"
This statement stirred a murmur of surprise in the gathering. "Did
the pink and gold popinjay beat you?" Montigny asked, interpreting
the general curiosity.
"No, no," Villon answered. "It came about thus. We tinkers of verses
set a price on our wares that few find them worth, yet with the
love-fever in my veins I wrote rhymes to this lady and sent them to
her fairly writ on a piece of parchment that cost me a dinner."
"Did you think she would come to your whistle like a bird to a
lure?" Louis enquired playfully. Villon sighed again.
"In this kind of madness a minstrel thinks himself a new Orpheus who
could win a woman out of hell with his music. But I got my
answer--oh, I got my answer."
He dropped suddenly into a moody silence, which was not to the taste
of the fellowship who were interested in the adventure. Montigny,
leaning forward, gave Villon a clap on the back which made him
shrink, and shouted "What was the answer?"
Villon began to laugh, a loud, mirthless laugh that had no human
warmth in it.
"A fellow like a page boarded me here three days ago. He asked me if
I had sent certain verses to a certain quarter.
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