'If Villon were the king of France.'"
Villon leaped to his feet and advanced toward the herald. A wild
exultation filled his veins with fire. He felt as if he were the
lord of the world, as if his hands held the scales that decided the
destinies of nations. He had always dreamed of the great deeds he
would do, and now great deeds were possible to him, and at least he
would try to do them. He looked straight into the herald's
changeless face, but his heart shrined Katherine as he spoke.
"Herald of Burgundy, in God's name and the king's, I bid you go back
to your master and say this: Kings are great in the eyes of their
people, but the people are great in the eyes of God, and it is the
people of France who answer you in the name of this epitome. The
people of Paris are not so poor of spirit that they fear the croak
of the Burgundian ravens. We are well victualled, we are well armed;
we lie snug and warm behind our stout walls; we laugh at your
leaguer. But when we who eat are hungry, when we who drink are dry,
when we who glow are frozen, when there is neither bite on the board
nor sup in the pitcher nor spark upon the hearth, our answer to
rebellious Burgundy will be the same.
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