A TOUCH on the shoulder roused Villon from his honeyed meditations, and he turned with a start to find the sable figure of the king at his side and the sinister visage smiling upon him.
"Good afternoon, Lord Constable," Louis said amiably, and as Villon dropped respectfully on his knee, he questioned:
"Does power taste well?"
"Nobly, sire. On my knees let me thank your majesty."
"Nonsense, man; I'm pleasing myself. You sang yourself into splendour. 'If François were the king of France,' eh?"
Villon rose with voice and gesture of apologetic entreaty.
"Your majesty will understand"
Louis brushed his apologies aside blandly.
"Perfectly. My good friend, you captivated me. With what a flashing eye, with what a radiant forehead, with what a lofty carriage you thundered your verses at me. 'There,' I said to myself, 'is a real
