is something more than I can understand in this," he said at
length. "Your mouth is full of subtleties, and the devil has led you
very far astray; but the devil is only a very weak spirit before God's
truth, and all his subtleties vanish at a word of true honour, like
darkness at morning. Listen to me once more. I learned long ago that a
gentleman should live chivalrously and lovingly to God and the king and
his lady; and though I have seen many strange things done, I have still
striven to command my ways upon that rule. It is not only written in all
noble histories, but in every man's heart, if he will take care to
read. You speak of food and wine, and I know very well that hunger is a
difficult trial to endure; but you do not speak of other wants; you say
nothing of honour, of faith to God and other men, of courtesy, of love
without reproach. It may be that I am not very wise,--and yet I think I
am,--but you seem to me like one who has lost his way and made a great
error in life. You are attending to the little wants, and you have
totally forgotten the great and only real ones, like a man who should be
doctoring toothache on the judgment day. For such things as honour and
love and faith are not only nobler than food and drink, but indeed I
think we desire them more, and suffer more sharply for their absence. I
speak to you as I think you will most easily understand me. Are you not,
while careful to fill your belly, disregarding another appetite in your
heart, which spoils the pleasure of your life and keeps you continually
wretched?"

Villon was sensibly nettled under all this sermonising. "You think I
have no sense of honour!" he cried. "I'm poor enough, God knows! It's
hard to see rich people with their gloves, and you blowing in your
hands. An empty belly is a bitter thing, although you speak so lightly
of it. If you had had as many as I, perhaps you would change your tune.
Anyway, I'm a thief,--make the most of that,--but I'm not a devil from
hell, God strike me dead! I would have you to know I've an honour of my
own, as good as yours, though I don't prate about it all day long, as if
it was a God's miracle to have any. It seems quite natural to me; I keep
it in its box till it's wanted. Why, now, look you here, how long have
I been in this room with you? Did you not tell me you were alone in the
house? Look at your gold plate! You're strong, if you like, but you're
old and unarmed, and I have my knife. What did I