"What do you care for the fate of this fellow?"
"As I am a fool, I believe I love him."
"Heaven's mercy! Why?"
"I cannot tell you, Messire. A look in his eyes, a trick of his
voice--the something--the nothing that makes a woman's heart run
like wax in the fire. He never made woman happy yet, and I'll swear
no woman ever made him happy. If you gave him the moon, he would
want the stars for a garnish. He believes nothing; he laughs at
everything; he is a false monkey--and yet, I wish I had borne such a
child."
There was a sudden pain at Villon's heart, as if the girl's fingers
had seized it and squeezed it, but he replied lightly:
"Let us speak no more of this rascal. He believes more and laughs
less than he did. He is so glad to be alive that his forehead
scrapes the sky and the stars fall at his feet in gold dust. Paris
is well rid of such a jackanapes."
"You are a merry gentleman."
"I would be more gentle than merry with you. Will you wear this ring
for my sake? Fancy that it comes from Master Fran?ois Villon, who
will always think kindly of your wild eyes."
"Let me see your face," she requested, but Villon denied her.
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