His extended hands were full of gold pieces, but they were soon emptied by the eager girls who pounced upon them. Then they left him with many curtsies and salutations and drifted away delightedly into the mazes of the rose garden. Villon turned to look at the men prisoners, who were anxiously scanning his actions. "As for these gentlemen," he said to Noel, "let them go where they will, but first give them food and drink and a pocketful of money." The effect of his words was almost as paralyzing upon the rogues as it was upon Messire Noel. It pleased the one as much as it displeased the other. Noel looked the contempt he did not venture to express. The men rushed 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 his permission and disappeared in their turn among the alleys of the rose garden, seeking and finding the wandering women and vanishing with 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? Is it the thing they call the better self, or merely this purple and fine linen?" What he said when he came to the girl was, "Fair mistress, you have a comely face and you make it very plain that you have a comely figure. Why do you go thus?" The girl shrugged her green shoulders and shifted the balance of her body from one green leg to the other, as she answered impudently, "For ease and freedom, to please myself, and to show my fine shape to please others." Last night this girl had been his own familiar friend; to-day she lay leagues away from his fairy greatness. There was pity in his next 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 in my own way." "I may be a fool, but I did not clap you into prison. Heaven forbid!" A curious look came into the girl's eyes, and she drew a little nearer to him. Her voice was a caress; the tenor of her hands was a caress; every supple curve of her alluring body caressed. She seemed to coax him, cat-like, as she whispered: "Your voice sounds familiar, Monseigneur. Had I ever the honour to serve 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?"