"I was content yesterday."
The king surveyed the cowering figure with growing contempt.
"Can you be content to-day? Please yourself. There is still a door
open to you. You can go back to your garret this very moment if you
choose. Say the word and my servants shall strip you of your smart
feathers and drub you into the street."
Villon buried his face in his hands. "Your majesty, be merciful!" he
implored.
The king's scorn blazed out:
"You read Louis of France a lesson, and Louis of France returns the
compliment. I took you for true gold and I am afraid that you are
only base metal. You mouthed your longing for the chance to show
what you could do. Here is your chance! Take it or leave it. But
remember that I never change my mind. You may have your week of
wonder if you wish, but if you do, by my word as a king, you shall
swing for it."
Villon rose to his feet and caught at his throat as if the grip of
the rope were at that very moment closing about it. He choked as he
spoke.
"In God's name, sire, what have I done that you should torture me
thus?"
The king snapped his answer:
"You have mocked a king and maimed a minister.
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