man, a man with a mission, a man who may serve France.'"
"Sire, that has been my hunger's dream of plenty."
Louis clasped his thin arms across his chest and hugged himself affectionately.
"Well, I couldn't very well make you king, you know, and I wouldn't if I could, for I have a fancy for the task myself. But I owed you a good turn and your own words prompted the payment. 'This poor devil shall taste power,' I said. 'I will make him my Grand Constable'"
Villon's joy was so great that he was unable to hear the king out, but interrupted him with enthusiastic promises.
"Sire, I will serve you as never king was served."
Louis went on unheeding, and his quiet, monotonous words fell on the hot brain of the poet and chilled it.
"I will make him my Grand Constable for a week."
If Louis had jerked a dagger into Villon's side, he could not have more surely hurt his victim.
"A week, sire?" Villon gasped, almost unable to realize the meaning of the king's words.
Louis turned upon him and snarled at him:
