risked it. A fine house, and a fine 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 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 to 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 with a ravenous
gusto, while the old man, leaning backward, watched him with steady,
curious eyes.

"You have blood on your shoulder, my man," he said.

Montigny must have laid his wet right hand upon him as he left the
house. He cursed Montigny in his heart.

"It was none of my shedding," he stammered.