in a realmof roses. There was something like pity in her eyes, but laughterlingered on her lips. 

"That promise has grown rusty since Adam first made it to Eve. " Sheeyed him in silence for a second time, deriding his sighs with asmile: then "There is a rhyme in my mind, " she cried, "about moonsand lovers, " and she began to declaim, half muse, half minx, somelines that had pleased her, to tease the importunate stranger. 

 "Life is unstable, Love may uphold; Fear goes in sable, Courage in gold. Mystery covers Midnight and noon, Heroes and lovers Cry for the moon. "

As the first words of the verse fell from her lips, Villon's heartleaped and his eyes brightened for he knew the sound. They were partof the rhymes himself had sent her on that very parchment which hadcost him first a dinner and then a drubbing. He had fancied thewords and the rhymes when he wrote them, but now they seemed tosound on his ears with the married music of all the falling watersand all the blowing winds of the world. It was a shining face thathe turned to the girl as he jeered, denying the thought in hisheart:

"What doggerel!"

The girl flashed scorn at him. 

"Doggerel! It is divinity, " she insisted, flinging a kiss from herfinger-tips in Godspeed, as it were, to the banished ballad-maker, as she moved a little further up the steps. Villon followed her. Letcome what might come, he was the maid's equal for the moment andwould press his suit if he died for it. 

"Tell me what I may do, " he said, "to win your favour. "

The girl's smiling face grew graver as she looked down on theimploring poet. 

"A trifle, " she said lightly, as a child might bid for a doll; andthen, as Villon's eyes glowed questions, her voice rang out like thecall of a clarion. "Save France!" she trumpeted. 

Villon caught fire from both her moods. 

"No more?" he said, and though the sound of his voice jested, thelook in his eyes was earnest. 

The girl responded to jest and earnest royally. 

"No less. Are you not Grand Constable, chief of the king's army?There is an enemy at the gates of Paris, and none of the king's mencan frighten him away. " She pointed out where, in the distance, beyond the walls of Paris, the pitched tents of the enemy flutteredtheir hostile flags. Her bosom heaved with great desire. "Oh, that aman would come to court! For the man who shall trail the banners ofBurgundy in the dust for the king of France to walk on, I mayperhaps have favours. "

Villon looked at her as men must have looked at Joan of Arc when shebade them rise up and strike for France. 

"You are hard to please, " he said, but his heart was full of joy atthe thought of trying to please her. If he could do this thing!

The girl answered his words and not his thoughts. 

"My hero must have every virtue for his wreath, every courage forhis coronet. Farewell. "

By this time she had reached the terrace and she made to enter thepalace. Villon called to her longingly:

"Stay! I have a thousand things to say to you. "

The girl smiled denial. 

"I have but one, " she said, "and I have said it long since. Farewell. "

Villon made a dash for audacity. 

"I will follow you, " he said, and he moved to do so, but the girl'slifted finger stayed him. 

"You may not, " she said peremptorily. "I go to the queen. " And sowith a swift salutation, gracious as the dip of a dancing wave, sheentered the palace and left him standing there, dazed and ardent, asa man might be who had just been vouchsafed the vision of an angel. He murmured to himself her words as he slowly descended the steps tothe ground, "Oh, that a man would come to court, " and on that text he wove thehopeful commentary of his thoughts. 

"Why should I not deserve her? Last night I was only a poor devilwith a rusty sword and a single suit. To-day all's different. I amthe king's friend, it would seem, a court potentate, a man of mark. What may I not accomplish? This finery smiles like sunlight and theworld will warm its hands at me. "

He was exquisitely pleased with himself, exquisitely pleased withthe world that held him and Katherine. He forgot, as lovers alwayswill forget, that there was any one else in the world save himselfand his beloved, and he was so wrapped in his sweet contemplationsthat he did not hear the tower door gently open, did not hear thesoft, creeping footsteps of the king as he came out of his hidingplace and shuffled across the soft grass toward his plaything. 

CHAPTER VII

THE ANSWER TO BURGUNDY

A touch on the shoulder roused Villon from his honeyed meditations, and he turned with a start to find the sable figure of the king athis side and the sinister visage smiling upon him. 

"Good afternoon, Lord Constable, " Louis said amiably, and as Villondropped respectfully on his knee, he questioned:

"Does power taste well?"

"Nobly, sire. On my knees let me thank your majesty. "

"Nonsense, man; I'm pleasing myself. You sang yourself intosplendour. 'If François were the king of France, ' eh?"

Villon rose with voice and gesture of apologetic entreaty. 

"Your majesty will understand--"

Louis brushed his apologies aside blandly. 

"Perfectly. My good friend, you captivated me. With what a flashingeye, with what a radiant forehead, with what a lofty carriage youthundered your verses at me. 'There, ' I said to myself, 'is a realman, a man with a mission, a man who may serve France. '"

"Sire, that has been my hunger's dream of plenty. "

Louis clasped his thin arms across his chest and hugged himselfaffectionately. 

"Well, I couldn't very well make you king, you know, and I wouldn'tif I could, for I have a fancy for the task myself. But I owed you agood turn and your own words prompted the payment. 'This poor devilshall taste power, ' I said. 'I will make him my Grand Constable--'"

Villon's joy was so great that he was unable to hear the king out, but interrupted him with enthusiastic promises. 

"Sire, I will serve you as never king was served. "

Louis went on unheeding, and his quiet, monotonous words fell on thehot brain of the poet and chilled it. 

"I will make him my Grand Constable for a week. "

If Louis had jerked a dagger into Villon's side, he could not havemore surely hurt his victim. 

"A week, sire?" Villon gasped, almost unable to realize the meaningof the king's words. 

Louis turned upon him and snarled at him:

"Good Lord, did your vanity credit a permanent appointment? Come, friend, come, that would be pushing the joke too far!"

All the sunlight seemed to have gone out of the world, all the scentout of the roses. Villon could only repeat to himself: "A week!" andstare vacantly at the king. The king emphasized his offer, lingeringover it lovingly. 

"Even so. One wonderful week, seven delirious days. " He paused foran instant as he counted. "One hundred and sixty-eight heavenlyhours. It's the chance of a lifetime. The world was made in sevendays. Seven days of power, seven days of splendour, seven days oflove. "

Villon gave a groan of despair for his golden hopes. 

"And then go back to the garret and the kennel, the tavern and thebrothel!"

Louis' malign smile deepened. He came closer to the poet and tappedhim on the chest with his lean forefinger. He was enjoying himselfimmensely. 

"No, no, not exactly. " he hummed. "You don't taste the full force ofthe joke yet. In a week's time you will build me a big gibbet in thePlace de Greve, and there your last task as Grand Constable will beto hang Master François Villon. "

If the world had been colourless and scentless before, it was now nobetter than a hideous heap of ashes. If Villon had run up a heavyreckoning with the king at the Fircone Tavern, must he wipe out thescore with his life-blood? Villon fell at the king's feet withextended hands and agonized, beseeching eyes. 

"Sire, sire, have pity!"

The king looked down on him in disdain. 

"Are you so fond of life? Are you so poor a thing that you prizeyour garret and your kennel, your tavern and your brothel sohighly?"

Villon bowed his head. 

"I was content yesterday. "

The king surveyed the cowering figure with growing contempt. 

"Can you be content to-day? Please yourself. There is still a dooropen to you. You can go back to your garret this very moment if youchoose. Say the word and my servants shall strip you of your smartfeathers and drub you into the street. "

Villon buried his face in his hands. "Your majesty, be merciful!" heimplored. 

The king's scorn blazed out:

"You read Louis of France a lesson, and Louis of France returns thecompliment. I took you for true gold and I am afraid that you areonly base metal. You mouthed your longing for the chance to showwhat you could do. Here is your chance! Take it or leave it. Butremember that I never change my mind. You may have your week ofwonder if you wish, but if you do, by my word as a king, you shallswing for it. "

Villon rose to his feet and caught at his throat as if the grip ofthe rope were at that very moment closing about it. He choked as hespoke. 

"In God's name, sire, what have I done that you should torture methus?"

The king snapped his answer:

"You have mocked a king and maimed a minister. You can't get offscot free. "

Villon's bewildered thoughts forced themselves into words. He spokenot so much to the king as to himself, desperately trying to decide. 

"Heaven help me! Life, squalid, sordid, but still life, with itstavern corners and its brute pleasures of food and drink and warmsleep, living hands to hold and living laughter to gladden me--or aweek of cloth of gold, of glory, of love--and then a shamefuldeath!"

He flung himself on the marble seat and crouched there, shuddering. 

The king patted him on the back. 

"Pray, friend, pray, to help your judgment!"

He had taken off his black velvet cap and ran his eye over thelittle row of metal saints which encircled it as if he weremeditating to which particular patron he should recommend his GrandConstable to address himself. As he did so, Olivier le Dain camethrough the garden and moved swiftly to the king's side. 

"Sire, " he said, "the Burgundian herald, Toison d'Or, attends undera flag of truce with a message for your majesty. "

Louis turned to his barber. 

"We will receive him here, Olivier, in this green audience chamber. We need the free air when we hold speech with Burgundy. "

As Olivier left the royal presence a little thing happened whichmeant much to four people. Katherine came on to the terrace withNoel le Jolys. She had a lute in her hand and she touched its chordslightly, seeking to make an air for words as she idled the time withher wooer. Louis saw her, though Villon did not, for he was huddledin a heap on the marble seat with his head in his hands trying tocontrol his whirling thoughts. A new demon of mischief entered theking's heart. 

"How, " he thought, "if my lady Virtue, who flouted me, could belured to love this beggar-man?" He ambled across to where Villonlay and tapped him on the shoulder. Villon turned to him a facedrawn and white with agony. 

"One further chance, fellow, " said the king. "If the Count ofMontcorbier win the heart of Lady Katherine de Vaucelles within theweek, he shall escape the gallows and carry his lady love where hepleases. "

"On your word of honour, sire?"

"My word is my honour, Master François. Well?"

At this very moment it pleased heaven that Katherine, sitting on theterrace and smiling at the adoration in Noel le Jolys' eyes, seemedto find the air she sought and began to sing. The tune was quaintand plaintive, tender as an ancient lullaby, the words were thewords of the tortured poet, and as he heard them a new hope seemedto come into his heart. 

 "Life is unstable, Love may uphold; Fear goes in sable, Courage in gold. Mystery covers Midnight and noon, Heroes and lovers Cry for the moon. "

"Well, " said the king; "you cried for the moon; I give it to you. "

"And I take it at your hands!" Villon thundered. "Give me my week ofwonders though I die a dog's death at the end of it. I will showFrance and her what lay in the heart of the poor rhymester. "

Louis applauded, clapping his thin hands together gleefully. 

"Spoken like a man! But remember, a bargain's a bargain. If you failto win the lady, you must, with heaven's help, keep yourself for thegallows. No self-slaughter, no flinging away your life on some otherfool's sword. I give you the moon, but I want my price for it. "

Villon's blood now ran warm again in its channels, and he answeredstoutly:

"Sire, I will keep my bargain. Give me my week of opportunity, andif I do not make the most of it I shall deserve the death to whichyou devote me. "

Even as he spoke the air was stirred with a cheerful flourish oftrumpets and the quiet garden was invaded by Tristan l'Hermite and acompany of soldiers, escorting a tall and stately gentleman, whosegorgeous tabard proclaimed him to be Toison d'Or, the herald of theDuke of Burgundy. The news of his coming had run through the palace, and the terrace was suddenly flooded with courtiers and ladies eagerto hear what the enemy's envoy had to say and what answer the kingwould send back to him. Louis seated himself on the marble seatanigh the image of Pan and drew Villon down beside him. 

"Listen well to this man's words, my Lord Constable, " he whispered, and then turning to the gleaming figure of the herald, he demanded:

"Your message, sir?"

Toison d'Or advanced a few feet nearer to the monarch and spoke in aringing voice. 

"In the name of the Duke of Burgundy and of his allies andbrothers-in-arms assembled in solemn leaguer outside the walls ofParis, I hereby summon you, Louis of France, to surrender this cityunconditionally and to yield yourself in confidence to my master'smercy. "

The king folded his hands over his knees and inclined his head alittle, like an enquiring bird. 

"And if we refuse, Sir Herald?"

The herald answered promptly:

"The worst disasters of war, fire and sword and famine, much bloodto shed and much gold to pay and for yourself no hope of pardon. "

"Great words, " the king sneered. 

The herald replied proudly:

"The angels of great deeds. "

Villon had been sitting listening as a man listens in a dream, almost unconscious of what was taking place. Among the ladies on theterrace Katherine stood conspicuous in her youth and beauty, and toher his eyes were turned in worship. The quarrels of great princes, the destinies of France were for the moment indifferent to him. Heforgot his high desires of empire, his swelling belief in his realmission. He was only conscious that a great prize lay temptinglywithin his grasp, that he might win his heart's desire. Louisinterrupted his reverie:

"The Count of Montcorbier, Constable of France, is my counsellor. His voice delivers my mind. Speak, friend, and give this messengerhis answer. "

He touched Villon on the arm and Villon turned to him inastonishment. "As I will, sire?"

The king caught him up impatiently. 

"Yes, go on, go on. 'If Villon were the king of France. '"

Villon leaped to his feet and advanced toward the herald. A wildexultation filled his veins with fire. He felt as if he were thelord of the world, as if his hands held the scales that decided thedestinies of nations. He had always dreamed of the great deeds hewould do, and now great deeds were possible to him, and at least hewould try to do them. He looked straight into the herald'schangeless face, but his heart shrined Katherine as he spoke. 

"Herald of Burgundy, in God's name and the king's, I bid you go backto your master and say this: Kings are great in the eyes of theirpeople, but the people are great in the eyes of God, and it is thepeople of France who answer you in the name of this epitome. Thepeople of Paris are not so poor of spirit that they fear the croakof the Burgundian ravens. We are well victualled, we are well armed;we lie snug and warm behind our stout walls; we laugh at yourleaguer. But when we who eat are hungry, when we who drink are dry, when we who glow are frozen, when there is neither bite on the boardnor sup in the pitcher nor spark upon the hearth, our answer torebellious Burgundy will be the same. You are knocking at our doors, beware lest we open them and come forth to speak with our enemy atthe gate. We give you back defiance for defiance, menace for menace, blow for blow. This is our answer--this and the drawn sword. God andSt. Denis for the King of France!"

