"Give it to me to spend on masses?" he asked sanctimoniously.
Petit-Jean danced between them.
"Lend it to me for drink money," he urged.
The old woman paid no heed to their proposals. Her tired eyes had caught sight of the grim structure in wood which usurped a place in a familiar scene. She shaded her eyes and peered at it, asking:
"For whom do you build this gallows?"
The glum hangman answered gloomily:
"Oddly enough, we don't know. 'Make me a gallows here,' says the Constable, 'in the open place, and sieges for the king and his courtiers.'"
Mother Villon, her simple curiosity easily satisfied, dropped her informant a curtsey and hobbled slowly up the steps into the church.
Petit-Jean stretched himself again and yawned.
"I'll to sleep and dream of hanging a king."
Trois-Echelles put a lean finger to his lean chin.
"Treason, friend, if Tristan heard you."
Petit-Jean's eyes twinkled.
"Well, let's say an archbishop," he said.
Trois-Echelles nodded approvingly.
"An archbishop ought to make a good end."
His mind pleased itself with the picture of so high a dignitary of the church in his full canonicals
