Villon caught fire from both her moods.
"No more?" he said, and though the sound of his voice jested, the look in his eyes was earnest.
The girl responded to jest and earnest royally.
"No less. Are you not Grand Constable, chief of the king's army? There is an enemy at the gates of Paris, and none of the king's men can frighten him away." She pointed out where, in the distance, beyond the walls of Paris, the pitched tents of the enemy fluttered their hostile flags. Her bosom heaved with great desire. "Oh, that a man would come to court! For the man who shall trail the banners of Burgundy in the dust for the king of France to walk on, I may perhaps have favours."
Villon looked at her as men must have looked at Joan of Arc when she bade them rise up and strike for France.
"You are hard to please," he said, but his heart was full of joy at the thought of trying to please her. If he could do this thing!
The girl answered his words and not his thoughts.
"My hero must have every virtue for his wreath, every courage for his coronet. Farewell."
By this time she had reached the terrace and she made to enter the palace. Villon called to her longingly:
