"No trouble, excellent myrmidon," he answered. "These duties are pleasures to your true man."
Olivier bowed anew.
"His majesty will probably honour you with his company later."
Villon beamed again, and again his wonder found words which seemed to him to make the most and the best of the situation. Perhaps in this singular region of dreams he was the king's man and the king's friend. At least it could do no harm to assume such friendship when his solemn companion seemed to take it for granted.
"Always delighted to see dear Louis. He and I are very good friends. People say hard things of him, but believe me, they don't know him."
He was trying his best to piece together the disordered fragments of his memory and to explain to himself how it came to pass that he was on terms of friendship with the king. His head was dizzy and heavy and he felt like a man in a dark room who was groping to find the door handle. The voice of the barber interrupted these mental struggles.
"May we take our leave, monseigneur?"
Villon's face lighted. He felt that it would be pleasanter for him to be alone while he was attempting to regain control of his faculties, more espe-
