"Can I do with them as I wish?"
"Absolutely as you wish. Such is the king's will."
Villon leaned back in resigned surrender to an astonishing
situation. He had dreamed strange dreams in his days and nights, but
never a dream like this dream.
"Set a thief to try a thief," he philosophized, "Well, bring them
in."
Olivier bowed and disappeared silently along the rose alley by which
he had come. When he was alone again Villon slapped his forehead
resoundingly, as if he hoped to scare his senses back into sanity by
violent assault.
"Oh, my poor head," he moaned. "Am I awake? Am I asleep? What an
embroglio!"
A sense of dislike to his respectful attendant surged up through his
perplexity. "That damned fellow in black is confoundedly
obsequious," he muttered. "I wonder if I could order him to be
hanged; he has a hanging face."
Even as this kind reflection came into his head, his meditations
were disturbed by the tramp of many feet and the rattle and clank of
weapons, and a small company of soldiers came wheeling round into
the rose garden from the side of the palace, guarding a number of
men and women, in whom Villon instantly recognized his familiar
friends of the Fircone Tavern.
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