At this very moment it pleased heaven that Katherine, sitting on the terrace and smiling at the adoration in Noel le Jolys' eyes, seemed to find the air she sought and began to sing. The tune was quaint and plaintive, tender as an ancient lullaby, the words were the words of the tortured poet, and as he heard them a new hope seemed to 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 of wonders though I die a dog's death at the end of it. I will show France 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 fail to win the lady, you must, with heaven's help, keep yourself for the gallows. No self-slaughter, no flinging away your life on some other fool'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 answered stoutly: "Sire, I will keep my bargain. Give me my week of opportunity, and if I do not make the most of it I shall deserve the death to which you devote me." Even as he spoke the air was stirred with a cheerful flourish of trumpets and the quiet garden was invaded by Tristan l'Hermite and a company of soldiers, escorting a tall and stately gentleman, whose gorgeous tabard proclaimed him to be Toison d'Or, the herald of the Duke of Burgundy. The news of his coming had run through the palace, and the terrace was suddenly flooded with courtiers and ladies eager to hear what the enemy's envoy had to say and what answer the king would send back to him. Louis seated himself on the marble seat anigh 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 a ringing voice. "In the name of the Duke of Burgundy and of his allies and brothers-in-arms assembled in solemn leaguer outside the walls of Paris, I hereby summon you, Louis of France, to surrender this city unconditionally and to yield yourself in confidence to my master's mercy." The king folded his hands over his knees and inclined his head a little, 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 blood to 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."