René de Montigny, tired of teasing Isabeau, suddenly looked up and
caught sight of the old woman as she stood, very helpless and
wistful, peering about her. An impish spirit floated leaf-like on
the surface of his mind. He rose to his feet and danced towards her
in a fantastic manner, sweeping her a profound salutation as he
approached her.

"Your pleasure, sweet princess?" he said with mock deference.

The old woman turned her wrinkled visage up to his in wonder.

"Is Master François Villon in this company, sir?" she faltered.

Montigny treated her to another profound bow.

"Sweet creature," he simpered, "I kiss your hand and inquire."

He turned to his companions at the table and his eye rested
mockingly on the bowed figure of Huguette. After Master Villon had
told his tale Huguette had been glum enough, and her comrades
finding her snappish wisely left her to herself. She had pulled a
pack of cards from her scarlet pouch; she had been spelling out her
fortune silently, and the death card insisted itself again and again
with grim pertinacity. With a sense of despair that was strange to
her airy nature she had bowed her face on her arms and was sobbing
softly to herself. Montigny was not a man to be touched by a woman's
sorrow. He mockingly gesticulated over her bent shoulders as he
cried to the others in a false whisper,