"You shall have audience with him." The king paused. He caught sight on the steps of the dark familiar figure of the royal barber, who was approaching him deferentially. He called to him:
"Olivier, by and by, when my Lord of Montcorbier takes the air in the garden, bring this lady to him. You understand?"
He turned to Katherine again and once more tickled her chin with the swaying rose.
"Now, go, girl, or my wife and your queen will be wanting her roses."
Katherine again saluted the king and went slowly up the steps into the palace. Louis watched her as she went, watched her until she was out of sight, and then turned sharply upon his servant.
"Well, goodman barber, what of François Villon?"
"A pot of drugged wine last night sent him to sleep in a prison. This morning he woke in a palace, lapped in the linen of a royal bed. He has been washed and barbered, sumptuously dressed and rarely perfumed. He is so changed that his dearest friend would not know him again. He does not seem to know himself. He carries himself as if he had been a courtier all his days."
The king chuckled.