As he spoke, he drew his sword and flashed it aloft in the sunlight. There was contagion in his burning words, and every soldier presentbared his blade and pointed it to heaven while Villon's cry wasrepeated upon a hundred lips. As Toison d'Or turned and left thepresence, Katherine came swiftly down the steps and flung herself atVillon's feet. 

"My Lord, " she said. "With my lips the women of France thank you foryour words of flame. "

Louis leaned forward, smiling sardonically. 

"Mistress, what does this mean?" he questioned. 

The girl rose to her feet, looking into Villon's face with eyes thatmirrored the admiration shining in his eyes. 

"It means, sire, that a man has come to court!"

CHAPTER VIII

A WORD WITH DOM GREGORY

It is a thousand pities that the materials for building up apractical presentment of the real life-story of Master FrançoisVillon are so slight, that in the historical sense they might almostbe said to be non-existent. We know, indeed, a little of MasterFrançois' early days, partly from some confessions which must at alltimes be interpreted with a liberal sense of humour and glossed withan infinite deal of good nature, and partly from stray records madeby those who do not seem to have held the vagrant poet very warm intheir hearts. But of his life in those days of which this chronicledeals, there is little to find where there is much to seek. 

The silence of Commines may be explained in a thousand ways, possibly professional jealousy of one minister for another, who inso short a space of time did so much and so well, possibly ignoranceof the real facts of the case, for it is fairly certain that KingLouis kept his jape and its sequel very much to himself, possiblybecause Commines felt that his cold spirit was scarcely equal to theproper recording of so whimsical and oriental an adventure. 

Good Master Clement Marot, when he took it upon himself, generationsafter our poet was dust and ashes, to edit our poet's writings, saidmuch in praise of the singer but said little, no doubt because heknew little, of the poet's life. 

And the great creator of Pantagruel and Gargantua, the immeasurableAlcofribias Nasier, whom the world loves or hates as Rabelais, inwhat he contributed to our knowledge of François Villon has only--touse a weather-worn and moss-grown phrase--made confusion yet worseconfounded. 

We should be at a deadlock, indeed, if it were not for Poitou andits Abbey of Bonne Aventure, whose library is luckily rich inhistorical manuscripts of the period, and richest of all in thatpriceless manuscript of Dom Gregory, which, treating in general ofthe ecclesiastical history of Poitou in the fifteenth century, dealtso particularly and so liberally with the life of Master FrançoisVillon, because Master François Villon in his old age was soexcellent a patron of the church. We say dealt advisedly, for timehas treated somewhat scurvily the fair skins of parchment upon whichthe good Dom Gregory recorded his thoughts and his opinions atconsiderable length as the rich setting of the facts, too few innumber, with which he condescended to enlighten posterity. Manypieces of parchment are missing from the roll of his record, and, unhappily, the greatest gap in the story is precisely at that pointwhere our hero found himself so suddenly and so strangely taken intofavour by his king, and so suddenly and so strangely smiled upon byhis mistress. We have indeed some admirable homiletics of the worthyfriar's in praise of the conduct and carriage of Master FrançoisVillon at the time of his unexpected exaltation. After a graciousinvocation of many saints and angels, the very elect of the companyof heaven, Dom Gregory, in a fine spirit of rectitude, proceeds toapplaud the Count of Montcorbier for the high example he set to hisfellow-men. Here, in effect says the worthy churchman, was a manwho, having passed the flower of his life in squalor and all mannerof ignobilities, still kept in a sense the whiteness of his soul andallowed the brightness of the celestial flame to burn, faintlyindeed but unextinguished, on the altar of his heart. How many men, asks Dom Gregory, glowing with a pious gratification, how many menwho in humility have dreamed that they might under serener stars andhappier auspices do great deeds and win honourable honours, would, if put to the proof, show themselves as splendid in prosperity asthey dreamed themselves in adversity? Master François Villon, hegoes on to say, is the loveliest example known to him of a man, who, having always believed in himself with a great belief, did, on beingput to the test, prove that his belief was founded, not on theshifting sands of vanity and vain glory, but on the solid granite ofgood faith and the inestimable doctrines of the church. 

From all this we gather dimly, as one discerns objects in a mist, that Master François Villon, as Count of Montcorbier, proved nimselfto be little less than equal to the high opinion of himself which hehad confided all unwittingly into the ear of his masqueradingsovereign. But the pages in which Dom Gregory sets forth at lengthexactly all that Master François Villon did and said and thoughtduring the period of his astonishing probation, are unfortunatelylost to the Abbey of Bonne Aventure, and, in consequence, to theworld. No less than six folios consecrated by the careful pen of DomGregory to this memorable epoch have vanished from the pricelessmanuscript. The custodian of the Abbey library will tell you withtears in his eyes that these pages disappeared during the storm andstress of the French Revolution, but travellers in France are toowell aware of the readiness of ecclesiastical custodians toattribute all things evil to the time of the great upheaval, to payany serious attention to this particular allegation. However ithappened, the pages are lost, and there, as far as we are concerned, is an end of them. 

But in a way we are able to piece together from Dorn Gregory's laterstatements, and from certain traditions which still linger here andthere in the highways and byways of Poitou, enough material toenable us to ascertain with something like sufficient accuracy, whatit was that Master François Villon did accomplish as Count ofMontcorbier in those seven days of splendour which his mocking kingaccorded to him. We know for certain that the king found him anadmirable counsellor, cool, wary and judicious, and that during theperiod of his ministry, Louis followed his advice with a faithwhich, if it were founded indeed upon a superstitious adherence tothe edicts of the stars, proved itself to be thoroughly justified byhis Lord Constable's common sense, foresight and astonishingknowledge of human nature. We know, too, that he proved himself noless skilled as a soldier than as a statesman, as capable ofpre-eminence in the arts of war as in the arts of peace. Hisknowledge of Caesar's Commentaries and his natural inclination tostrategy, interpreted by an eloquent tongue fired by a ready motherwit, earned him the ear and won him the heart of the king's greatcaptains and wrung from them at first a reluctant but finally such adelighted adherence as their sires had been compelled to surrenderto the Maid of Orleans. 

Yet while our poet was playing these two parts, he managed hisaffairs so dexterously that he seemed to the general eye to beplaying but one part, and that the part of the dazzlinglymagnificent courtier. If his mornings were given to consultationwith the king and the king's chief soldiers, if his forenoons weredevoted to the confirming of edicts and the promulgations of lawsall tending to alleviate the condition and lighten the load of thepeople of Paris, his afternoons and evenings and shining summernights were entirely surrendered to the glittering pleasures andpastimes of a man of ease. We hear of entertainment afterentertainment, banquet and ball and masquerade, pageant and play andpastime, each one of which seemed to be the last word of wealthyingenuity until it was eclipsed by its still more splendidsuccessor. And it was this part of which the Count of Montcorbierchose to make the most with a very special purpose. He caused, itseems, many emissaries of his to quit Paris and find shelter withinthe Duke of Burgundy's lines, pretending to be deserters from thewaning cause of the king, each of whom had the same tale to tell tothe credulous ears of the enemy; namely, that the king's newfavourite was a wastrel and a fool, who had no better purpose inlife than the rhyming of madrigals, the tuning of lutes, thedraining of flagons, and the pressing of ladies' fingers in thedance. All of which produced, we are assured, upon the mind of theDuke of Burgundy the very effect desired by Villon and led toresults which luckily we are enabled to know more of, as DomGregory's manuscript happily resumes continuity on the seventh dayof Master François' week of wonder. 

We further learn--for Dom Gregory, though a churchman, seems to havea kindly spot in his heart for the ways of lovers--that during thoseseven days, the friendship of Villon and Katherine grew apace andthat the whole court watched with interest, and Monsieur Noel leJolys with an ever-increasing fury, the growth of a great andbeautiful passion. But it seems that Master Villon, whether fromfear to risk too soon or from a desire to leave the loveliest momentof his reign to the last, made no attempt directly to declarehimself or directly to learn how high he stood in the LadyKatherine's heart until the very day which was the last day uponwhich it was possible for him to assure his own salvation. 

IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW

CHAPTER IX

On the seventh day of Villon's week of wonder, his glory was at itsgreatest. No fairer day had traced that radiant month of June and nomore splendid pageantry had adorned the illustrious reign of the newGrand Constable. Mimic battles, fountains running wine, free dolesof food, fantastic pageants, grotesque dances, all the gorgeousmummery that the fifteenth century delighted in was offered inprofusion to please the fancy and win the hearts of the people ofParis. But the crowning triumph was the great festival which theGrand Constable gave with the king's permission in the king's ownrose garden, the magnificent mascarado in the Italian manner, towhich all who were associated with the court were summoned. Thisrevelry which began at sunset was intended to overtop all possiblecourtly ceremonials in the splendour of its equipment, thelavishness of its display, the richness and profusion of itshospitality. 

It was near to the hour of sunset when Villon sat with the king inthe little room in the grey tower from which the king loved tofollow the movements of the heavenly bodies. On the table by whichthe king and Villon were seated lay a large chart of the country inthe immediate neighbourhood of Paris, and in front of the tablestood three of the king's most trusty commanders, the Lord du Lau, the Lord Poncet de Riviere and the Lord of Nantoillet. 

Villon had been explaining to the king and to his military advisersa scheme which had been growing in his mind throughout the week forthe confusion of the enemy, a scheme for which the gorgeousentertainment to be given that evening was to serve as a goldenmask. Villon touched a point on the map which represented a spotvery familiar to him, a little dip in the swelling land, where heused to play as a child and gather wildflowers and hide himself, andimagine that he was a bandit or a great captain or a fairyprince--any one of the thousand illusions of childhood at its play. 

"There, sire, " he said. "If we can lure the Burgundians to thathollow, the day is ours. The sloping ground above it will mask athousand men. "

Poncet de Riviere leaned forward questioningly. 

"Are you sure of the lay of the land?"

Villon answered positively:

"Sure. I played truant there when I was no higher than your swordbelt. "

Nantoillet spoke as a man who weighs his words:

"The scheme seems feasible, sire. "

Villon glanced up from the table in humourous apology. 

"You may think me a raw soldier, " he said; "yet I have practisedstrategy all my days. "

Du Lau answered him approvingly:

"My lord, you reason like a seasoned veteran. "

Pleased with the praise Villon turned to the king. 

"Sire, I have blown it abroad that your majesty feasts to-night. While the Duke of Burgundy believes us to be carousing, we shallmake a sortie from St. Anthony's gate. Our horses' hooves will bemuffled, no spur shall jingle, and no bridle clink. We will stealthrough the night like shadows. At the cross road some few of uswill make an attack upon the enemy's left and beat a retreat. Thiswill tempt him into our ambuscade and as I believe end in his rout. At nine, my lords. Farewell. "

He raised his hand in dismissal; the three captains saluted the kingand his minister and passed out of the presence. As they descendedthe winding stairs, du Lau said to his companions:

"I do not know your hearts, my lords, but I love this soldier offortune. "

Nantoillet answered cordially:

"God knows where he came from and God knows where he will go to, butI would ride with him to the world's end. "

"My father, " said Poncet de Riviere, "told me often of the Maid ofOrleans and her power with bearded men. He must be of her kindred, for he wins me against my will. "

As the sound of their feet died away in the depths of the tower, Villon turned to the king. 

"If the Duke of Burgundy falls into my trap, " he said; "men willcall me a great captain. Yet it is no more than remembering theshape of a meadow where I played in childhood. Strange that anurchin's playground should become a Golgotha of graves and glories. "

The king clapped him playfully on the shoulder. 

"Where did you learn wisdom?"

"In the school of hope deferred. When I was--what I was, I stillbelieved that this dingy carcass swaddled a Roman spirit. In thepomp of my pallet I dreamed Olympian dreams. And the dreams havecome true. "

"You are an amazing fellow. Here in a week, you have made me morepopular than I made myself since my accession. In court, in camp, incouncil, men are pleased to call you paragon. "

"I am a man of the people and I know what the people need. A weekago the good people of Paris were disloyal enough. I repeal the taxon wine and to-day they clap their hands and cry 'God save KingLouis' lustily. A week ago your soldiers were mutinous because theywere ill fed, worse clothed, and never paid at all. I feed themfull, clothe them warm, pay them well, and to-day your majesty hasan army that would follow me to the devil if I whistled a marchingtune. "

"But in the meantime, your sands are running out. Is your heartfailing? Is your pulse flagging?"

"Not a whit. I have been translated without discredit from thetavern to the palace, and if the worse comes to the worst, I may saywith the dying Caesar, 'Applaud me. '"

The king grinned sardonically. 

"Will the worse come to the worst?" he piped, "How is your suit withthe Lady Katherine?"

Villon's smile lingered still on his lips as he answered:

"Sire, no wise man boasts that he knows the heart of a woman, andyet, I hope for the best. "

"But if you fail, " the king persisted. 

Villon's smile grew more philosophical. In his heart he felt fairlyconfident, but spoke cautiously. 

"Why, then, when the housewife moon kindles her pale fire on thehearth of heaven to-morrow, I shall be quiet enough. But either wayyou have given me a royal week, and I have made the most of it, lived a thousand lives, eaten my cake to the last sweet crumb andhave known the meaning of kingship. "

Louis laughed. 

"You speak as if you had reigned for a century. "

Villon's sententious mood deepened. 

"A man might live a thousand years and yet be no more account at thelast than as a great eater of dinners. Whereas to suck all the sweetand snuff all the perfume but of a single hour, to push all itspossibilities to the edge of the chessboard, is to live greatlythough it be not to live long, and an end is an end if it come onthe winged heels of a week or the dull crutch of a century. "

Louis leaned back and looked at his companion in astonishment. 

"Pray heaven this philosophy may sound as fine when your neck is inthe halter. "

"Your majesty's wit and my wish run nose and nose in a leash. "

Louis changed the subject as if there were more important matters inthe world than the life, loves and death even of a Grand Constable. 

"Messire Noel brings me a new astrologer to-night. The heavens seemin a conspiracy of confusion, the stars are all a tangle! My dreamof a star falling from heaven defies divination. "

Villon looked at him pityingly. 

"Do you never tire of these sky doctors?" he questioned. 

Louis frowned, as he always frowned at any hint of disbelief in thescience of the stars. 

"Don't jest, master poet, " he said, "but ply your suit with proudKate, for I swear if you fail, you shall hang to-morrow. Now leaveme, for I must work while you play, " and he bent over a chart andseemed to forget all else in his profound contemplation. 

