"Has Master François Villon been here to-night?" the woman asked. Her voice was full and sweet, and Tristan knew it well though he listened unmovably. She had lowered her cloak enough to allow him a glimpse of a young, lovely face, but he needed no, glimpse to assure him.
"Yonder he squats by the hearth," he answered, masking his own voice with hoarseness and jerking his thumb towards the settle. The girl's eyes followed the signal and saw for the first time the huddled figure on the bench. "I thank you," she said simply, and moved away into the background, her eyes fixed on the crouching form, her fingers clasped nervously, waiting an impatient patience upon resolution.
Tristan leaned hurriedly over to the king.
"Zounds, sire! do you know who that was?"
Louis, smiling at his adopted cards, answered carelessly, "Some bonaroba who took you for a gull," but Tristan's nest words pricked him from his indifference.
"It was your majesty's kinswoman, the Lady Katherine de Vaucelles."
The king rose cautiously to his feet.
"Oh, ho, Oh, ho!" he chuckled. "Does lovely Katherine come to meet Thibaut?"
"She seeks François Villon, sire."
