Whereat the two pilgrims saluted and parted and went their several ways and were swallowed up in the motley masquerade.
Villon's curiosity was piqued to the quick.
"How in heaven's name," he asked himself, "does it come to pass that people speaking the thieves' lingo of the Court of Miracles find themselves at a feast in the rose garden of King Louis?"
He set himself to try and track down one or the other of the mysterious pilgrims, but neither of them was to be found. His wanderings brought him back to the fair space at the foot of the terrace protected by the image of the god Pan. The place was deserted; the revellers had drifted elsewhere. A lute lay on the marble seat. Villon seated himself and taking up the instrument was touching it carelessly, when a light step on the grass arrested him, the sweetest voice in the world sounded in his ears, and he found himself addressed by the Lady Katherine de Vaucelles, who was attended by a number of fair court ladies.
"I am the voice of these ladies to pray for a favour."
Villon bowed low.
"My ear is all obedience," he said, "and my heart all homage."