Villon looked at him for a moment in silence and then went out ofthe room and descended the steps, opened the little door, and passedinto the garden. The summer sun was dying in a splendid riot ofcolour among the rose trees. Its last rays, falling on the face ofthe god Pan, illuminated his fantastic features and seemed to lendthem the life of an ironic leer. The warm air was rich with theblended odours of a thousand blossoms, and from the palace, faintand far off, came the sound of joyous voices. It was almost themoment when the rose garden was to be thrown open to the royalguests. 

Villon pulled a rose from a bush by his hand and gazed into itscrimson heart as if he sought to read there the secret which allflowers hold but which no flower has ever yet betrayed to thelonging eyes of a poet. He leaned against the statue of Pan andmused pensively. 

"The petals of my reign are falling from me full of life, full ofcolour to the end. Shall I win this wonderful woman? Am I mad tohope it? If I lose, it is a short shrift and a long rope at the endof a dazzling dream. "

He shivered as he thought and cast the rose he held away from him. 

"How cold the June air seems, and these roses smell of graves. " Hepaused a little till his hopes took heart again. "But if I win, howwill it be, I wonder, to marry my heart's desire, to grow oldsedately, to live again with the children on my knee, a littleFrançois here more honest than his father, a little Katherine thereless comely than her mother!"

He flung out his hands as if he were dismissing the phantoms of hisfancy. 

"Run away, my dear dream children to your playground of shadowswhere you belong, for your father may be hanged to-morrow, and hefights for love and life to-night. "

Villon's reflections were fluttered by a sudden blare of music, anda gaudy fellow in a pursuivant's coat made his appearance on the topof the terrace and rattled blast after blast from his brazentrumpet. In obedience to the long-looked-for signal, a many-colouredcrowd of revellers gushed from the palace and flowed like a glowingwave of merry-making down the steps and into the walks and alleys ofthe rose garden. All the strange figures that a freakish fancy couldsuggest leaped and danced and shouted in a rapture of mirth-satyrsand follies, clowns and devils wheeled wildly by, waving torches, clashing cymbals, or screaming at the top of their voices, whilesedater spirits, masked and muffled in mantles of sombre hue, movedthrough the tumultuous throng and found their abated pleasure inmystification and intrigues. 

Villon had a mask in his girdle. He put it on and pushing into thepress allowed himself to drift hither and thither with the eddyingcurrents of pleasure. His fantastic imagination took fire from thestrange shapes and sounds about him. The sense of being in a dream, which had never deserted him from the first moment of his awakenedconsciousness in the rose garden, clung closely about him on thisnight, and the jocund figures around him flitted by as unreal as thephantoms of a noon-tide sleep. 

Suddenly his attention was arrested by the sound of a voice thatseemed familiar to him. A man habited like a pilgrim from the HolyLand, in long hood and gabardine of grey, and with the pilgrim'scockleshell on his shoulder, had met another masker, habited likehimself. The pair were exchanging salutations, in a speech that thespeakers might well assume to be unknown to any person in the royalgarden. The speech, however, jingled very familiarly on Villon'sear, for the man was talking in the amazing jargon which theworshipful company of cockleshells had devised for the betterfurtherance of their thievish purposes, and it appealed to Villon asintimately as a song that is learned in childhood. 

The first pilgrim questioned the other, "What do you carry in your scrip?"

And the second answered:

"I carry a cockleshell. "

The first pilgrim questioned again:

"What do you carry in your hand?"

And the second responded:

"A foot of steel. "

Yet again the first speaker queried:

"Will you drink the king's health?"

And the answer came decisively:

"In a flagon of Burgundy. "

Whereat the two pilgrims saluted and parted and went their severalways and were swallowed up in the motley masquerade. 

Villon's curiosity was piqued to the quick. 

"How in heaven's name, " he asked himself, "does it come to pass thatpeople speaking the thieves' lingo of the Court of Miracles findthemselves at a feast in the rose garden of King Louis?"

He set himself to try and track down one or the other of themysterious pilgrims, but neither of them was to be found. Hiswanderings brought him back to the fair space at the foot of theterrace protected by the image of the god Pan. The place wasdeserted; the revellers had drifted elsewhere. A lute lay on themarble seat. Villon seated himself and taking up the instrument wastouching it carelessly, when a light step on the grass arrested him, the sweetest voice in the world sounded in his ears, and he foundhimself addressed by the Lady Katherine de Vaucelles, who wasattended by a number of fair court ladies. 

"I am the voice of these ladies to pray for a favour. "

Villon bowed low. 

"My ear is all obedience, " he said, "and my heart all homage. "

"You are a poet, my lord, " said Katherine, "and this is an eve whichshould please a poet. Rhyme us a rhyme which shall match this nightof summer. "

Villon sighed a little. 

"No rhyme ever rhymed was worth a beam of summer sun or summer moon;but I have lingered in Provence where every man is a nightingale, and I caught there the fever of improvisation. What shall I rhymeabout?"

Katherine laughed as she pointed to her attendant ladies. 

"Your suitors are women; therefore, nothing better nor worse thanlove. "

"The burden of the world, " Villon said. "Sigh, my lute, sigh. "

He let his fingers ripple over the strings, waking the faint wail ofa plaintive minor. In a moment or two he began to recite, touchingevery now and then a chord on his lute to emphasize the words hespoke:

 "I wonder in what Isle of Bliss Apollo's music fills the air; In what green valley Artemis For young Endymion spreads the snare: Where Venus lingers debonair: The Wind has blown them all away-- And Pan lies piping in his lair-- Where are the Gods of Yesterday?

 "Say where the great Semiramis Sleeps in a rose-red tomb; and where The precious dust of Caesar is, Or Cleopatra's yellow hair: Where Alexander Do-and-Dare; The Wind has blown them all away-- And Redbeard of the Iron Chair; Where are the Dreams of Yesterday?

 "Where is the Queen of Herod's kiss, And Phryne in her beauty bare; By what strange sea does Tomyris With Dido and Cassandra share Divine Proserpina's despair; The Wind has blown them all away-- For what poor ghost does Helen care? Where are the Girls of Yesterday?

 "Alas for lovers! Pair by pair The Wind has blown them all away: The young and yare, the fond and fair: Where are the Snows of Yesterday?"

The little group whom he addressed lingered in a gracious silencefor a short space. Singer and listeners seemed to be in an exquisiteisolation of moonlight and soft odours. Katherine murmured pensivelyto herself:

"Where are the snows of yesterday?"

Her eyes were shining like summer stars, her parted lips made Villonthink of ripe pomegranates, her mind was wandering in the Islands ofthe Blest with the lovers and ladies whom Villon had praised. Villondismissed melancholy with a jest:

"Sweet ladies, " he said; "my song is sung. Do not let it disheartenyou, for, believe me, it will snow again next year and lie white andlight on the graves of dead lovers. Yesterday is dead, and to-morrowcomes never. "

He drew very close to Katherine and whispered the end of hissentence in her ear:

"Let us live and love to-day. "

Katherine gave a little start as she dropped from cloudland andlooked at him. He drew back and turned to the others. 

"Fair ladies, " he said; "shall we go to the great hall where theItalian players gambol?"

The women gathered about him, thanking him for his song, and thenfluttered away like brilliant birds, up the steps to the terrace. Asthey did so a figure in a pilgrim's gown came from the scented gloomof one of the rose alleys, paused for a moment as if undecided as tohis course, and then proceeded to cross the space of moonlit grass. He did not heed Katherine, standing in the shadow, till he almosttouched her. Then he glanced at her, and with a stifled exclamationhurried past, plunged into the darkness of an opposite alley, anddisappeared. Katherine gave a little cry that was almost a cry offear, and ran swiftly to where Villon stood apart at the foot of thesteps awaiting her pleasure. 

"My lord!" she cried, and he, turning, swiftly responded:

"My lady!"

"This masking kindles fancies. I thought but now that the eyes ofThibaut d'Aussigny glared on me from under a pilgrim's hood. "

Villon frowned. 

"A villainous apparition. For the news is that he lies dead in thecamp of Burgundy. "

Katherine gave a little shudder. 

"I always hated him; almost feared him. If he be dead, I hope hewill not haunt me. Ah! I tingle to-night like a lute that is tunedtoo high. "

"Let us think of no evil things to-night, " Villon responded. "Willyou watch the players?"

Katherine shook her head. 

"Nay, I am more in a mood for moonlight than candlelight. "

Villon looked at her in silence, a silence of seconds that seemed toboth of them like the silence of hours. The hearts of both werehouses of sweet hopes, and the brains of both were hives of happythoughts. 

"May I ask you a question?" Villon said, and the girl answered:

"Surely. "

"Are you content with me?"

"You have done much. "

"I have more to do. For seven days I have wrestled with greatness asJacob wrestled with the angels; I have made the king popular, theParisians loyal, the army faithful--"

"Then why do you linger here where courtiers feast and ladiesdance?"

Villon's voice swelled proudly as he answered:

"I want the Duke of Burgundy to believe that the king's favourite isa zany, and the king's court an orgy, where the king's honour meltslike a pearl in a pot of vinegar. But our swords are tempered inwine and sharpened to dance music, and to-night we ride. "

The girl sighed. "I would that I were a man that I might ride withyou. "

Villon came close to her and peered into her eyes. 

"I ride in your honour. Heaven has been very good to me, and I serveFrance serving you. Perhaps I serve both for the last time. "

"For the last time?" she repeated. 

"Even so, my sweet Lady Echo. Those far away lanterns warn me that Imay die to-morrow. Some of us will be dreaming our last dreams bysunrise. I may be one of those heavy sleepers. "

"Why, you may die if you ride on the king's business, but so may Iwho sit at home and eat my heart. "

"For whom?"

"I will tell you that to-morrow. "

Villon touched her lightly on the wrist and pointed to the greytower on whose weather-beaten wall the quaint old dial showedplainly in the bright moonlight, with its wise Latin inscription:"Dum Spectas, Fugit Hora, Carpe Diem. "

"There is no time like now time. That dial there is as wise as thewisest. " And he rapidly rendered the antique maxim into a runningrhyme:

 "Observe how fast time hurries past, Then use each hour while in your power; For comes the sun but time flies on, Proceeding ever, returning never. "

Katherine tried to laugh. 

"This was old wisdom when Noah sailed the seas, " she said, and drewa little apart from him. Villon followed her. 

"Well, let to-morrow tell to-morrow's story. To-night I feel like ahappy child in a world of make-believe. To-night we are immortal, you and I, wandering forever in this green garden under thoseindifferent stars, breathing this rose-scented air, spelling thesecret of the world. "

"You may say what you please to-morrow, " she whispered, but Villonwould not have it so. 

"Alas, no! To-morrow I shall be mortally sober; to-night I amdivinely drunk-drunk with star wine, flower wine, song wine. Thestars burn my brain; the roses pierce my flesh; the songs trouble mysoul. To-night, if I dared, I would ease my heart. "

The girl spoke so faintly that only a lover's ears could hear thewords:

"You may say what you please to-night. "

Villon caught at his heart as if to keep it in the compass of hisbreast. 

"If I were to die to-morrow, I would tell you this to-night: I loveyou. These are easy words to say, yet my heart fails as I say them, for their meaning is as full and musical as the Bell of Doom. Menare such fools that they have but one name for a thousand meanings, and beggar the poor love-word to base kitchen usages and work-a-daydesires. But I would keep it holy for the flame which it sometimespleases heaven to light in one heart for the worship of another. Inever knew what love was till I saw a girl's face on a May morningand wisdom stripped the rind from my naked heart. The God in meleaped into being to greet the God in your eyes. I love you. This iswhat I would say if I were to die to-morrow. "

He was very close to her now, and his eyes were looking into hereyes. She answered him frankly:

"If you were to die to-morrow, I might tell you this much to-night. A woman may love a man because he is brave, or because he is comely, or because he is wise, or gentle--for a thousand thousand reasons. But the best of all reasons for a woman loving a man is just becauseshe loves him, without rhyme and without reason, because heavenwills it, because earth fulfils it, because his hand is of the rightsize to hold her heart in its hollow. "

The lovers' hands were closely clasped, the lovers' lips were verynear to meeting. Only the god Pan smiled and sneered as if he knewthat sometimes lovers' lips fail to meet even when the space betweenfervent mouth and mouth is no bigger than a rose-leaf. 

"Katherine, " Villon whispered, and drew her closer to him. Love, happiness, life were coming to his arms as to a shrine. 

In the sudden bliss that had come upon both the lovers they paid noheed to a footstep upon the terrace, till a voice struck like asword-stroke across their ecstasy, the voice of Noel le Jolys. 

"Where are the lovers of yesterday?" Noel said mockingly as heslowly descended the steps to join them. 

There was a red rage in Villon's heart, but he bridled it as heturned upon the interloper contemptuously. 

"Your pink and white lady-bird, " he said to Katherine, and thenwaving his hand at Noel with a gesture of disdain and dismissal, chanted at him:

"Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home. "

Noel's pink face flushed a poppy red and his white hand went to hissword hilt. There was courage in the foppish substance, and he wouldclearly have rejoiced to try his chance in a passage-at-arms. 

"My lord, " he said, "I will measure word and sword with you at anyseason, but now I seek promised speech with this lady. "

Villon laughed at his menace. 

"While I have better business in hand, you shall know only thesmooth of my tongue and the flat of my falchion. Compass yourswelling heart lest you play the lion before a lady. "

The two men eyed each other like angry dogs, eager to spring at eachother's throats. Katherine dropped her restraining hand on Villon'sarm. 

"My lord, " she whispered, "he has importuned me for audience. I willspeak with you again ere you ride. "

Villon turned to her. 

"We ride at nine, remember, " he said in a low voice; and then in alouder tone, looking at Noel, he added mockingly, "Till then I shallbusy myself in writing my last will and testament, and bequeathing athousand nothings to a thousand nobodies to puzzle posterity. Youshall taste of my bounty, Messire Noel, " and he began to improvisederisively:

 "To Messire Noel, named the neat By those who love him, I bequeath A helmless ship, a houseless street, A wordless book, a swordless sheath, An hourless clock, a leafless wreath, A bed sans sheet, a board sans meat, A bell sans tongue, a saw sans teeth, To make his nothingness complete. "

Noel shrugged his shoulders and turned his back. He was very irate, but he was resolved to show nothing but indifference. 

