ce? When you speak of
Louis, you should always say, 'O King, live for ever!'"

The drumming ceased, the gay laugh died out of Villon's eyes, and he
sat ruefully silent. To hint at death to Louis, even remotely, was an
unpardonable sin.

"You are right," he said at last, and said it with a sigh. "All the
same, the idea is a good one, and ideas are scarcer than poetry and
always will be. I have heard your verses, my young friend. Here is
Saxe. Saxe, have you brought that third bottle? To drink less than
his average is a crime against a man's thirst."

But Saxe was empty-handed.

"Monsieur de Commines desires speech with Monsieur La Mothe in the
Chateau garden."

"Monsieur de Commines? Bah! Go and be birched," said Villon
peevishly. The failure of his ballad had vexed him, and he was ready
to vent his spleen on what lay nearest. "You deserve it for your
milk-and-water love-me-a-little-to-morrow. Had it been the old Paris
days the Madonna lily would have said 'Come!' to Francois Villon in
less than a week."

"Paris flowers do not grow in Amboise garden," answered La Mothe, and
added "Thank God!" in his heart.

Commines was standing at the entrance to an arch of roses which,
pergola fashion, covered a sunny walk. On three sides rose the
Chateau, grey and sullen, on the fourth was an enclosing wall. In
shaded corners a few belated gillyflowers, straggling and overgrown,
filled the air with perfume, but La Mothe's gaze was caught by a group
of Madonna lilies, slim and graceful, rising from a bed of purple
fleurs-de-lis, their ivory buds new opened, and the recollection of
Villon's comparison thrilled his imagination with its aptness. Grace
for grace, beauty for beauty, in fulfilment and promise, they were
Ursula de Vesc herself.

But almost with his first sentence Commines proved that Villon had
shrewd forethought as well as a poet's eye for a fitting simile.

"If it is not Mademoiselle de Vesc it is Francois Villon; if it is not
philandering it is wine-bibbing," he said harshly. "Stephen, the King
thinks you are wasting your time in Amboise and I think so too. What
have you discovered in your ten days?"

"All that there is to learn, Uncle."

"I see. That Ursula de Vesc has a pretty face? Stephen, Stephen, you
are not in Amboise to play the fool."

La Mothe flushed and was about to answer angrily, but remembering that
Commines spoke for the King rather than for himself he restrained his
impa