"No! no!" she said. "I will not leave my son," and she flung her old
body passionately upon the prisoner's neck and clasped with her lean
arms his mailed shoulders.
Louis bade Montjoye proclaim for the last time, and once again the
trumpets thundered and once again the cold, calm voice of Montjoye
propounded the grim terms of the king's clemency.
The silence that followed was swiftly broken by; the sweet, clear
voice of a girl.
"I will," said Katherine de Vaucelles from her stand on the church
steps, and on the instant all eyes were turned to the spot where the
maiden stood with face as white as pear-blossom and her hands
tightly clenched by her sides. She moved slowly down the steps in
the dead silence and paused before the king's throne.
"I will die for him, sire," she said quietly.
From Villon's lips there came a mighty cry of "Katherine!" and a
fain spot of colour rose on the king's cheeks.
"Mistress, we speak to men," he said.
Tristan pressed his great hands together.
"By St. Denis, our women seem to make the best men," he grunted.
Katherine stood, tall and proud, facing the king. Mother Villon,
stirred by this heavenly interference, left her son to fall at the
feet of the angel lady and kiss the hem of her garment.
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