"Do you leave me nothing?" Katherine whispered, and Villon answered:

"Now and always the heart of my heart. "

He turned on his heel and glided into the liquid darkness of therose alley, alone with exquisite thoughts. 

Katherine turned to Noel haughtily. 

"Well?" she said. 

"I have always to seek you nowadays, " Noel protested. 

Katherine tossed her head, and her tresses trembled like leaves inthe moonlight. 

"The world is not yet so old that the wooing must be done by women. "

"I am out of favour, " Noel complained, "since a fellow from nowhereplays the fool in high places. "

Katherine's eyes showered scorn upon him. 

"I do not hate you for railing at him, but it does not help me tolove you. "

Noel caught at the word. 

"You loved me once, " he asserted. 

She shook her head pityingly. 

"We played with great words as children play with coloured balls. Itis easy to say 'I love you, ' and often very sweet; yet the colouredballs roll into the corner, and the child forgets them when the moonof childhood wanes. "

A wistful irritation puckered Noel's smooth countenance. 

"You have outgrown me?" he questioned. 

Katherine drew away from him till the moonlight that shone betweenthem lay wide and white. She answered quietly:

"My soul was in bud a week ago. To-day it is in blossom. "

Noel threw up his arms impatiently. 

"God have mercy! What can this fellow do that is denied to me? Canhe stride a horse, or fly a hawk better? show a brighter sword inquarrel, or tune a smoother lute in calm? Can he out-dance me, out-drink me, out-courtier me, out-soldier me? No, no, no! And mustI now believe that he can out-love me?"

Katherine, weary of the controversy, began to ascend the steps tothe palace. She spoke as she mounted:

"When a man comes to court, it is worth while to be a woman. Youwill learn that some day, Sir Noel, if you grow to be a man. "

Noel retorted:

"It is no great blazon to be the favourite of a king. Gentlemen whobrag little may do much. The old love may outlast the new. "

Katherine frowned at his mystery. 

"You speak like a scented Sphinx, but I am too idle for enigmas. Farewell!" and she vanished into the palace. 

Noel looked after her fretfully:

"Why are the women all sunflowers to this scaramouch?" he askedhimself querulously. "Well, there are other women, and a wise mangathers the nearest grapes. "

A flagon and cup stood on the table by the marble seat. Noel pouredhimself out some wine and drank it, seeking consolation. His dutycalled him shortly to the service of the king, but he lingered inthe garden on the chance of a hoped-for meeting. 

"I shall be revenged, " he said to himself, "if my astrologer playshis part and tells the weak king that this Lord of Montcorbier ishis evil spirit. "

His thoughts were busy with the events of the past week; ifKatherine had been disdainful, the girl Huguette had been kind, andthe Golden Scull had found the dainty soldier a frequent visitor. Itwas Huguette who, after listening to Noel's complaints of the GrandConstable, had suggested to him, in apparent artlessness of heart, that he could play upon the king's superstitions through a newastrologer and had promised to find him a star-gazer who would sayanything and everything that Messire Noel wished to have said. Thescheme had appealed to Noel, and this very evening he expectedHuguette to bring the astrologer to him, to which end he hadentrusted her with a password which would admit strangers into theroyal garden. 

As he mused, a figure in a pilgrim's gown came cautiously out of theshadows into the moonlight behind him and stood for a momentwatching him. The god Pan could see the face that smiled under thepilgrim's hood--a girl's face, with bright eyes framed in goldenhair, but when the girl saw Noel, she slipped a mask over her face, drew her pilgrim's gown closely about her slim body, and tip-toedlightly across the grass to touch Noel on the shoulder. 

Noel turned with a start, and faced, as he believed, a masqueradingpalmer. 

"May I vend you a benevolence, gentleman?" Huguette asked, disguising her voice in an unfamiliar gruffness. 

Noel waved aside importunacy. 

"Pass your ways, pilgrim. I am in no mood for motley. "

He turned away, but the persistent pilgrim followed him. 

"Are you in a maid's mood, or a mood for a maid?"

Noel stopped impatiently. 

"Are you pander as well as pilgrim? I wait for a woman. "

The pilgrim's pertinacity was not to be baffled. 

"Is she tall or short, young or old, dark or fair, sweet or sour?"

Noel answered whimsically:

"She is of the colour of the chameleon, of the age of the ancientworld, of the height of any man's heart, and as bitter-sweet as acrushed quince. "

The girl pulled off her mask and threw back her hood. 

"Is she of my feet, favour, years and savour?"

The moment he saw her face Noel gave a cry of delight. 

"You are welcome, witch, " he shouted, "for you. Bring the best lovein the world!"

He sprang to catch the girl in his arms, but she repulsed himgently. 

"Hush! I am no love-monger now, no gallantry girl, but a mostpolitic plotter. The world spins like a potter's wheel to shape thevessel of our enterprise. We have a wizard ready for your king. WillLouis come?"

Noel nodded decisively. 

"As linnet to looking-glass. He is greedy of star-wisdom. Does yourastrologer know his lesson?"

"He is parrot-perfect. When all is quiet, give an owl's cry thrice, and a friend will bring him. He will warn the king against his GrandConstable; he will praise Tristan, applaud Olivier, and commendMessire Noel le Jolys. "

Noel chuckled. 

"Then I shall be king of the castle, and you shall have a great goldchain and pearls as big as a virgin's tears. "

Noel did not detect the scorn in Huguette's voice, as she answeredwith apparent amiability:

"You know the way to win a woman. "

"I am no jingling rhyme-broker, I thank heaven!" Noel cried. "I paymy way. "

He caught Huguette in his arms as he spoke and sought to kiss her, but she avoided him dexterously. 

"I will kiss you when you win, " she cried. 

Noel would have pushed his suit further, but at that moment thegreat clock of the palace chimed the half-hour and struck upon hismemory as well as upon his ear. He knew that the king expected himand he abandoned his love-making reluctantly. 

"You are indeed a politician, " he sighed. "I must wait on the king. "

He opened the door of the tower and stood for a moment lookingregretfully at the girl, who smiled at him temptingly, then hepassed in and drew the door behind him. 

The moment he had disappeared, the girl's bearing changed. Her faceand gesture blazoned a world of contempt for her courtier lover. 

"Fool, dunce, dolt, ass, peacock, buzzard, owl!" she stormed. Thenher rage faded and she turned sadly on her heel as another man'sname came into her heart and fluttered to her lips. "The world is assour as a rotten orange since François went into exile. "

Her glance fell on the lute which lay on the marble seat whereVillon had left it. She took it up and began to thrum it pensively, whispering to herself the words of Villon's song:

"Daughters of Pleasure, one and all, Of form and features delicate, "

she murmured to herself. As she did so, Villon, weary of wanderingin the rose alleys, came into the moonlit space and saw the cloakedand hooded figure where it sat. In a moment his mind recalled thestrange greetings he had overheard between the two pilgrims. 

"There is another of those pilgrims, " he said to himself, determinednow to solve the mystery. He crossed the grass quickly to thefigure's side and saluted it. 

"Hail, little brother. "

Huguette leaped to her feet and answered lightly:

"Hail, little sister. "

"Why little sister?" Villon asked in some astonishment. 

The masked pilgrim answered him smartly:

"If I am a brother of yours, you must need be a sister of mine. Butyou talk out of the litany. "

"What harm, " Villon retorted, "if you give me responses?"

Huguette shrugged her shoulders. 

"I will give you no more than good-bye, " she said, and turned toleave him, but Villon caught her by the arm. 

"You shall not show me your heels till I show myself your face, " heinsisted. 

Before the girl could prevent him, he had flung back her hood andsnatched the mask from her face. To his amazement he found himselflooking on the fair, familiar face of Huguette, and in astonishmenthe cried her name. The girl, astounded at being recognized, cameclose to him. 

"Who are you? "she asked. 

For answer, Villon unmasked. 

Huguette looked closely into his face, at first Without any sign ofrecognition, then suddenly the knowledge came to her and she caughthim in her arms with a cry of joy. 

"François, you dear devil, where have you been this thousand years?They said you were banished. How brave you are! Where did you stealso much splendour? Are you cutting purses? Are you pluckingmantles?"

Villon tried to stay her questions. 

"What are you doing here, Abbess?"

"The fair fool Noel has taken a week-long fancy to me, and I ammaking an age-long fool of him. Kiss me, " she urged, putting herface very near to Villon's. Villon drew back his head. 

"You should keep your kisses for the fair fool Noel. "

Huguette drew away from him angrily. 

"When you were as lean as a cat and as ragged as a sparrow, you werenot so nice a precisian. Has some great lady bewitched you? Can youonly woo in silk and win in velvet? If the kernel be sweet, whatdoes the husk matter? Heaven's pity! Why should a woman love you?"

Villon took no notice of her petulance but repeated his question:

"What are you doing here, Abbess?"

The girl's rage was as short as a summer's shower. She turned againto him, fondling him. 

"Well, I cannot shut the door of my heart in your smooth face. Rende Montigny has a great game afoot, and you are back in time toshare in it. "

"What game?" Villon asked. 

Huguette answered:

"The fair fool Noel, advised by me, has persuaded the king to see anastrologer here to-night when the gardens are quiet. Noel believesthat the astrologer will advise the king to fling his GrandConstable out of the window and call Messire Noel in at the door, but the comrades of the cockleshell really mean much more mischief. When once we get the king within reach of our fingers, we mean tosnap him up and carry him out of Paris, willy nilly, and sell him tothe Duke of Burgundy. "

Villon caught his breath. 

"A great game!" he cried. "But who is this astrologer?"

"Thibaut d'Aussigny, " she answered, "who pretends to be dead, butwho lives for this revenge. "

Villon leaped to his feet. He remembered what Katherine thought shehad seen. 

"Then it was he!" he said. 

Huguette went on with her story. 

"Noel is to give us the signal by crying an owl's cry thrice. "

Villon was revolving many thoughts in his mind and he hardly heededher. 

"This adventure of the astrologer might be turned to my advantage. Here is a chance in a thousand, " he muttered to himself, as he pacedrestlessly on the grass. "I have but to close my eyes and shut myears and the good Thibaut carries the good Louis to the goodBurgundy to-night, and there can be no hanging to-morrow. "

The girl followed after him, catching at his sleeve to stay him. 

"What are you talking about?"

Villon went on, unheeding her, whispering to himself:

"If they cut Gaffer Louis' throat between them, the world were ridof a crooked-witted king, and I free to win Katherine, hold Paris, be the first man in France--"

"François, speak to me, " Huguette pleaded, but she pleaded in vain. 

"One would say I were a fool to let such occasion slip through myten commandments. But I have learned a thing called honour, which Imust not lose for the sake of my lady. "

Huguette flung herself in front of him and stopped his restlesswalk. 

"François! François!"

"Yes, child, yes. "

"What does it matter to you what they do with the fool king?"

"Abbess, I must have a finger in this pie. Abbess, for the oldsake's sake, will you keep me a secret?"

The girl looked up at him lovingly. 

"I will always do your bidding. "

"I have a mind to play my part in this enterprise. I am the king ofthe Cockleshells and I have returned to authority. Give me yourpilgrim's gown, girl, and mind, not a word to the brotherhood. Iwant to take friend Thibaut by surprise. "

As he spoke, he pulled off the pilgrim's gown, and Huguette stoodbefore him in her familiar boy's dress of green. 

"Hide among the roses until the sport begins, " he cried. 

The girl flung her arms about him. 

"Dear François!" she cried, and then ran swiftly away from him anddisappeared into the rose-scented night. 

Villon looked after the girl as she ran. 

"The girl is as fleet as a hare and as wild witted, " he said tohimself. Then he flung Huguette from his thoughts and faced thegreat problem. 

"How does the balance go?" he asked himself, and he weighed the airwith his hands as if their cups held the precious things he spokeof. 

"In the one hand, a great king's life; in the other, a poor poet'shonour. King, beggar, beggar, king. "

He paused a moment, looking down the long lane of infinitepossibilities. He owed nothing to Louis after all. Louis had madehim the plaything of a shameless trick; had thrust honour upon himin mockery; had tantalized him with a dream of a dream. Ere anothersunset, if a woman's heart were not his for the winning, he would beswinging, grisly enough, with his tongue through his teeth, and theravens wheeling about his ears, upon the Paris gallows. It was butto let Thibaut d'Aussigny play out his play and snare the old blackfox, and then Villon had Paris to himself, was absolved from allpenalty, might in the light of the new love the people had for him, do, or at least try to do, pretty much as he pleased with thekingless kingdom. It was a dazzling prospect. 

"Why not?" he asked himself. Then, in a moment, the reasons why notrose up against him--not to be cheated, not to be banished. He hadgiven his word; he had sworn fealty to the fantastic monarch who hadplayed with him and to whom he owed at least the--realization ofgreat dreams and the golden chance of winning his heart's desire. Hehad given his word. That would not have meant much to him eight daysago when he lived in a sick atmosphere of lies and dodges and tricksand meannesses, where the lips were as ready to deceive as thefingers to filch, and where a successful falsehood was almost asmuch applauded as a successful theft. But now, as he had said, hehad learned a thing called honour; the whole meaning of life hadbeen changed for him in the sunshine of a fair girl's favour, andwhat was but yesterday possible, probable, even pleasant, was to-daysurely impossible. He murmured her name to himself--"Katherine!"--asa charm against horrible temptation, and his heart strengthenedunder the spell. 

He turned to enter the tower, but as he did so the tower door waspushed out against him and he found himself face to face with Noelle Jolys. Noel started in astonishment at the sight of his rival, but Villon caught him by the wrist. The poor popinjay was too bravea bird to be Thibaut d'Aussigny's decoy-duck. 

"Messire Noel, " he said; "I have a word to say; in your ear, " and hedrew him inside the tower and stood with him for a moment in thedarkness, whispering speech that made Noel's pulse beat fast. ThenVillon left him and sped swiftly up the winding stairs that led tothe king's room, while Noel, left alone, pushed open the door againand passed out into the garden, his head dizzy with strange news. Placing his hands like a shell about his mouth, he gave the cry ofan owl three times with a little interval between each cry, and thensoftly withdrew again into the tower, and in his turn raced with athrobbing heart up the narrow steps that led to the king's chamber. 

CHAPTER X

UNDER WHICH KING?

