Olivier bowed anew. "His majesty will probably honour you with his company later." Villon beamed again, and again his wonder found words which seemed to him to make the most and the best of the situation. Perhaps in this singular region of dreams he was the king's man and the king's friend. At least it could do no harm to assume such friendship when his 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 of his memory and to explain to himself how it came to pass that he was on terms of friendship with the king. His head was dizzy and heavy and he felt like a man in a dark room who was groping to find the door handle. The voice of the barber interrupted these mental struggles. "May we take our leave, monseigneur?" Villon's face lighted. He felt that it would be pleasanter for him to be alone while he was attempting to regain control of his faculties, more especially as he noted that the pages had placed their golden cups and flagons on the marble table and that his instinct assured him that these precious vessels sheltered no less precious wine. "You may, you may," he assented, and then as the barber made to depart, Villon's mood changed and he caught him by the sleeve and drew him confidentially toward him. "Stay one moment," he murmured. "You know this plaguy memory of mine--what a forgetful fellow I am. Would you mind telling me again who I happen to be?" No look of surprise stirred the barber's face; there came no change in 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, but your favour is, I believe, greater with the King of France, for he has been pleased to make you Grand Constable. It is his majesty's wish that you contrive to remember this." Villon laughed a laugh which he tried hard to make hearty and natural, but with indifferent success. "Of course, it was most foolish of me to forget. I suppose, good master Long-toes, that a person in my exalted rank has a good deal of 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 agreeable perquisite 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.