Villon thrust his fingers into the pocket that hung from it and
brought them out again loaded with great golden coins, bright and
clear from the mint, that gleamed joyously in the sunlight. He gave
a little cry of delight as he let them run in a shining stream from
hollowed hand to hollowed hand, and contemplated their jingle and
glitter with the delight of a new Midas. But the first thought that
welled up in his heart to welcome this strange wealth was bravely
unselfish.
"Gold counters, on my honour. Dear drops from the divine stream of
Pactolus. Good sir, will you straightway despatch some one you can
trust with a handful of these broad pieces to the Church of the
Celestins and inquire of the beadle there for the dwelling of Mother
Villon, a poor old woman, sorely plagued with a scapegrace son? Let
him seek her out--she dwells in the seventh story and therefore the
nearer to the Heaven she deserves--and give her these coins that she
may buy herself food, clothes and firing."
He was too confused to reason clearly with his situation, but he
felt sure that whoever he was and wherever he was in this amazing
dream of his, the poor old woman whom he loved so well must needs be
in it and might benefit by this gift of fairy gold.
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