The king's face was a study in sardonics. Tristan was poppy-red with
rage. The gang applauded and Villon glowed with their applause.

"His counsellors are rogues, Perdie!
While men of honest mind are banned.
To creak upon the Gallows Tree,
Or squeal in prisons over-mann'd;
We want a chief to bear the brand,
And bid the damned Burgundians dance;
God! Where the Oriflamme should stand
If Villon were the King of France!"

Mugs and cans clattered approval. The rhymer's eyes widened as he
drew breath to blow forth the envoi of his ballade.

"Louis the Little, play the grand;
Buffet the foe with sword and lance;
'Tis what would happen, by this hand,
If Villon were the King of France!"

A roar of enthusiasm came from the full throats of the band.
Montigny slapped Villon on the back with a "Well crowed,
Chanticleer!" Huguette flung her arms around him and hugged him as
she cried passionately: "I forgive you much, for that light in your
eyes."

But the poet seemed weary after so much heat. He pushed the girl
away and drooped on his hogshead. The rogues rattled away to their
table again, and Villon was left alone with Louis, who questioned