him drily: "You call yourself a patriot, I suppose?"

Villon had recovered sufficient energy to drain a mug of wine. He
turned to the king, passing his hand over his forehead. "By no such
high-sounding title," he answered. "I am but a poor devil with a
heart too big for his body and a hope too large for his hoop. Had I
been begotten in a brocaded bed, I might have led armies and served
France; have loved ladies without fear of cudgellings, and told
kings truths without dread of the halter, while as it is, I consort
with sharps and wantons, and make my complaint to a dull little
buzzard like you, old noodle! Oh,'tis a fool's play and it were well
to be out of it."

"You won't have long to worry," Tristan muttered to himself under
his breath, and found great comfort in the thought. Louis merely
said: "You are sententious!"

Villon took him up swiftly. "The quintessence of envy, no less. I
have great thoughts, great desires, great ambitions, great
appetites, what you will. I might have changed the world and left a
memory. As it is I sleep in a garret under the shadow of the
gallows, and shall be forgotten to-morrow, even by the wolves I pack
with. But this is dry thinking; let's to drinking!" As he spoke
Villon rose to join his comrades, when his quick eye noted that
Robin Turgis had fallen asleep on his bench. Villon skipped lightly
toward him, dexterously unhooked his bunch of keys from his girdle,
and, with a triumphant gesture, made on tiptoe for the cellar door,
which he unlocked and through which he disappeared. Louis looked
after him with an acid smile. Tristan leaned forward and plucked at
the kind's sleeve. "Shall I hang him to-morrow?" he asked, hoarsely.