The rose garden seemed to be as quiet as a church-yard. No sound washeard save the faint soughing of the evening wind among the rosebushes, no sight resembling humanity visible save the face of Panlooking down mockingly upon the crimson blossoms that girdled him. Yet in a few seconds it became plain that the god Pan was not theonly occupant of the garden. Through quiet alleyways, cloaked andcowled figures came stealing, six in number--men with pilgrims'cloaks about their shoulders, and pilgrims' hoods upon theirheads--men who carried cockleshells upon the sleeves of theirgabardines--all converging through the dark walks of the garden toa common centre, and that centre the grassy space before the king'swatch tower. The six figures huddled together at the base of theimage of Pan. One of them who seemed to be their leader, a man ofgiant form, spoke, and the voice was the voice of Thibautd'Aussigny. 

"Are we all here?" he asked. 

The nearest pilgrim to him answered with the voice of René deMontigny. 

"Aye, and ready to gather the royal rose of this garden. "

As he spoke there came a faint click at the latch of the tower door. Thibaut waved his companions apart. 

"Keep close, " he said, and four of the pilgrim forms disappearedswiftly into the spaces of shadow. Only Thibaut and René remained, standing masked and attentive, their eyes fixed upon the tower door. It opened and Noel le Jolys emerged, followed by, the slight, hunched figure in faded black velvet for whom the eyes of theconspirators were so eager. Noel advanced questioning:

"Is the star-gazer here?"

René de Montigny answered him glibly as a showman patters the praiseof his wares. 

"Aye. He is the wonder of the world. He can read the stars moreeasily than a tapster the score on his shutter. He can spell you thehigh luck and the low. Bohemian, Egyptian, Arabian wisdom have nomysteries for him. "

As René ceased, the royal figure with a sweeping gesture of his handmade a sign of dismissal to Noel, who bowed respectfully andwithdrew into the tower. The king then beckoned to the mighty figurein the palmer's weed, and Thibaut advanced slowly until he waswithin touch of his prey, when he suddenly flung out his great handand caught his enemy by the throat, gripping him into silence whilehis right hand bared and brandished a dagger. The figure in blackdropped under his grasp, trembled and gasped, but the hand ofThibaut was too strong upon him and he could not speak or cry out. Thibaut hissed at him:

"Sire, I can decipher your destiny. Do not speak or I will killyou!"

He pressed the point of the dagger close to the captive's neck andsmiled to see him shudder. 

"I am Thibaut d'Aussigny, sire, whom you thought to be dead, but wholives to prison you. "

As he spoke his companions emerged from the gloom and gatheredaround Thibaut and the king, a little menacing circle of determinedmen. 

"You are in the toils. Silent you are still a man; give tongue andyou are simple carrion. You must come to the knees of Burgundy. Youshall be the Duke's footstool!"

The cowering black figure wriggled and quivered as if every one ofThibaut's words were a stroke of a whip that cut into his flesh; hiseager hands clawed piteously at Thibaut's grasping arm, until hisvery agony of terror aroused the contempt of his captor. He pushedthe king from him contemptuously, and the king dropped on the grounda black and helpless heap of fear. 

"Can a king be such a cur? Burgundy won't hurt you if you do as hebids you. I won't hurt you if you do as I bid you. "

The black figure rocked, a pitiable bundle of terrors, apparentlysobbing plaintively. Thibaut sickened at such shameless fear. 

"Stop crying, " he growled. 

René de Montigny, who had been watching keenly the actions of theprisoner, interrupted:

"He seems to be laughing, " he said. 

Thibaut gave a cry of astonishment and stooped down over theprostrate man, who greeted him with a prolonged and hearty peal oflaughter, which staggered the giant like a blow in the face. At thatmoment the tower door was flung open and Tristan appeared. 

"The king!" he cried in a voice of thunder. 

In another moment, as if by magic, the little garden space wasgirdled by the archers of the Scottish Guard, strong hands made sureof the baffled conspirators, and to their astonishment Louis himselfmade his appearance through the open doorway, his malign facesmiling in the moonlight. 

CHAPTER XI

THE DEATH OF A WANTON

The sham king leaped to his feet, still laughing, flung off theblack cap with its little row of leaden saints and the rusty blackmantle which mimicked the king's habit, and stood delighted anddefiant before Thibaut, the François Villon who thus a second timehad crossed his path. 

"Well, friend, what has the wizard told you?" Louis asked blandly. 

Villon swayed with laughter as he pointed to the bewildered giant. 

"Wonders, sire, " he answered. "I have not laughed so heartily sinceI attained greatness. " But even as he spoke Thibaut had recoveredhis wits. He might be defeated but he would not be unavenged. 

"You shall laugh no more!" he shouted, wrenching himself free fromrestraint, and he sprang at his enemy with lifted dagger. 

From behind the shadow of the statue of Pan there came a warningshriek, and swiftly between Villon and Thibaut a slim green figuredarted and slim green arms clasped Villon around the neck. Thedagger of Thibaut drove deep into the soft body of Huguette. 

With a curse Thibaut turned and, sweeping aside the archers whotried to stop him, disappeared down the nearest alley. Noel leJolys, drawing his sword, rushed in pursuit, followed by severalsoldiers. Villon held the bleeding body of the girl in his arms, andtried his best to stanch the wound which was staining the greenjerkin a dull red, but the girl protested faintly, pushing hisministering hand away. 

"Let me alone; I am done for, " she gasped. 

Olivier was by her side in an instant, eyeing the wound with theprofessional interest of the surgeon-barber and looking from it tothe girl's pale face. Villon's gaze questioned him. Olivier shruggedhis shoulders and shook his head. Villon knew that the wound wasmortal, and his own blood seemed like water within him. He carriedthe girl across the grass to the marble seat and rested her on it, the red stain on the green coat growing wider and wider as theymoved. 

"Courage, Abbess, courage, lass, " he whispered, fighting with hishorror and his sorrow as he moaned to himself: "That any one shoulddie for me!"

The girl's arms clung closer about his neck and her lips movedfaintly. He stooped close to her to catch her words. 

"This is a strange end, François. I always thought I should die in abed. Here is another kind of battlefield. Give me drink. "

"Some water, " Villon cried to Olivier, who stood a little apart fromthe pair with the resigned look of the physician who knows that hisart is of no avail. 

Huguette protested faintly. 

"Not water. Wine. I have ever loved the taste of it, and 'tis toolate to change now. "

Olivier filled a cup from the flagon on the table and was forlifting it to the girl's lips, but her feeble hand repulsed him andshe pleaded to Villon:

"Give it to me, François. "

Villon took the cup from the barber's hand, lifted it to the dyinggirl's lips, and she drank greedily. The strong wine gave her for amoment something of its own false strength, and she struggled to herfeet, Villon rising with her and supporting her. 

"Your health, François. I suppose I have been a great sinner. WillGod forgive me?"

Villon stifled a heavy groan, but he was sworn to console her if hecould, and, indeed, he believed his words of consolation. 

"He understands his children. "

The heavy head drooped its golden curls upon his shoulder. 

"You always were hopeful, " she said brokenly. Then suddenly claspinghim tightly, she cried: "Many men have taken my body; only you evertook my heart. Give me your lips. "

Villon's spirit was troubled. It seemed to him that his lips werebound to wait for that kiss of his lady's, and yet the dying girlloved him and he had loved the dying girl after a fashion, and hecould not refuse her now. He bent to grant her prayer, when suddenlyshe shook herself free from his arms and began to sing faintly thewords of the song he had made for her:

"Daughters of Pleasure, one and all, Then she caught her breath with a sob and slipped to the last linesof the verse:

"Use your red lips before too late, Love ere love flies beyondrecall. "

She shook her head back in a wild peal of laughter: then she gave agreat cry and fell forward. Villon caught her, looked in her faceand knew that she was dead, and that the best of his old bad lifelay dead with her. 

Olivier in obedience to an order of the king's, gave a signal andthe girl's body was swiftly wrapped in a soldier's cloak and laidgently upon a pair of crossed halberds. As this was being done, Noelle Jolys came panting back with a red sword in his hand. 

"Thibaut d'Aussigny is dead, sire, " he said; "my hand was the handthat finished him. "

Then as his eyes fell on the dead body, they shone with suddentears. Villon went up to him and touched him on the shoulder. 

"I leave this dead woman in your hands, " he said, "for I think youhad a kindness for her. See that she has Christian burial. "

Noel bowed his head and followed in silence the girl's body. Thegarden was left to Louis and Villon, Tristan and Olivier, and thehandful of captured rogues who stood apart, strongly guarded andstripped of their pilgrims' garb, gazing amazed at Louis and hisdouble. Villon, silent too, looked after the little group that boreaway the dead girl's body. His mind was a warfare of wild memories. Strange recollections of times and places with Huguette camecrowding up and beating piteously upon his brain. He thought of whathe had been, and groaned; of what he was now, and his soul cried outas in prayer in the name of Katherine. 

CHAPTER XII

A VIRGIN'S TEARS

The king's hand fell upon his shoulder and shattered hismeditations. 

"Are you so dashed by the death of a wanton?" the king askedmockingly. 

Villon turned upon him in a noble rage. 

"She had God's breath in her body, sire, " he said. Then drawing hishand across his forehead as if to dissipate the sad fancies thatoppressed him, he went on:

"I have been John-a-Nods for the moment, sire; now I am Jack-a-Deedsagain. The hour for battle is at hand. "

Louis shrugged his shoulders. 

"You have done me a good turn, gossip, " he said, "and may ask anygrace of me except your life. That depends on your lady. "

Villon looked over at the corner where his old boon companions werehuddled together, the miserable centre of a circle of soldiers. 

"Sire, " he said; "grant me the lives of those rascals. They shallride with me and fight for France to-night. It is better than makingthem play bob-apple on the evil tree. "

The king whispered a few words to Tristan, and Tristan veryreluctantly gave the order of liberation. The comrades of theCockleshell were freed of their bonds and bade to stand apart, underguard and out of earshot, to wait on destiny for future commands. Atthis moment Louis, glancing upwards, caught sight between the flowervases on the terrace of a gleam of crimson, the crimson silk of awoman's robe. It betrayed the presence of Katherine de Vaucelles, who had come hard upon the hour of nine to seek for her lover, butwho paused irresolute at the head of the stairs, noting the presenceof the king. Louis beckoned to her amicably, and she began slowly todescend the staircase. Louis came over to Villon and whispered inhis ear:

"Here comes your lady. I think your love-fruit is ripe and you neednot stand on tip-toe to pick it. "

Villon answered him with burning eyes:

"Sire, I believe I have won the rose of the world. "

Louis chuckled like an enraptured raven. 

"The Count of Montcorbier is luckier than François Villon. But thelady has a high mind and a fierce spirit. She may not relish thedeception, pardon the cheat his lie!"

Something in the king's words struck upon Villon's fiery hopes likea stream of ice-cold water and seemed to quench them. He was like aman who, long playing at blind-man's-buff, suddenly has the bandageplucked from his eyes and stands dazzled and blinking in thesunlight. After all, he was not the Count of Montcorbier; after all, he was not the Grand Constable of France; after all, he was only amasquerading beggar who had won the heart of a lady under falsecolours; who had triumphed by flying a false flag. In all thoseseven splendid days this simple thought had never come to him. Hiswhole soul had been so taken captive by the fascination of the parthe had been permitted to play that he forgot he was playing a part, and allowed his fancy to believe that a week-long dream would endureforever. Now he knew himself and what he had done and what he mustdo. A divine farce had turned to sudden tragedy. He turned to theking with a groan. 

"Cheat, lie, " he repeated. "Sire, those words fling me from myfool's paradise. Kill me if I fail to win her, but I will tear thismask from my face, this falsehood from my heart. "

Louis grinned at him. 

"Please yourself. Win her or swing. Either way contents me. "

As he spoke, he turned away. Katherine had descended the steps andwas moving across the grass to greet her hero, who stood withclasped hands in the moonlight like a man struck dumb. Katherine wascarrying in her hands a crimson scarf fringed with gold, and shelifted it to him as she spoke. 

"Wear this with my prayers. With it, I give you my hand and heart. You shall carry my plighted troth with you into the battle. Let metell my love to all the world. "

Swiftly and lightly she threw it about his neck before he could findwords, but now he spoke:

"Wait, wait! You must say no more until you know me. "

The girl's eyes widened with surprise. 

"Do I not know you?"

Villon thrust his face forward very close to hers. 

"Look into my face, " he said. "Look well. Do you see nothing therethat reminds you of other hours?"

Katherine smiled divinely. 

"Of happy hours in this rose garden. "

Villon insisted fiercely:

"No, no! Of a dark night, a tavern, a cloaked woman, a sordid fellowdreaming sottishly by the fire, a prayer, a love-tale and a promise, a crowd of bullies and wantons, a quarrel, a fight with sword andlantern in the dark, a breast knot of ribbon flung from a gallery--"

Katherine recoiled a little, with a horror in her eyes. 

"What are you trying to tell me?" she asked. 

Villon dropped on his knees with a groan. 

"Here is the knot of ribbon which you flung to me in the FirconeTavern. Oh, pity me! I am François Villon. "

Katherine pressed her hands to her forehead. 

"I can hear what you say, but it makes no mark on my brain. "

Villon's words ran fast from him:

"I am François Villon and yet no longer he, for my old evil self isdead. I am François Villon who served you with his sword, whopraised you with his pen, and who loves you with all his soul. "

The girl's whole body shook with fear as she answered:

"It isn't true! It isn't true! I don't believe you. "

Villon sprang to his feet. 

"Whatever my fate is, " he cried, "you shall know the truth. "

Turning to where the released conspirators stood apart, he called tothem peremptorily:

"Guy! Eene! All of you, come here!"

Amazed to be thus summoned in their own names by so great apersonage as the Grand Constable of France, the thieves creptforward timidly and, in obedience to Villon's commanding gestures, gathered about him as he turned to them, pressing his face near totheir faces, and cried:

"Look at me closer--closer. Don't you know François Villon in spiteof this new spirit shining in his eyes?"

René de Montigny gave a cry of recognition. 

"I should never have known you. You are so strangely changed. "

Guy Tabarie endorsed him. 

"Still, 'tis his dear old countenance. "

Katherine watching the scene in sick despair, turned piteously tothe king. 

"Sire, sire, is this true?"

Louis, who had been watching all with unmitigated satisfaction, answered fleeringly:

"Most true, pretty mistress. You disdained me for this. "

With blazing eyes and trembling hands Katherine moved across thegrass to where Villon stood. 

