s not sat at
the feet of Francois Villon these ten days for nothing. I could not
have said it better myself."

But Commines was unmoved by the outburst. It was to combat this very
unreason of devotion that he had hoped for further confirmation.
Villon would surely let slip a phrase which would serve his purpose, a
word or two would do, a suggestive hint, and then a little colouring, a
little sophistry, would make the little much and the hint a damning
reality. To an adept in the art of twisting phrases such an
amplification of evidence was easy. Meanwhile an open quarrel would
serve no good purpose.

"Words, Stephen," he said more gently, "mere words, and what are
rhetoric and declamation against proofs?"

"Whose proofs?" repeated La Mothe doggedly.

Once more, as on the night of his coming to Amboise, he felt the ground
slipping from under his feet and was afraid of he knew not what. "So
far it is you who have answered with rhetoric and declamation."

"Word-of-mouth proofs."

"Here in the Chateau?"

"No," answered Commines reluctantly, "not just in the Chateau but at
its very door. I tell you, Stephen, there can be no mistake. Weeks
ago Hugues approached him, first with hints, then more openly. It was
the very cunning of Satan, the line of argument was so plausible. The
King is old and ailing, life a very weariness, death a relief. In his
sick suspicion he grows harsh to cruelty, striking first and judging
afterwards. France was afraid, bitterly afraid. Men died daily for no
cause, died innocent and as good as murdered, gave names and instances,
and because of these France was afraid. None knew who would follow
next. For the general good, for the safety of the nation, some one
must act. So the Dauphin had sent him, the Dauphin and Mademoiselle de
Vesc. That was weeks ago, and you," again Commines turned upon Villon
in denunciation, "you must have known."

"Lies, all damnable lies," said La Mothe, choking. "Who is the liar?
You won't tell me? But I must know; I must and shall. Not in the
Chateau, but at its very door? At its door? Jean Saxe! Is it Jean
Saxe, Uncle, is it Jean Saxe? It is! it is! Jean Saxe the--the----
Villon, you said there was a traitor to the Dauphin in Amboise, was
that Jean Saxe? A traitor to the Dauphin, a liar to the King; who else
could it be but Saxe? It was Jean Saxe who gave Molembrais his chance
ten days ago, Jean Saxe who knew of the play in the Burnt Mill