If the world had been colourless and scentless before, it was now no better than a hideous heap of ashes. If Villon had run up a heavy reckoning with the king at the Fircone Tavern, must he wipe out the score with his life-blood? Villon fell at the king's feet with extended hands and agonized, beseeching eyes.
"Sire, sire, have pity!"
The king looked down on him in disdain.
"Are you so fond of life? Are you so poor a thing that you prize your garret and your kennel, your tavern and your brothel so highly?"
Villon bowed his head.
"I was content yesterday."
The king surveyed the cowering figure with growing contempt.
"Can you be content to-day? Please yourself. There is still a door open to you. You can go back to your garret this very moment if you choose. Say the word and my servants shall strip you of your smart feathers and drub you into the street."
Villon buried his face in his hands. "Your majesty, be merciful!" he implored.
The king's scorn blazed out:
"You read Louis of France a lesson, and Louis of France returns the compliment. I took you for true
