CHAPTER VII
THE ANSWER TO BURGUNDY
A touch on the shoulder roused Villon from his honeyed meditations,
and he turned with a start to find the sable figure of the king at
his side and the sinister visage smiling upon him.
"Good afternoon, Lord Constable," Louis said amiably, and as Villon
dropped respectfully on his knee, he questioned:
"Does power taste well?"
"Nobly, sire. On my knees let me thank your majesty."
"Nonsense, man; I'm pleasing myself. You sang yourself into
splendour. 'If Fran?ois were the king of France,' eh?"
Villon rose with voice and gesture of apologetic entreaty.
"Your majesty will understand--"
Louis brushed his apologies aside blandly.
"Perfectly. My good friend, you captivated me. With what a flashing
eye, with what a radiant forehead, with what a lofty carriage you
thundered your verses at me. 'There,' I said to myself, 'is a real
man, a man with a mission, a man who may serve France.'"
"Sire, that has been my hunger's dream of plenty."
Louis clasped his thin arms across his chest and hugged himself
affectionately.
"Well, I couldn't very well make you king, you know, and I wouldn't
if I could, for I have a fancy for the task myself.
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