"
He opened the door of the tower and stood for a moment looking
regretfully at the girl, who smiled at him temptingly, then he
passed in and drew the door behind him.
The moment he had disappeared, the girl's bearing changed. Her face
and gesture blazoned a world of contempt for her courtier lover.
"Fool, dunce, dolt, ass, peacock, buzzard, owl!" she stormed. Then
her rage faded and she turned sadly on her heel as another man's
name came into her heart and fluttered to her lips. "The world is as
sour as a rotten orange since Fran?ois went into exile."
Her glance fell on the lute which lay on the marble seat where
Villon had left it. She took it up and began to thrum it pensively,
whispering to herself the words of Villon's song:
"Daughters of Pleasure, one and all, Of form and features delicate,"
she murmured to herself. As she did so, Villon, weary of wandering
in the rose alleys, came into the moonlit space and saw the cloaked
and hooded figure where it sat. In a moment his mind recalled the
strange greetings he had overheard between the two pilgrims.
"There is another of those pilgrims," he said to himself, determined
now to solve the mystery.
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