The old man stretched out his right arm. "I will tell you what you are,"
he said. "You are a rogue, my man, an impudent and a black-hearted rogue
and vagabond. I have passed an hour with you. Oh! believe me, I feel
myself disgraced! And you have eaten and drunk at my table. But now I am
sick at your presence; the day has come, and the night-bird should be
off to his roost. Will you go before, or after?"

"Which you please," returned the poet, rising. "I believe you to be
strictly honourable." He thoughtfully emptied his cup. "I wish I could
add you were intelligent," he went on, knocking on his head with his
knuckles. "Age, age! the brains stiff and rheumatic."

The old man preceded him from a point of self-respect; Villon followed,
whistling, with his thumbs in his girdle.

"God pity you," said the lord of Brisetout at the door.

"Good-bye, papa," returned Villon, with a yawn. "Many thanks for the
cold mutton."

The door closed behind him. The dawn was breaking over the white roofs.
A chill, uncomfortable morning ushered in the day. Villon stood and
heartily stretched himself in the middle of the road.

"A very dull old gentleman," he thought. "I wonder what his goblets may
be worth."

THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR

Denis de Beaulieu was not yet two-and-twenty, but he counted himself a
grown man, and a very accomplished cavalier into the bargain. Lads were
early formed in that rough, war-faring epoch; and when one has been in a
pitched battle and a dozen raids, has killed one's man in an honourable
fashion, and knows a thing or two of strategy and mankind, a certain
swagger in the gait is surely to be pardoned. He had put up his horse
with due care, and supped with due deliberation; and then, in a very
agreeable frame of mind, went out to pay a visit in the grey of the
evening. It was not a very wise proceeding on the young man's part. He
would have done better to remain beside the fire or go decently to bed.
For the town was full of the troops of Burgundy and England under a
mixed command; and though Denis was there on safe-conduct, his
safe-conduct was like to serve him little on a chance encounter.

It was September 1429; the weather had fallen sharp; a flighty piping
wind, laden with showers, beat about the township; and the dead leaves
ran riot along the streets. Here and there a window was already lighted
up; and the noise of men-at-arms making merry over supper within came
forth in fits and was