, if you please," interrupted the girl, but though she
spoke to Villon her eyes were on La Mothe. The voice was cold, the
words at once a self-effacement and a rebuke. It was as if she said,
"I know my place: know--and keep--yours."

"Monseigneur," went on Villon, quite unruffled, "with the ills of life
come their cure: Amboise was dull and I present to you Monsieur Stephen
La Mothe."

The Dauphin made no immediate answer, but glanced up at Ursula de Vesc
with a question in his eyes, and his clasp on her hand tightened,
drawing her yet closer to him. It was the action of a child to its
mother rather than that of a boy of twelve to a girl not twice his age,
and to those who understood it was curiously instructive. Looking down
upon him she smiled and nodded, nor did the gracious softening of the
tender face escape La Mothe. Her eyes were grey, and surely grey eyes
were the sweetest in all the world?

"Monsieur La Mothe," repeated Charles, as if the girl's look had given
him courage to speak. "Monsieur La Mothe of--Valmy?"

"Monsieur La Mothe of everywhere," replied Villon hastily, before La
Mothe had time to answer. "Singers and poets are of all the world.
They say it took seven cities to give Homer birth."

"And Monsieur La Mothe is another Homer?" said the girl, and Stephen
winced at the insolent curve of her lips. He was quite sure they were
never meant for such a curve, surely a Cupid's bow would be more
natural than contempt, disdain, and a few other injurious opinions all
in the one expression. In this belief he hastened to reply, allowing
no time for Villon to intervene.

"No, mademoiselle, I am neither a singer nor a poet, at least not such
a one as Monsieur Villon."

"I hope not, for your credit's sake," answered the girl drily, nor did
she seek to keep the scorn from her voice. "As both singer and poet
Monsieur Francois Villon is beyond his age."

"There is no such critic as the one who fails to understand," said
Villon, his wrinkled face white with anger, "and I see I was right at
first, and should have said Mademoiselle and Monseigneur, not
Monseigneur and Mademoiselle."

"Master Villon, you are impertinent," broke in Commines, who loved
Ursula de Vesc little, but hated Villon more.

"Monsieur de Commines, if it were not another impertinence I would say
that like breeds like," retorted Villon, entirely unabashed. He
returned Commines' dislike with energy, and so long as he served the
K