"Pitiful traitor, why did you live this lie?"

Villon pleaded desperately:

"I loved you. "

Katherine's anger flamed into a great fire. 

"Do not shame the sweet word. I hate you! To think the face that Ihave learned to love should mask so base a heart!"

Then as Villon drew a little closer to her, in an agony of entreaty, she struck out at him with both hands, beating him on the breast inan unconquerable fury. Villon bowed beneath the blow while she ragedat him:

"You have stolen my love like a thief, you have crucified my pride. I hate you! Go back to the dregs and lees of life, skulk in yourtavern, forget, what I shall never forget, that so base a thing asyou ever came near me!"

The king was by her side in an instant and whispering into her ear:

"Is this the course of true love?"

She swung upon him in scorn. 

"Sire, you have wreaked a royal revenge upon a woman. There are notears in my eyes yet, but I pray they will come that I may weepmyself clean of this memory. "

With clasped hands and set lips she moved away from Louis and stoodapart in the moonlight, a fixed and rigid figure of despair. Louisstepped to where Villon stood in stricken anguish and whispered tohim:

"I am afraid you will hang to-morrow, Master Villon. "

Villon threw back his head defiantly. 

"I should be glad to greet the gallows now, but I have a deed to dobefore I die. "

As he spoke the great bell of the palace beat out the first strokeof the hour of nine. It roused the wounded spirit in his soul. Hemoved to where Katherine stood and spoke to her:

"I dreamed that love through which I have been born again could liftme to your lips. The dream is over. But you bade me serve France, and I ride and fight for you to-night. "

While he spoke the Lords of Lau, of Eiviere and of Nantoillet inpanoply of war came from the palace with their immediate followers. The garden began to fill with the picked men of the enterprisehurrying on the summons of the warning bell to follow their leaderon his sortie. Villon's pages brought the armour of the GrandConstable and began to buckle it upon him. While this was beingdone, he turned and spoke to his brothers-in-arms:

"Comrades, let each man carry himself to-night as if the fate ofFrance depended upon his heart, his arm, his courage. Strike for themothers that bore you, the wives that comfort you, the children thatRenéw you--the women that love you. " For a moment his voice quailedand almost failed him. There were happy men there, no doubt, whomwomen loved. But he rallied in a breath and his voice rang outvaliantly again: "Forward in God's name and the king's!"

And every soldier present echoed him: "Forward in God's name and theking's!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE REDE OF FIVE RIDING ROGUES

Through the silent streets of Paris a slender line of steel movedslowly--the thread of which Master François Villon was the needlepricked to sew the realm of France together. The Grand Constablerode at the head with the Lords of Lau, of Riviere, and ofNantoillet, and somewhere at the tail rode the five released rascalsand babbled beneath their breaths as they rode. For the order tokeep silence did not count until the gates of Paris were reached andbegan to turn on their hinges to let Villon's adventurers forth. Every man of the ruffians had a stout sword swinging at his girdle;every man of them sported a steel cap upon his head; every man ofthem felt his heart pulsing with rare emotions and his brain busywith strange thoughts. René de Montigny spoke first the thing thatfilled his mind. 

"It must be a devil of a business, " he reflected, "to be bulliedlike that by a beauty. Blood, but she is beautiful, and blood, butshe can bellow. "

Guy Tabarie chuckled fatly. "I have been bullied so many times bygrey-faced drabs that I would take my trouncing patiently from sucha pair of lips. It was meat and drink to look at her and thinkthoughts. "

Jehan le Loup frowned sourly. "Had I been Master François and blackLouis not been by I should have tried to mend my luck with a cudgel. At best and worst she would have had something to curse for after alusty thumping. "

Casin Cholet licked his lips. "I shall think of her, " he said, "whennext I meet with a sweetheart. With a little wit your honest rascalcan be as happy as a king. In the dark all fur is of the samecolour. "

Oolin de Cayeulx yawned. "What are we going a-riding for?" hequestioned. "I would sooner have stayed in the king's rose gardenand filled my belly as we did last week when the great lord in goldtissue pitied us. And to think that it was no more than Françoisafter all! I could jam my dagger between his shoulder-blades formaking such a ninny of me. "

"I knew him all the time, " Guy Tabarie was beginning when René deMontigny silenced him with a ringing clip on the nearest ear whichnearly unsaddled the fat rogue. "You lie, Mountain, you lie, " hewhispered. "Do you think that if he cheated me your pig's eyes couldread the riddle? No, no, he fooled us fairly and he fooled us well, but he treated us kindly and we can afford to cry quits. "

"A strange thing, " mused Colin, "that a trifle of hair less on aman's chin and a trifle of dirt less on a man's cheek, with somematter of clean linen and a smooth jerkin, can make such adifference. "

"Not at all, " said René de Montigny, " we are all the same at thecore, every man-jack and woman-jill of us, hungering, thirsting, lusting, just after the same fashion. 'Tis only the coat thatcounts. "

"'Tis you who lie now, " grunted Tabarie. "There's no gold tissue inthe world that would make you as cunning as François. You wouldnever have done as he did if the king had made you the pick of thelitter. "

Rend whistled through his teeth. "May be so, may be not, " he said. "No man can tell what he may do till he is given his chance to testhis mettle. Oh opportunity, golden opportunity! If I were FrançoisVillon I would shape an image of gold in your name and praise youfor a saint. "

"I wonder what that girl will say, " mused Tabarie, "if our Françoiscomes back with the Duke of Burgundy in his pocket!"

"I wonder what she will say, " sneered Jehan le Loup, "if he trundlesback feet foremost with a hole in his body and half a head. "

"Whatever happens is sure to vex her, " said Casin Cholet. "Women aremade that way. "

"Our poor minions will be lonely to-night, " said Colin. 

"I doubt it, " said René de Montigny drily, and then he sighed alittle. "Poor Abbess!"

Sudden tears smeared Tabarie's fat cheeks. 

"She was a brave wench if ever, " he snivelled. "Through wellfare orillfare she was always the same, and would share board and blanketwith a friend though his pouch were as barren as Sarah's body. "

"It was ten thousand pities, " said Eene, "that she fell so love-sickfor François. Did he give her some philtre, some elixir, do youthink? François is a fine fellow though, I'll not deny it, but he'shad the devil's own luck, and by our patron St. Nicholas there beothers as fine as he. "

As he spoke the great gate of the city yawned noiselessly, andstealthy and silent the hope of Paris glided into the darkness andwas swallowed up by the night. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY

The yellow dawn, rippling over Paris, found her streets strangelysilent, strangely quiet. A few good citizens were abed, but mostgood citizens were abroad on that kindly June morning, for there wasbusiness doing outside the walls of Paris which tempted every maninside the walls to those walls, and that business was the battlethat was raging, and had raged since nightfall, between the troopsof King Louis on one side under the Grand Constable of France, andthe troops of the Duke of Burgundy and his allies on the other. Paris might have been that strange city of slumber told of by thewanderer in the Arabian tale, or that poppied palace where thesleeping beauty and her court lay waiting the coming of the hero. IfAsmodeus whisking his way on the wings of the wind with anyastonished travelling companion in tow had paused over Paris andunroofed it for the benefit of his fellow-voyager, most of the roomswould have been found as empty as the streets. 

But there was one spot in the city--an open place by the river, between an ancient gate and the church of the Celestins--which wasalive and busy with a strange activity of its own. It was emptyenough and the windows of its houses stared vacantly upon itsemptiness, but there were two men in possession of its tranquillitywho had been toiling hard at a singular piece of work. They wereputting the finishing touches to the erection of a tall, gauntgallows with its steps and platform, which occupied a space midwaybetween the gateway and the grey old Gothic church. In curiouscontrast to the sinister grimness of the gibbet, there rose oppositeto it on the side of the church a dais, richly draped with royalvelvet, splendidly spangled with fleur-de-lis and brave witharmourial bearings. 

The two men who were working at the gallows having finished theirjob, came out into the open space and stretched themselves. One wasa tall, thin, grave, poplar-tree of a man, clad in sad-colouredclothes and conspicuous for a long rosary of enormous beads which hecarried around his neck and which from time to time he handled withostentatious sanctimony. The other was as complete a contrast to hiscompanion as could be desired by the humorous painter. He was aplump, spry little fellow, brightly dressed and bubbling over withmerry, roguish spirits, which formed the most fantastic foil to thelugubriousness of his fellow-worker. Any good citizen of Paris, arising belated, if any such there may have been, and hurrying tothe walls to know how things went for the king's cause, would haverecognized readily enough in these two strange opposites two of themost dreaded of the myrmidons of Tristan l'Hermite, no less than histwo chief hangmen, Trois-Echelles and Petit-Jean. Trois-Echelles wasthe long, cadaverous hangman; Petit-Jean was the stout, drollhangman, but when it came to a push and a pinch, both were hangmenand hung in the same manner, if not with the same manners. Petit-Jean pulled a flagon of wine from under the platform of thegallows, lifted it to his lips, drained a mighty draught, sighedwith satisfaction, and held out the bottle to his brother craftsman. 

"Drink and be merry. "

Trois-Echelles, making gestures of protestation with his head buttaking the bottle with his hand none the less, drew a deep draughtfrom its throttle and sighed as sadly as his friend sighed gladly. 

"I will drink but I cannot be merry. What's the good of building anoble gallows if nobody looks at it? One might as well be building achurch. "

Petit-Jean laughed good-naturedly. 

"All Paris is on the walls watching the battle. Lucky Paris!"

Trois-Echelles laughed ill-humoredly. 

"Not so lucky if we don't win the battle. "

Petit-Jean was complacent. 

"Whichever wins will need us to hang the losers. Look at the brightside, man. "

Trois-Echelles fumbled his beads furtively. 

"I've lost heart, I tell you. I haven't hanged a man for a week. "

As he mourned over this melancholy retrospect, the door of a littlehouse hard by the church opened and an old woman, propping herselfon a crutch stick, came hobbling slowly across the open spacetowards the church. Petit-Jean knew her well enough, for they bothlodged in the same house and both on the same floor of attics. Heknew she was the mother of the greatest scapegrace in all Paris, arascal named François Villon, who had disappeared, Heaven alone knewwhere, to the old lady's great despair. He saluted her goodhumoredly. 

"Good morrow to your nightcap, mother. Have you found your lostsheep?"

Mother Villon shook her head wistfully. 

"They say he is banished, but he has sent me money, bless him!though I touch none of it, lest it be badly come by. "

Trois-Echelles stopped fumbling his beads and advanced towards her, extending his hand. 

"Give it to me to spend on masses?" he asked sanctimoniously. 

Petit-Jean danced between them. 

"Lend it to me for drink money, " he urged. 

The old woman paid no heed to their proposals. Her tired eyes hadcaught sight of the grim structure in wood which usurped a place ina familiar scene. She shaded her eyes and peered at it, asking:

"For whom do you build this gallows?"

The glum hangman answered gloomily:

"Oddly enough, we don't know. 'Make me a gallows here, ' says theConstable, 'in the open place, and sieges for the king and hiscourtiers. '"

Mother Villon, her simple curiosity easily satisfied, dropped herinformant a curtsey and hobbled slowly up the steps into the church. 

Petit-Jean stretched himself again and yawned. 

"I'll to sleep and dream of hanging a king. "

Trois-Echelles put a lean finger to his lean chin. 

"Treason, friend, if Tristan heard you. "

Petit-Jean's eyes twinkled. 

"Well, let's say an archbishop, " he said. 

Trois-Echelles nodded approvingly. 

"An archbishop ought to make a good end. "

His mind pleased itself with the picture of so high a dignitary ofthe church in his full canonicals coming under his tender care andbeing exhorted by his pious counsels. 

The two hangmen climbed on the platform of the grisly erection, and, calmly indifferent to the nature of their bed, were in a few momentsfast asleep and snoring as merrily as if every man in the world hadbeen hung and there was nothing else for them to do but to take iteasy for the rest of their days. 

The hard weariness of work and the easy weariness of wine had madethem so heavy-headed that their slumbers were not disturbed by thesound of footfalls, though the footfalls echoed strangely loud inthe lonely deserted place-the footfalls of a woman, swift andimpatient, the footfalls of a man swiftly pursuing. In anothermoment the woman and the man came into the open space, now brightand shining with the risen sun. The woman was Katherine deVaucelles; the man was Noel le Jolys. 

As Katherine entered the silent square, she paused for a moment afew paces from the church, and turning, looked at her silentfollower. 

"Why do you follow me?" she asked, and Noel le Jolys, who had doggedher footsteps from the palace, answered her briskly:

"You should not walk unguarded. Therefore I shadow you. "

Katherine scorned him. 

"You may well play the shadow, for you cast no shadow of your own. The streets are very idle--the streets are very quiet. I wouldsooner have my loneliness than your company. Let me pass to myprayers. " For Noel had glided between her and the church, and stoodbarring her passage deferentially. 

"For your lover?" he asked, and Katherine flashed at him:

"You have a small mind to ask, yet I have a great mind to answer. Myprayers are for a brave gentleman whom I shall never see again. "

As she spoke, the cup of her heart seemed to run over with redtears, and the bitter waters trembled in her eyes. Her thoughtswandered over the long white night and her sleepless sorrow, and hervigil by the window, looking out into the rose garden, and her tiredeyes straining in vain through the dark for any sight, and her tiredears straining in vain for any sound of the battle in which the lordof her heart was risking his life. For she knew it now; she hadlearned it through those age-long hours of agony, that he whom shecalled her enemy was the lord of her heart, that in spite of all herrage at the cheat that had been put upon her, she loved, not thegreat noble who had done so much to save France--no, nor the raggedpoet who had lent her his sword-arm and his sword, but just the man, by whatever name he might be called and in whatever way of life hiswheel of fortune might spin, whose hand had proved to be of theright size to hold her heart in its hollow. The Katherine ofyesterday seemed to be dead and buried, to have died a fiery deathof fierce thoughts, fierce agonies, fierce exultations, and fromthat travail a new Katherine had come into being with cleansed eyesto see the world truly and with a cleansed soul to know a greatsoul's truth. 

Noel watched her silence but it meant nothing to him, and he trippedinto her high thoughts cheerfully. 

