No sooner was his host gone than Villon leaped from the chair on which he had just seated himself, and began examining the room, with the stealth and passion of a cat. [Footnote: With the stealth and passion of a cat. Does this give you any clue to Villon's character?] He weighed the gold flagons in his hand, opened all the folios, and investigated the arms upon the shield, and the stuff with which the seats were lined. He raised the window curtains, and saw that the windows were set with rich stained glass in figures, so far as he could see, of martial [Footnote: Martial: warlike.] import. Then he stood in the middle of the room, drew a long breath, and retaining it with puffed cheeks, looked round and round him, turning on his heels, as if to impress every feature of the apartment on his memory. "Seven pieces of plate," he said. "If there had been ten, I would have risked it. A fine house, and a line old master, so help me all the saints!" And just then, hearing the old man's tread returning along the corridor, he stole back to his chair and began humbly toasting his wet legs before the charcoal pan. His entertainer had a plate of meat in one hand and a jug of wine in the other. He set down the plate upon the table, motioning Villon to draw in his chair and going to the sideboard, brought back two goblets, which he filled. "I drink your better fortune," he said, gravely touching Villon's cup with his own. "To our better acquaintance," said the poet, growing bold. A mere man of the people would have been awed by the courtesy of the old seigneur, but Villon was hardened in that matter; he had made mirth for great lords before now, and found them as black rascals as himself. And so he devoted himself to the viands [Footnote: Viands: food.] with a ravenous gusto, while the old man, leaning backward, watched him with steady, curious eyes. "Have you any money?" asked the old man. "I have one white," [Footnote: White: a small coin.] returned the poet laughing. "I got it out of a dead jade's stocking in a porch. She was as dead as Caesar, poor wench, and as cold as a church, with bits of ribbon sticking in her hair. This is a hard world in winter for wolves and wenches and poor rogues like me." "I," said the old man, "am Enguerrand de la Feuillee, seigneur de Brisetout, bailly du Patatrac. [Footnote: Bailly: bailiff.] Who and what may you be?" Villon rose and made a suitable reverence. "I am called Francis Villon," he said, "a poor Master of Arts of this university. I know some Latin, and a deal of vice. I can make chansons, ballades, lais, virelais, and roundels, [Footnote: Lais: ... virilais. Chansons ... roundels: different types of versification.] and I am very fond of wine. I was born in a garret, and I shall not improbably die upon the gallows. I may add, my lord, that from this night forward I am your lordship's very obsequious, servant to command." "No servant of mine," said the knight, "my guest for this evening, and no more."