"Some great seigneur," thought Villon, as his host, setting down the
lamp on the flagged pavement of the entry, shot the bolts once more
into their places.

"You will pardon me if I go in front," he said, when this was done;
and he preceded the poet up-stairs into a large apartment, warmed with
a pan of charcoal and lit by a great lamp hanging from the roof. It
was very bare of furniture; only some gold plate on a sideboard; some
folios; and a stand of armor between the windows. Some smart tapestry
hung upon the walls, representing the crucifixion of our Lord in one
piece, and in another a scene of shepherds and shepherdesses by a
running stream. Over the chimney was a shield of arms.

"Will you seat yourself," said the old man, "and forgive me if I leave
you? I am alone in my house to-night, and if you are to eat I must
forage for you myself."

No sooner was his host gone than Villon leaped from the chair on which
he just seated himself, and began examining the room, with the stealth
and passion of a cat. 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 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