Olivier bowed deferentially.
"It shall be done," he said, transferring the great gold discs to
his own pocket. Then pointing to a small golden bell which one of
the pages had placed upon the table, he added, "If there be anything
your dignity should desire, he has only to strike upon this bell."
"You are very good," Villon responded solemnly, and on the phrase
Olivier and the pages withdrew into the palace with every sign of
the most profound respect. The king at his peep-hole was pleased to
observe that his commands were being obeyed most strictly and that
no hint of any secret mirth, no obvious consciousness of a hidden
joke marred for one moment the monumental gravity of the parts which
Olivier and the pages had to play.
As soon as Villon found himself alone he looked cautiously around
him, comprehending in his astonished glance the grey walls of the
palace, the moss-grown terrace, the petal-strewn steps, the old,
stern tower with its ominous sun dial, and the wealth of wonderful
roses all about him, making the air a very paradise of exquisite
colours and exquisite odours. He shut his eyes for a few seconds and
then opened them sharply as if expecting to find that the scene had
vanished shadow-like into thin impalpable air, but castle and
terrace, tower and roses remained as they had been, very plain to
the poet's astonished senses.
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