How does it run so far?"
And beating time with his hand, he read it aloud to Tabary.

They were interrupted at the fourth rhyme by a brief and fatal
movement among the gamesters. The round was completed, and Thevenin
was just opening his mouth to claim another victory, when Montigny
leaped up, swift as an adder, and stabbed him to the heart. The blow
took effect before he had time to utter a cry, before he had time to
move. A tremor or two convulsed his frame; his hands opened and shut,
his heels rattled on the floor; then his head rolled backward over
one shoulder with the eyes open, and Thevenin Pensete's spirit had
returned to Him who made it.

Everyone sprang to his feet; but the business was over in two twos.
The four living fellows looked at each other in rather a ghastly
fashion; the dead man contemplating a corner of the roof with a
singular and ugly leer.

"My God!" said Tabary, and he began to pray in Latin.

Villon broke out into hysterical laughter. He came a step forward and
clucked a ridiculous bow at Thevenin, and laughed still louder. Then
he sat down suddenly, all of a heap, upon a stool, and continued
laughing bitterly as though he would shake himself to pieces.

Montigny recovered his composure first.

"Let's see what he has about him," he remarked; and he picked the dead
man's pockets with a practised hand, and divided the money into four
equal portions on the table. "There's for you," he said.

The monk received his share with a deep sigh, and a single stealthy
glance at the dead Thevenin, who was beginning to sink into himself
and topple sideways off the chair.

"We're all in for it," cried Villon, swallowing his mirth. "It's a
hanging job for every man jack of us that's here--not to speak of
those who aren't." He made a shocking gesture in the air with his
raised right hand, and put out his tongue and threw his head on one
side, so as to counterfeit the appearance of one who has been hanged.
Then he pocketed his share of the spoil, and executed a shuffle with
his feet as if to restore the circulation.

Tabary was the last to help himself; he made a dash at the money, and
retired to the other end of the apartment.

Montigny stuck Thevenin upright in the chair, and drew out the dagger,
which was followed by a jet of blood.

"You fellows had better be moving," he said, as he wiped the blade on
his victim's doublet.

"I think we had," returned Villon with a gulp. "Damn his fat head!" h