a moment, but he clinched his fingers tightly to restrain himself and answered with a surly impassability,
"How should I know, my lord?"
Villon drew him nearer and spoke lower still.
"Who better? That nasty quarrel over the cards, the high words and a snatch for the winnings, a tilted table, an extinguished taper, a stab in the dark and a groan. Exit Thevenin Pensete. Your dagger doesn't grow rusty!"
Jehan's grey face grew greyer and uglier, but he kept his countenance.
"Monseigneur," he answered, "I loved him like a brother."
"As Cain loved Abel," Villon said. He made a sign, and Jehan le Loup was taken back to his fellows.
So far Villon had been sufficiently diverted. He had played upon the terrors of his friends, he had bewildered them to the top of his desire. He now foresaw the possibility of sport more delicate as his glance fell upon the group of girls who clustered together like frightened birds at the foot of the statue of Pan. He made a sign to Messire Noel, and the gilded exquisite drew near.
"Bring me hither those four gentlewomen," he commanded.
