livre!" But she did not wait for his music. Dropping him a
little demure, mocking curtsy she turned and ran down the box-edged
path, singing as she went, and the air she sang was Stephen La Mothe's
"Heigh-ho! love is my life; Live I in loving and love I to live!" and
the lilt of the music set Master Homer's heart throbbing.

CHAPTER XXXI

SAXE RISES IN VILLON'S ESTIMATION

"There was a time," said Villon, "when I, too, could forget that rose
arches are open at the ends. The world is always gaping at our elbow.
If we taste a peach in an orchard, the wall is low; if we smell a rose
in a garden, there are, Heaven be thanked, more flowers than leaves
when life's at May; and either way the world is with us."

"And you were the gaping world!" answered La Mothe, vexed for Ursula's
sake that Villon of the bitter tongue should have discovered their
secret. "Was that friendly of you?"

"Not gaping, no! But is a man to close his eyes when heaven opens? I
beg you to believe," he went on with great dignity, "that just so soon
as I made certain you had nothing to learn from me I left you to your
rose-gathering. Observe I have not said one word about the thorns.
That is the stale gibe of the cynic whose heart of youth has dried
before its time. And what if there are thorns? A single rose with the
dew of love upon it is worth more than a pair of scratched hands.
Gape? Could you believe it of me--of me, Francois Villon? No, son of
my teaching, I doffed my hat and went on tiptoe to see Saxe."

"Saxe!" cried La Mothe. "Never once have I thought of Saxe, never once
all day, and now it is almost night."

"Don't distress yourself on that account. Saxe has wanted for nothing,
thanks to his two best friends. That reminds me." Pausing, Villon
rapped loudly on the table with his clenched knuckles, rapped until a
servant familiar with his ways answered the summons. "My friend, fetch
me a bottle of wine, one single bottle from the furthest-in bin on the
right-hand side of the cellar. It is the '63 vintage," he explained to
La Mothe, "and I have the best of reasons for knowing Saxe will not
object."

"But why one bottle only?"

"I have been invited to a certain presentation," he answered, the
crow's feet round his twinkling eyes deepening as he laughed. "Thanks,
my friend," he went on as the drawer returned with the wine; "place it
on the table and retire to your kitchen to meditate on the mutability
of human fort