again the cold, calm voice of Montjoye propounded the grim terms of the king's clemency.
The silence that followed was swiftly broken by; the sweet, clear voice of a girl.
"I will," said Katherine de Vaucelles from her stand on the church steps, and on the instant all eyes were turned to the spot where the maiden stood with face as white as pear-blossom and her hands tightly clenched by her sides. She moved slowly down the steps in the dead silence and paused before the king's throne.
"I will die for him, sire," she said quietly.
From Villon's lips there came a mighty cry of "Katherine!" and a fain spot of colour rose on the king's cheeks.
"Mistress, we speak to men," he said.
Tristan pressed his great hands together.
"By St. Denis, our women seem to make the best men," he grunted.
Katherine stood, tall and proud, facing the king. Mother Villon, stirred by this heavenly interference, left her son to fall at the feet of the angel lady and kiss the hem of her garment.
Katherine spoke bravely:
"Sire, I love this man and would be proud to die for him. It may chime with your pleasure to slay