"I am a brave gentleman, " he said, patting himself approvingly uponthe breast. "I slew Thibaut d'Aussigny last night. The king hastaken me back into favour. If I played the fool's part yesterday, Ican play the wise man's part to-morrow. I was a bubble and a gulland a dunce, if you like, but I meant no harm to the king, and theking smiles on me. Cannot you do the like?"

Katherine came out of her dream and stood upon the earth again, anddisdained him. 

"No, for you envy a great spirit and your envy makes you a basething. "

Noel protested pettishly:

"He is no man-angel. He is made of Adam's clay like the rest of us. "

Katherine's thoughts had wandered away from her escort; her mind'seyes were busy with waving banners, the shock of meeting lances, theglitter of steel coats and the beating of steel upon steel. Throughall the melley, her fancy spied one shining figure in bright armourlike, so it seemed to her, Archangel Michael or Archangel Gabriel, riding in the pride of the fight with a smile on his lips, sorrow inhis heart, and a token of white ribbon between his breast-plate andhis breast. 

She answered, not Noel's words, but her thoughts:

"My pride has the right to hate him, but I think he is still mysoul's man. "

Noel was about to speak again, when he suddenly fell back and doffedhis bonnet. Perched on the steps of the church stood the stoopedsable figure of the king, just coming from his matinal devotions. Inthe shadow behind him stood his shadows--Tristan and Olivier. 

Katherine, her attention swerved by Noel's glance, turned and swayeda reverence to Louis as he slowly descended the steps. The kingsurveyed them sardonically. 

"Good morning, friends, " he said. Then turning to Noel, he ordered, "Take the top of your speed to St. Anthony's gate and bring hot newsof the battle. "

Noel bowed and sped on his errand. Katherine requested:

"Have I your majesty's leave?"

Tristan and Olivier withdrew themselves discreetly apart, under theshadow of the gallows, that building of all human buildings whichwas most dear to their hearts and most sacred in their eyes. 

Louis came very close to the pale girl and whispered:

"Are you so hungry for your devotions that you cannot waste someworldly words on me? Are you still angry with me for the trick Iplayed on you?"

Katherine's pale face flushed a little as she answered:

"It is wasted spirit to be angry with a king. "

Louis grinned. 

"You are as pat with your answers as a clerk at matins. Could yougive me your heart now if I bent my knee?"

Katherine stifled a great sigh. 

"I lost my heart last night; I have not found it again. "

Louis flung up his hands in contemptuous amusement. 

"The fellow was a fool to blab so glibly. I would have carried thejest farther. But he stood on the punctilio and would not win youwithout confession. "

The girl's heart swelled. 

"I am glad he had so much honour, " she said, and the shining figurein the bright armour seemed more archangel-like than ever. 

Louis looked at her intently, tickling his chin with his forefinger. 

"If you wait in the church for his homecoming, you will see how thejest ends, " he said. 

Katherine made the king a profound reverence and slowly entered thechurch, every pulse of her body pleading in prayer for her lostlover. She scarcely heeded an old, bowed woman who tottered out, propped on a crutch stick, and who dropped the great lady arespectful curtsey as she passed and went her ways into the silentstreets. So the two women in the world whom Villon loved met for thefirsf time. 

Louis, left alone, beckoned to Tristan and Olivier, who hurried downto him. 

"There goes a brave lady, gossips, a fair lady, a chaste lady. Shesails in the high latitudes of lore and deserves to find theFortunate Islands. Are there not better things to do with MasterVillon than to hang him?"

Olivier protested:

"This Villon is such a damnable double dealer that the ass-headedpopulace loves him better than you. "

The king's visage soured. 

"That is enough to hang him. Yet I have a kind of liking for thefellow, and my dream troubles me--the star that fell from heaven. "

Tristan commented bluffly:

"Hang the rascal while you can and thank heaven you are well rid ofhim. "

Even as he spoke the world seemed suddenly to be full of many noisesand many voices. From beyond the gate on the ways that led to thecity walls came the clamour of hoarse shouts and cries and thethudding din of running feet. From the other side, from the streetthat led to the Louvre, came the ordered tramp of soldiers. 

Olivier interpreting one interruption, said:

"The people are coming from the walls. "

And Tristan interpreted the other. 

"The queen, sire, " he announced. 

Through the narrow space that led into the open square there came aline of soldiers escorting a number of splendidly caparisonedlitters--the carriages of the queen and the queen's chief ladies. Louis advanced to the first litter, and extending his hand, assistedthe queen to descend and conducted her with an elaborate display ofpolite affection to the gorgeous dais by the side of the church, where they sat side by side on the small thrones that had beenprepared for them. The ladies and gentlemen of the court rangedthemselves in their places behind the royal pair and the Scottisharchers formed a solid force in front. Through the open gateway camea few running, shouting enthusiasts, outstrippers of the mass ofcitizens who were returning from the walls. Even the heavy sleep ofTrois-Echelles and Petit-Jean was not proof against all this tumult. They awoke, rubbed their eyes, then climbing briskly to their feet, leaned over the platform on the handrails of the gallows andsurveyed the scene with interest. 

Noel le Jolys pushed his way through the crowd aboat the gateway andadvanced to the king. 

"Sire, " he said, "the latest message from the battle: The day iswholly ours. The Grand Constable returns in triumph. You can hearhis music now. "

Louis nodded. 

"It is very well, " he affirmed gravely. 

Through the gateway the crowd of people was pouring thick and fast, shouting and cheering and filling the square in front of the daiswith a throng of enthusiastic men, women and children, all wavingtheir arms, flinging flowers and yelling welcomes at the topmostpitch of their lungs. The sound of military music and the tramp ofmarching men could be heard approaching louder and louder. 

Five girls had forced their way to the very front row of the throneand were applauding and shouting with the rest. These were the lightladies of the Fircone, Isabeau, Jehanneton, Denise, and Blanche withGuillemette, fat Robin Turgis' fat daughter. They were all in astate of great excitement, for their lovers had vanished over nightand their Abbess had disappeared like a dream, and they knew notwhat had become of them. They had little fear for their lovers, forthe good gentlemen of the Fellowship of the Cockleshell had a way ofdiving into the deep waters of existence at intervals in order toescape the too attentive eye and the too particular finger of thelaw, and the girls had a vague idea of some great scheme on handwhich might easily result in trouble for the brotherhood. As fortheir Abbess, they were none too sorry to be free from her somewhatdecisive authority, and they chattered and babbled like birdsescaped from a cage. 

By this time the advance guard of the army began to pour in throughthe narrow mouth of the gateway and to form a line in front of thepopulace, thus leaving a wide open space between the assembledpeople and the seated king. From every window heads were thrust andhands extended waving scarfs of silk or scattering flowers. Theblare of the soldiers' music grew louder and louder, the tramp ofhorse and men came nearer and nearer, and then, when the cheeringwas at its shrillest and the rain of flowers thickest, Villon rodein through the gateway on his great warhorse with his five ruffiansclose at his heels. Villon's lifted hand gave the signal for a haltand he leaped lightly off his horse and advanced towards the king, aglorious figure to the eyes of the crowd in his shining armour witha scarlet coif upon his helmet. If for a moment his glance rested onthe gaunt skeleton of the gallows there came no change in the proudcomposure of his face. Immediately behind him followed the faithfulragamuffins, each of whom bore vivid signs in slung arm, swathed legor bandaged forehead of the lusty work he had done in the king'sname upon the king's enemies. But the slings and swathes andbandages were of no common sort, but splendid bits of silk of manycolours, bearing fantastic devices and rich in threads of gold andsilver. 

As Villon and his fantastic escort strode towards the presence, Noelinterposed indignantly. He stretched a pair of protecting arms wideout to ward off from the king the approach of so singular adeputation, while he demanded angrily:

"In heaven's name, sir, who are these scarecrows who flaunt theirtatters in the presence of the king?"

The king nursed his chin with an amused smile as Villon answered:

"The scarecrows are rogues who have fought like gentlefolk and theserags are the banners of the enemy. "

Even as he spoke the rapscallions stripped the pieces of silk fromarm and leg and forehead, shook them out into such semblance oftheir original shape as battle had left to them and flung them witha gesture of imperial pride on the ground at the foot of the dais. 

"Well answered, " said Louis regally, while two pursuivants pouncedswiftly upon the bits of silk, and gathering them up withreverential fingers, laid them upon the railing in front of theking's chair to be examined with loving care by the queen. Standingerect, Villon addressed the king: "Louis of France, we bring youthese silks for your carpet. An hour ago they wooed the wind fromBurgundian staves and floated over Burgundian helmets. I will makeno vain glory of their winning. Burgundy fought well, but Francefought better, and these trophies trail in our triumph. To amercer's eyes these bits of tissue are but so many squares ofdamaged web. To a soldier's eye, they cover crowded graves withhonour. To a king's eye, they deck one throne with lonely splendour. When we here, who breathe hard from fighting, and ye, who standthere and marvel, are dust, when the king's name is but a goldenspace in chronicles grey with age, these banners shall hang fromCathedral arches and your children's children's children, lifted inreverent arms, shall peep through the dim air at the faded colours, and baby lips shall whisper an echo of our battle. "

CHAPTER XV

THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS

As Villon ended a great peal of music came from the church, themagnificent music of a Te Deum Laudamus; while from the soldiers whochoked the archway, a glowing sea of steel, there rose one commoncry of "God save the Grand Constable!"

Olivier leaned over and whispered to the king;

"They cheer him, sire. "

Louis waved him impatiently aside, and leaning over the railing, spoke:

"My Lord Constable, and you, brave soldiers, the King of Francethanks you for your gift. Victory was indeed assured you by thejustice of our cause. My Lord of Montcorbier, you may promise thesebrave fellows that their sovereign will remember them. "

Swiftly Villon turned and addressed the motley throng behind him:

"In the king's name, a gold coin to every man who fought and a cupof wine to every man, woman and child who wishes to drink the king'shealth. "

The king smiled wryly. 

"Ever generous, " he said. 

"To the end, sire, " Villon answered, with an ironic salutation, which Louis answered by an ironic question. 

"What have you now to do?"

Villon saluted the king again. 

"My latest duty, sire, " he answered, and once again he turned toaddress the multitude:

"Soldiers who have served under me, friends who have fought with me, and you, people, whom I have striven to succour, listen to myamazing swan song. You know me a little as Count of Montcorbier, Grand Constable of France. I know myself indifferently well asFrançois Villon, Master of Arts, broker of ballads and somewhilebibber and brawler. It is now my task as Grand Constable of Franceto declare that the life of Master François Villon is forfeit and topronounce on him this sentence, that he be straightway hanged uponyonder gibbet. "

His words fell like the beat of a passing bell upon the ears of anabsolutely silent crowd and for some few year-long seconds thesilence brooded over the place. The five wantons on the fringe ofthe crowd caught at each others' fingers and gasped. Was thatsplendid gentleman their old friend, François Villon? As for thefive rogues who knew the secret, they had begun to laugh at Villon'sfirst words, but the laughter dried upon their lips as he ended. 

From the church suddenly the exultant music of the Te Deum ceased toswell and in its place crept forth upon the silent air the awfulnotes of a Miserere. The king had been at the ear of the organistthat morning and had planned his effects well. The melancholy musicstirred the people to murmurs of surprise and protest. 

Guy Tabarie, flourishing his notched and bloody sword, thrust hisround body forward. 

"What jest is this?" he asked. 

And Villon answered him:

"Such a jest as I would rather weep over to-morrow than laugh atto-day. For the pitcher breaks at the well's mouth this verymorning. Messire Noel, to you I surrender my sword. I like tobelieve that it has scraped a little shame from its master's coat. "

He drew his great war-sword and handed it to Noel le Jolys, who, forone of the few times in his life, astonished into forgetfulness ofcourtly etiquette, had been staring, open-mouthed, at theastonishing revelation that had just been made to him. The gleam ofthe war-worn weapon recalled him to himself and he took it from thehands of the doomed man with a grave courtesy which meant somethingmore than the official fulfillment of a formal duty. Noel le Jolyswas a soldier and his eyes paid homage to a brave man. 

Villon turned to Tristan. 

"Master Tristan, perform your office upon this self-doomed felon. "

With great alacrity, Tristan moved towards Villon, but his motionwas met by such angry murmurs from the crowd, and not from the crowdalone, but from the soldiers who had followed Villon to victory, that even he shrank back instinctively before its menace. There camecries from a thousand throats, calling on the king to pardon theGrand Constable, calling upon those who loved him to rescue him. 

"King, is this justice?" René de Montigny, shouted, and his questionevoked a roar of approval from the multitude. 

The king's keen glance surveyed the scene with no sign of fear andno sign of annoyance. Leaning easily upon the railing, as a manmight lean who surveyed an amusing farce or interlude, he addressedthe crowd:

"Good people of Paris, you have heard your Grand Constable pronouncesentence upon a criminal. Has Master François Villon any reason tourge, any plea to offer, why the sentence should not be carriedout?"

Villon waved his hand disdainfully. 

"I have nothing whatever to say, sire. François Villon must die. It's bad luck for him, but he has worse luck and so--to business. "

As he spoke he drew near to the line of Scottish archers and two oftheir number laid hands on him, one at either side. The sight oftheir hero thus in the very clutch of justice spurred the multitudeto Renéwed exasperation. Angry demands for justice, for mercy, forrescue, shook the summer air. Unarmed citizens broke into anarmourer's shop hard by, and, seizing whatever weapons they couldlay their hands upon, flourished them aloft in significant assertionthat their words were but the prefaces to deeds. Again Tabarie'sbull voice bellowed to those about him:

"Kings must listen to the voice of the people. Shall the man who ledus to victory die a rogue's death?"

And again his thunder heralded a storm. Soldiers and citizens alikeseemed prepared to rescue Villon by force from the hands of hisenemies. The Scottish archers with levelled arquebusses formed aline in front of the dais and every courtier drew his sword. Onlythe king seemed unmoved, only the king seemed entertained by thewind he had sowed, the whirlwind he had reaped. He asked quitequietly:

"Does Master François Villon ask his life?"

Villon shook his head. 

"No, sire. Master François Villon played and Master François Villonpays. "

As he spoke the angry people, swaying like a sea, shouted new shoutsof rescue, clamoured new cries for pardon. Olivier, green-pale, whispered eagerly to the king:

"Sire, the rogues are in a damnable temper. Can you not gain time, postpone, promise?"

