may go. There is Saxe knocking at the door.
My faith! but you have indeed scared him into discretion; he never
knocks for me. Perhaps he has brought that second bottle."

But Saxe was empty-handed, and by the light of the candle La Mothe
could see a quizzical grin upon his face.

"Monsieur," he began, but which of the two he addressed was uncertain,
"they are dull at the Chateau."

"And have sent for Francois Villon to make sport! I have dropped the
'de,' Monsieur La Mothe, there are so many rascals amongst the nobility
nowadays that I find it more distinguished to be the simple commoner.
Dull at the Chateau! Good Lord! don't I know it!" He paused, lifting
his head with a quick, bird-like motion: a cunning smile wrinkled his
face and he smote the table with his open hand. "Dull, are they?
There, my hedge-minstrel from Valmy, is your welcome ready made. Bring
your lute and make pretty Ursula's grey eyes dance to a love song,
prude that she is."

"To-night?" said La Mothe doubtfully. "Surely not to-night: the
Dauphin might resent a stranger's coming so late."

"The Dauphin? Phit! Little Charles is pretty Ursula's echo and
nothing more. Come, let us go."

"Then Mademoiselle de Vesc may object."

"Mademoiselle de Vesc? So you know her name, do you? And what girl
objects to a love song? I never yet knew one who did, and Francois
Villon has lived his life. If they pout and turn aside don't believe
them: it's just that you may not see how the heart beats. Black eyes,
blue, grey, hazel, brown; Fat Meg and Lean Joan, wrinkled fifty and
smooth sixteen, their eyes have all the same sparkle, the same dear
light in them when the heart melts. I should know, for I have made
love to every colour under the sun. Except Albino," he added
reflectively and with the conscientious air of one who desires to tell
the whole truth. "I wonder what it would be like to make love to an
Albino. But now I shall never know, the fly must run round and round
its glass until the day of the red blotch. It is a mercy I tasted the
oil and vinegar in time. That disgusts you, does it? My young friend,
you must learn not to say more with your face than you do with your
tongue if you are to keep your secrets and the King's. Come, I talk
too much and they are waiting for us."

But Stephen La Mothe left his lute behind him. He had accepted the
part allotted to him half as a jest and half for the sake of the
adventure it promised,