The two men leered at each other across Villon, hoping that their praises of each other might have due effect upon the great lord who seemed so condescending to them. Villon smiled. "You are the Castor and Pollux of purity? Do you remember the night of last Shrove Tuesday and the girl you carried off to Fat Margot's and held to ransom?" The effect of his words upon the two men was startling. The ugly episode loomed up in their memories and they shivered to find it known. In a second the simulated friendship of bandit for bandit vanished and the two men glared at each other with the ferocity of fighting 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 their antagonism, they struck angrily at each other across their questioner and were for grappling in close combat when Villon made a signal and they, in their turn, were dragged back raging into the ranks of their fellow prisoners. There was only one left now--Jehan le Loup--who stood with folded arms and lowering brows, surveying the efforts of his comrades..Villon made a sign, and the man was dragged into his presence. 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 he answered bluffly: "My good conscience sustains me." Villon's demeanour was still amicable as he put his next question in a 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 he clinched his fingers tightly to restrain himself and answered with a surly 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 a snatch for the winnings, a tilted table, an extinguished taper, a stab in the dark and a groan. Exit Thevenin Pensete. Your dagger doesn't grow rusty!" Jehan's grey face grew greyer and uglier, but he kept his countenance. "Monseigneur," he answered, "I loved him like a brother." "As Cain loved Abel," Villon said. He made a sign, and Jehan le Loup was taken back to his fellows. So far Villon had been sufficiently diverted. He had played upon the terrors of his friends, he had bewildered them to the top of his desire. He now foresaw the possibility of sport more delicate as his glance fell upon the group of girls who clustered together like frightened birds at the foot of the statue of Pan. He made a sign to Messire 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.