Villon moved uneasily, as if resenting the interruption to his
slumbers that the firm touch had disturbed, and he grumbled
sullenly, without looking up, "What is it?"
The woman bent towards him again and whispered "A word with you."
Villon rose wearily to his feet, and as he did so the woman drew
back towards the open centre of the room, which now appeared to her
to be empty. Her nerves were too highly strung to note anything
surprising in the disappearance of the two visitors. If she thought
of them at all it was only to be glad that they had gone their ways
and left the place so lonely. Villon followed her almost
unconsciously, too sleepy for wonder. Suddenly the woman threw off
the folds that muffled her face and the vision that had haunted him
flashed on his frightened eyes, the vision so proud, so beautiful
and young. He crossed himself as he questioned in a voice that
sounded strangely alien to him, "Are you real?"
"Do I look like a ghost?" the fair woman answered.
In an ecstasy of joy Villon fell on his knees as he seldom kneeled
in prayer, while he gasped,
"If this be a dream, pray Heaven I may never wake.
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