The woman bent towards him again and whispered
"A word with you."
Villon rose wearily to his feet, and as he did so the woman drew back towards the open centre of the room, which now appeared to her to be empty. Her nerves were too highly strung to note anything surprising in the disappearance of the two visitors. If she thought of them at all it was only to be glad that they had gone their ways and left the place so lonely. Villon followed her almost unconsciously, too sleepy for wonder. Suddenly the woman threw off the folds that muffled her face and the vision that had haunted him flashed on his frightened eyes, the vision so proud, so beautiful and young. He crossed himself as he questioned in a voice that sounded strangely alien to him, "Are you real?"
"Do I look like a ghost?" the fair woman answered.
In an ecstasy of joy Villon fell on his knees as he seldom kneeled in prayer, while he gasped,
"If this be a dream, pray Heaven I may never wake."
The girl drew from her bosom a little piece of folded parchment and held it out towards him.
"You wrote me these verses. My elders tell me that poets say much and mean little; that their oaths
