From his place in the alcove, he who had been the women's attendant stepped forward. "Let me deal with the rabble, Monseigneur." "Silence, sir, know your place--and mine," he added significantly. Then, turning to the fellow across the table he went on sternly, "and you, leave the King's name out of your mummery, or your fool's wit may not save your neck." "I have looked through a halter ere now, and come away neither sadder nor wiser than you see me. God forbid I should ever be one or other. I have even given my Testament to the world, a thing few men do and live. Alas! How the world changes. But that is past and the bird sings no longer. _Ou sont les gratieux gallards Que je suy voye au temps jadis, Si bien chantans, si bien parlans, Si plaisans en faicts et en dicts?_ Hung, I sadly fear, hung, every mother's son of them! But the bird still sits upon the bough, and if in age it sings less, still needs must that it fills its craw, so, come, sir, pay up! Like my brother Louis, I try smooth means first, but, also like my brother Louis, I do not stop there; and, again like my brother Louis, when I squeeze I squeeze hard. _Necessité fait gars mesprendre, Et faim saillir le loup des boys,_ "François, the one and only King of Song, has spoken!" "François? What? Art thou that François Villon?" The fellow laughed as he bowed with a flourish. "Monsieur has said it!" "François Villon? And not hanged yet?" Again he laughed, but this time without merriment; the gibe and the contempt were alike bitter. "Again Monsieur has said it! Twice, no, when I come to think of it, thrice Montfauçon has sighed for me, and yet I live. By my faith! I begin to think I shall die in my bed if I do not first starve in the streets!" "François Villon----" "I have said it, I have said it; King François Villon, François the first, François the last, François Villon, the lover of all the Muses and every pretty woman in the world! And now that you know me, Monsieur, your purse, that François Villon the man and his tax collectors may drink and bless you. What? You will not? Ah, be persuaded, be gently persuaded, what is a purse or two, a handful of beggarly coins, compared with--Mademoiselle is with you, is she not? Then God forbid that I should finish the comparison. As a poet I hate ugly realities, as a man I love pretty women, and François Villon the man--Alas! we all have our passions, our frailties, you understand; eh? Look at us, we can be rough at times, just as our brother Louis can, and not having seen Mademoiselle's face I do not know if it is worth our while to quarrel. One peep, Mademoiselle, one little glimpse for the poet; the man, whose delights are not altogether pleasures of the mind, can come later if it is worth his while; one look, just one," and leaning across the narrow table he stretched out a long arm as if to twitch her hood aside.