ckish humour he had
played alternately on Saxe's hopes and fears, but refusing all definite
information beyond the bare statement that Monsieur d'Argenton had sent
for him peremptorily. Why? How could Francois Villon say why? He was
no confidant of the Lord High Jackal of all the King's jackals. Saxe,
who was so friendly with couriers from Valmy, should know why.
Perhaps, humble though he, Jean Saxe, was, he had rendered the King
some service of late? and at the hint Saxe glowed, with expectation.
Who was so generous a paymaster as Louis! Perhaps, on the other
hand,--and the wrinkles of Villon's many wrinkled face deepened into
puckers,--Jean Saxe knew too much. That was dangerous. Amboise was
like Valmy, more entered than came out. Louis had many ways of paying
debts. There was Guy de Molembrais, for instance----, but Saxe was
frankly sweating and Villon broke off. The second hint was clearer
even than the first, and Saxe felt that both were true.

But when he would have spoken Commines impatiently motioned him to be
quiet, flinging a "Wait!" at him as one might a command to a restless
dog, and at the evil augury the drops gathered anew round the edge of
his close-cropped hair; gathered and swelled until they trickled down
the cunning, stupid face. Villon, he noticed, and found another evil
significance in the act, drew away from him, leaving him solitary just
when the warm nearness of human kind would have been a comfort.

They had not long to wait. Hearing a movement in the passage Villon
threw open the door, closing it again behind Ursula de Vesc. Then he
leaned against it like one interested but indifferent in his interest.
The girl was pitifully pale. Double lines of care creased the
smoothness of the forehead; the weariness she had plead had been no
pretence, but was written plainly in the languid gait, the drooped
lids, and the dark patches beneath the eyes. By her side walked
Charlemagne, and half a yard behind the three puppies trotted sleepily,
Charlot lagging last; even in his anxious preoccupation La Mothe
noticed it was Charlot, the best beloved of the three because it was
the weakest.

Her first glance was for La Mothe, her second, and this time she bowed
slightly, was towards Commines, then it fell upon Saxe, and the brows
were raised in a mute interrogation, but there was neither apprehension
nor dismay. Stepping forward La Mothe placed a chair beside the table,
and, crossing the room