Pluck out your iron,
soldier!"
In a moment the whole pack were between Thibaut and the door, every
woman a fury, every man a fighter, every man with the exception of
Ren? de Montigny, who, dexterously disentangling himself from the
mass of his companions, made for the side door and slipped out of it
unheeded in the confusion. It was his intention to alarm the watch
and intervene for the protection of his powerful patron, and with
this purpose in his mind he disappeared into the darkness of the
street and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
In the meantime the quarrel at the Fircone raged hotter. Thibaut,
glaring at his enemies as a bull might glare at barking dogs, asked
savagely of the poet who was brandishing his sword:
"Who the devil are you?"
Villon flung has head back defiantly and flourished his sword.
"I am Fran?ois Villon, and my sword is as good as another man's."
The moment the name fell on Thibaut's ears the giant gave a giant's
laugh.
"Are you Fran?ois Villon?" he thundered. "Lend me a cudgel, some
one," and he looked around as if seeking for the weapon he asked
for..Villon snatched up a mug and flung the heel taps in the
soldier's face, spotting his cheeks with drops of crimson that
trickled on to his breast plate.
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