Louis answered imperturbably:

"Are the fools so fond of the fellow? I know a way to stop theirshouting. "

As he spoke, for the first time he rose from his seat, a frail, small, black figure, to dominate those raging waves of humanity, while Olivier, holding up his hand to order silence, shouted:

"Peace, peace! The king would speak with his good people of Paris. "

The noisy voices dropped slowly into silence to hear what the kingsaid. 

"Good people of Paris, I am no tyrant. But a king is the father ofhis people, and his ears can never be shut against the cries of hischildren. You all love this man? Hear, then, my judgment! This man'slife is forfeit. Which of you will redeem it? If there be one amongyou ready to take Master François Villon's place on yonder gibbet, let that one speak now. "

There was a brief silence as the mob began to realize the meaning ofthe king's words, a silence broken by angry cries. 

"What does he mean? Take his place on the gallows! A trick--atrick!"

Louis grinned complacently. 

"No trick, friends, but a simple bargain. Here is a man condemned todeath; here is an idle gibbet. If ye prize him so highly, let oneamong you die for him. It has been said by the wise Apostle:'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his lifefor his friends. ' On my word as a king, when such a splendidvolunteer is swinging at the end of yonder rope that moment MasterFrançois Villon shall go free. Come, who will slip neck in noose forthe sake of a hero?"

Villon protested haughtily:

"No man shall die for me. "

But, indeed, his protest was premature. The anger of the crowddwindled into sullen clamours. 

"The king laughs at us! 'Tis too much to ask. "

A faint, exultant smile flickered over the king's face as he asked:

"Now, friends, where is your idol's supplement? Who will be hislieutenant, who will be heir to his heritage of a cross bar and arope? You are not so brisk as you were. Does your devotion falter?Were you mocking me and him?"

Villon looked at the king with a kind of disdainful admiration. 

"King of foxes!" he applauded, and the king heard him and smiledagain. 

"Tristan, " he said, "go into yonder church and bring me an inch ofcandle. "

Tristan bowed and entered the church. The king went on:

"Our royal mercy is mild, our royal mercy is patient. As it is ourhope and our belief to live in history as a good and gracioussovereign, we would not have it said of us that we denied even afelon all due and reasonable opportunity. "

Even while he spoke, Tristan came out of the church carrying in hishand a great gold candlestick in whose socket a little piece ofcandle, scarce an inch high, still was burning. He gave it into thehands of one of the soldiers of the Scottish Guard, who held it inhis strong grasp and stood as immovable as a statue, while the thinfaint flame pointed spear-like towards heaven in the warm andwindless air. 

Louis stopped and whispered to a page behind him who bowed andentered the church. Then the king spoke again to the silent, wondering crowd:

"So long as this candle burns, so long François Villon lives. Ifwhile it burns, one of you is moved to take Master Villon's place onthe gallows, so much the better for Master Villon, and so much theworse for his substitute. Herald, proclaim our pleasure. "

At a sign from Montjoye, the royal herald, two pursuivants stirredthe air with the blast of golden trumpets. Then Montjoye spoke:

"The king's grace and the king's justice is ready to grant life andliberty to François Villon if anyone be found willing to take hisplace on the gallows and die his death that he may live his life!"

As Montjoye's words died away a great silence fell upon theassembled people, a silence so still and cruel that men's heartsgrew cold and the warm June air seemed to be sighing over fields ofice. The king leaned over and addressed his prisoner confidentially:

"Master Villon, Master Villon, you see what human friendship meansand the sweet voices of the multitude. "

Villon answered boldly:

"Sire, it is no news to me that men love the dear habit of living. "

Louis signalled to Montjoye. 

"Proclaim again, " he said; and once more the pair of pursuivantsblew their trumpets and once again Montjoye made his singularproposition of pardon to the assemblage. 

CHAPTER XVI

"WE SPEAK TO MEN"

It fell this time upon fresh ears, the ears of an old woman who waspatiently pushing her way through the crowd in her effort to reachher humble lodging. She had succeeded in making her way to the openspace as the last words of the herald's offer were being spoken, andsuddenly her dulled brain caught the full significance of Montjoye'sspeech. Looking wildly around her, she saw where Villon stood, anarmoured figure held captive, and without attempting to realize themeaning of what she beheld, she dropped her stick and totteredforward to the dais, where she fell on her knees with clasped, entreating hands. 

"Sire, sire, I will die for him!"

Villon's heart leaped to his throat when he saw her. 

"Mammy, mammy, go away!" he cried, and he made a vain attempt tomove towards his mother, a movement instantly restrained by thecrossed weapons of his captors. At the same moment Katherine deVaucelles came out of the church door in obedience to the summons ofa royal page, who had found her at her prayers, and who told herthat the king desired her presence. She paused at the head of thesteps in amazed survey of the crowded place and a scene that atfirst she could not understand. 

"Who is this woman?" Louis asked, looking down at the poor old dame, who knelt before him and besought him. Olivier answered in his ear:

"The fellow's mother, sire. "

A very little tenderness came into Louis' eyes, a very littletenderness trembled on his lips. 

"Woman, we cannot hear you, " he said. "By God's law you have givenhim life once and by my law you may not give him life again. "

"Sire, I beseech you, " Mother Villon entreated; but the king's pitywas not to be purchased so. 

"Take her away and use her gently, " he said. 

Noel le Jolys stooped to obey the king's command, but the old woman, rising to her feet, repulsed him fiercely. 

"No! no!" she said. "I will not leave my son, " and she flung her oldbody passionately upon the prisoner's neck and clasped with her leanarms his mailed shoulders. 

Louis bade Montjoye proclaim for the last time, and once again thetrumpets thundered and once again the cold, calm voice of Montjoyepropounded the grim terms of the king's clemency. 

The silence that followed was swiftly broken by; the sweet, clearvoice of a girl. 

"I will, " said Katherine de Vaucelles from her stand on the churchsteps, and on the instant all eyes were turned to the spot where themaiden stood with face as white as pear-blossom and her handstightly clenched by her sides. She moved slowly down the steps inthe dead silence and paused before the king's throne. 

"I will die for him, sire, " she said quietly. 

From Villon's lips there came a mighty cry of "Katherine!" and afain spot of colour rose on the king's cheeks. 

"Mistress, we speak to men, " he said. 

Tristan pressed his great hands together. 

"By St. Denis, our women seem to make the best men, " he grunted. 

Katherine stood, tall and proud, facing the king. Mother Villon, stirred by this heavenly interference, left her son to fall at thefeet of the angel lady and kiss the hem of her garment. 

Katherine spoke bravely:

"Sire, I love this man and would be proud to die for him. It maychime with your pleasure to slay him; it cannot chime with yourhonour to deny me. Your word is given and a king must keep hisword. "

The king made an impatient gesture. 

"We speak to men. "

Villon caught at his words. 

"I speak to a woman, " he cried, and gazirig passionately at hislove, he called to her: "Katherine, my Katherine, death is a littlething. For love is deathless and you give me a better thing thanlife. "

With unmoved voice, with unchanged face, Katherine persisted:

"Sire, I claim your promise. "

Louis again denied her. 

"We speak to men. Tristan, do your office. "

At this moment the situation suddenly changed. Villon unexpectedlywrenched himself free from the control of the two soldiers besidehim, whose hold had relaxed in their wonder at what was passing, andsprang towards Katherine. His act instantly inspired the hearts andhands of his sympathisers, and in a second he was caught up andencircled by a crowd of armed and determined men, who drove back theScottish archers. Villon snatched a drawn sword from the hand ofRené de Montigny and held it high in the air while he shouted:

"No, by God's rood, the candle of my grace has not yet burnt to thesocket! People of Paris, shall I not speak to my lover before I die?"

The place was a raving bedlam of noise and menace. The Scottisharchers did not dare to make any attempt to recapture their escapedprisoner, but kept their line in front of the royal dais, whileVillon stood by the side of Katherine with drawn sword, an archangelof insurrection, ready at any moment to fling the forces behind himupon his adversaries. Yet the king remained as unmoved as if he hadbeen witnessing a puppet show. In his thin, even voice, hecommanded:

"Speak to her while the candle burns, not a second longer. "

With one accord, Villon's adherents drew back and Villon was leftwith Katherine alone in the open space. 

Katherine whispered to him:

"François, will you not take life at my hands?"

Villon answered her tenderly:

"Dear child, if that crowned Judas there had taken you at your word, do you think I would have outlived you by the space of a second?"

She looked fixedly into his eyes. 

"You are resolved?"

He smiled back at her. 

"I am as stubborn as a mule and no pleadings will move me. "

She looked over her shoulder with a shudder. 

"Dearest, the candle flickers in the wind. There is a dagger in yourgirdle. Slay me and yourself. "

"You mean it?" he gasped, and she answered firmly:

"By God's Mother and God's Son. "

A sudden, wonderful thought flashed through Villon's mind. He hadwon love, he could not hope to win life, but at least he might somanage as to die a soldier's death and not a knave's. He whisperedto her eagerly:

"Then we will spoil old Louis' pleasure yet. Lore, will you marry mehere at the foot of the gallows?"

She answered him:

"With all my heart. "

Instantly he turned and left her and strode towards the throne. 

"King, I crave your patience, but your sentence must tarry and turn, for I claim to marry this lady. "

Louis smiled derisively. 

"It is too late. Sing your neck-rhyme and have done, for your nooseis too large for a wedding ring. "

Villon gave him back smile for smile. 

"Sire, " he said, "I am a Master of Arts of the University of Parisand as such have the right in extremis to any sacrament of thechurch. I have lived a confirmed bachelor, but now I have a mind tochange my state. Find me a priest, King Louis. "

Olivier stooped to the king. 

"He speaks the truth, sire. He can claim this right"

Louis leaned forward interested. 

"What do you hope to gain by this?"

Villon answered calmly:

"The right to die like a soldier by the sword, not like a rogue bythe rope. "

A murmur of approval stirred the silent crowd, but it died away asKatherine suddenly advanced and stood, a white figure like a fairlily, between the king and Villon. 

"Nay, you gain more than this. I am the Lady Katherine de Vaucelles, kinswoman of the royal house, mistress of a hundred lands, GrandSeneschale of Gascony, Warden of the Marches of Poitou. In my owndomains I exercise the High Justice and the Low. This man is ofhumble birth, and when I marry him he becomes my vassal. Over myvassals I hold the law of life and death. "

Villon dropped on his knees beside his lady. 

Louis clapped his thin hands together as a man might applaud a play. 

"You are a bold minion and you have a quick wit. But if you marrythis gaol bird you decline to his condition. Your high titles fallfrom you, your great estates are forfeit to the crown and you and hemust go out into exile together; the beggar woman with the beggarman. "

Katherine turned to Villon where he knelt beside her. 

"'Tis a little price to pay for my lover. "

Villon looking up into her eyes, questioned her:

"Do you think I'm worth it, Kate? 'Tis a big price to pay for thispoor anatomy. "

She repeated her words. 

"'Tis a little price to pay for my lover. Do you doubt me?"

Unheeded a man-at-arms pushed his way through the crowd to theking's dais and whispered some words in the ear of Noel le Jolys, who in turn whispered in the ear of Olivier and Olivier hearing, grew paler than before. Villon caught Katherine by the hand. 

"No, Kate, no! The world is wide, our hearts are light. For a starhas fallen to me from heaven and it fills the earth with glory. "

His words fell on the king's ears like the voice of an oracle. Standing in his place with staring eyes and trembling fingers, herepeated falteringly the mystic words. 

"A star has fallen from heaven. My dream, my dream!"

Olivier plucked at his mantle, whispering with twitching lips:

"My liege, this story spreads like the plague in the city and everyalley vomits mutiny. "

Louis pushed him aside. 

"Rub your pale cheeks, " he said; "for all is well. Destiny hasspoken. "

Then leaning over and stretching his thin hand towards the crowd, hecried:

"People of Paris, that man shall have his life; this woman herlover. I have tried a man's heart and found it pure gold; a woman'ssoul and found it all angel. True man and true woman, to eachother's arms!"

And Katherine and Villon obeyed the king. 

EPILOGUE

At about this point in his narrative, Dom Gregory, as those happyfew who are familiar with his manuscript in the Abbey of BonneAventure are aware, diverges from the full current of his story toindulge in some philosophical reflections upon the character ofLouis XI. 

What, Dom Gregory asks in cautious interrogation, were the realintentions of the monarch with regard to François Villon and theLady Katherine de Vaucelles? His enemies no doubt assert that heplayed with their destinies for a purely malignant purpose and wasonly prevented from carrying his evil intentions into effect by thestorm of popular indignation that threatened him. Others, again, whopretend to a more intimate acquaintance with the shifty character ofthe king, insist that he did indeed purpose to send Master Villon tothe gallows, or at least and worse, into a beggar's exile, but thatlie was stayed by Master Villon's happy use of the phrase concerninga star fallen from heaven, which words, harping upon thesuperstitious wits of his majesty, made him believe that the dreamwhich had puzzled him was interpreted and fulfilled. In this regardDom Gregory records with a sly gravity how many suggest that MasterFrançois used those words of set purpose with the very intention ofplaying upon the strained strings of the king's mind. But there bethose, too, Dom Gregory adds, and we gather from his manner that heis inclined to include himself in their number, there be thosepartisans of the king who maintain that the king's cruelty was fromthe start a mere mask for clemency, that he only intended a littlemalicious sport with the too outspoken lover and the too disdainfullass, and that it had never been in the scope of his thoughtsseriously to punish either the broker of ballads or the valiant maidof Vaucelles. 

Starting from this point, Dom Gregory indulges in a great manyreflections upon kings and kingship and the consequences of kinglyacts, all of which seemed perhaps more momentous at the time whenthey were written and in the sleepy Abbey where they lie enshrined, than in busier and more bustling times. One could have wished thatDom Gregory had let such philosophies go by the board and had givenus instead some greater knowledge of what happened to FrançoisVillon and Katherine de Vaucelles after they fell upon each other'snecks in that open place in Paris, with the mob huzzahing, the kingstaring and Tristan's strange satellites busily dismantling theuseless gibbet. But here Dom Gregory is little less than dumb. Losses in the manuscript account for much of his silence; perhapshis ecclesiastical indifference to the wedded state may account formore. If we can gather vaguely from other sources that the poet andhis mistress settled down on a small and quiet estate in Poitou, lived a peaceful country life for many years and died a peacefulcountry death at the end, it is the most we can hope to gain withsurety. We are glad to believe in their happiness, for he was a truelover and she was a fair woman.