"
At this point Huguette, who had been following the narrative with a
feline ferocity, caught up a wine-jug and made to throw it at the
poet's head, but was dexterously disarmed by Guy Tabarie before the
vessel had time to quit her fingers. Sulkily she plumped herself
down on her stool again, while Villon, quite unconscious of the
averted peril, rambled on dreamily.
"And the incense tickled my nostrils and the painted saints sneered
at me, and bits of rhymes and bits of prayers jigged in my brain and
I felt as if I were drunk with some new and delectable liquor. And
then she slipped out and I after her. She took the Holy Water from
my fingers."
Villon's voice sank reverently and Huguette took advantage of the
pause.
"I wish it had burned you to the bone," she interrupted spitefully.
Master Villon shook his head.
"It burned deeper than that, believe me. Outside, on God's steps,
stood a yellow-haired, pink-faced puppet who greeted her and they
ambled away together, I on their heels. Presently they came to a
gateway and in slips my quarry, and as she did so she turned to her
squire and I saw her face again and lost it, for the tears came into
my eyes.
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