I warned you she was dangerous."

"Very dangerous," said Villon, "I have felt it myself. No man is safe.
In '57--or was it '58?--there was just such another. Her mother kept
the little wine shop at the corner of----"

"Take care, sot, it is the King you trifle with, not me. You said Saxe
had told the truth."

"That the King and France are both sick; yes, Monsieur d'Argenton."

"No, no, but that Saxe had been approached."

"By Hugues or another; yes, I believe that."

"You hear, Stephen? Does that satisfy you?"

"But I also believe that Saxe, being a fool, has added a little on his
own account," went on Villon as if Commines had never spoken.

"Then what is the truth?"

"You ask that of a poet? As well ask it of a courtier--or a king's
minister," he added, and turned to La Mothe. "Were I you I would set
them face to face this very night."

"But she has already denied it."

"All the more reason. A truth will wait till morning, but a lie should
be killed overnight. Lies breed fast and die hard."

"But she may refuse."

"If I know women," said Villon, "Mademoiselle de Vesc will refuse you
nothing."

CHAPTER XXII

"WE MUST SAVE HER TOGETHER"

But while Stephen La Mothe still hesitated Commines took action. He
recognized that sooner or later there must be a confronting. Ursula de
Vesc, however deeply implicated, was no patient Griselda to accept
judgment without a protest. Tacit admission would condemn the Dauphin
equally with herself, and she might be trusted to fight for the Dauphin
with every wile and subterfuge open to a desperate woman. In her
natural attitude of indignation she would certainly force a crisis.
The sooner the crisis came the better, and amongst those for whom that
was better Philip de Commines was not the least. With all his heart he
loathed the part he was compelled to play, even while determined to
play it to its ghastly end. But to some men, Commines amongst them,
the irrevocable brings a drugging of the sensibilities. When that
which must be done could not be undone he would be at peace.

The sooner the crisis came the better, too, for Stephen La Mothe, and
Commines' sympathies went out to him with an unwonted tenderness. The
lad's nerves were flayed raw, and for him also there could be no peace
until the inevitable end had come. But just what that end would be,
and how it was to be reached, Commines feared to discuss even with
himself.

But the first nec