"
Olivier filled a cup from the flagon on the table and was for
lifting it to the girl's lips, but her feeble hand repulsed him and
she pleaded to Villon:
"Give it to me, Fran?ois."
Villon took the cup from the barber's hand, lifted it to the dying
girl's lips, and she drank greedily. The strong wine gave her for a
moment something of its own false strength, and she struggled to her
feet, Villon rising with her and supporting her.
"Your health, Fran?ois. I suppose I have been a great sinner. Will
God forgive me?"
Villon stifled a heavy groan, but he was sworn to console her if he
could, and, indeed, he believed his words of consolation.
"He understands his children."
The heavy head drooped its golden curls upon his shoulder.
"You always were hopeful," she said brokenly. Then suddenly clasping
him tightly, she cried: "Many men have taken my body; only you ever
took my heart. Give me your lips."
Villon's spirit was troubled. It seemed to him that his lips were
bound to wait for that kiss of his lady's, and yet the dying girl
loved him and he had loved the dying girl after a fashion, and he
could not refuse her now.
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