indows were set with rich stained glass in figures,
so far as he could see, of martial import. Then he stood in the middle
of the room, drew a long breath, and retaining it with puffed cheeks,
looked round and round him, turning on his heels, as if to impress
every feature of the apartment on his memory.

"Seven pieces of plate," he said. "If there had been ten I would have
risked it. A fine house, and a fine old master, so help me all the
saints."

And just then, hearing the old man's tread returning along the
corridor, he stole back to his chair, and began toasting his wet legs
before the charcoal pan.

His entertainer had a plate of meat in one hand and a jug of wine in
the other. He set down the plate upon the table, motioning Villon
to draw in his chair, and going to the sideboard, brought back two
goblets, which he filled.

"I drink to your better fortune," he said, gravely touching Villon's
cup with his own.

"To our better acquaintance," said the poet, growing bold. A mere
man of the people would have been awed by the courtesy of the old
seigneur, but Villon was hardened in that matter; he had made mirth
for great lords before now, and found them as black rascals as
himself. And so he devoted himself to the viands with a ravenous
gusto, while the old man, leaning backward, watched him with steady,
curious eyes.

"You have blood on your shoulder, my man," he said.

Montigny must have laid his wet right hand upon him as he left the
house. He cursed Montigny in his heart.

"It was none of my shedding," he stammered.

"I had not supposed so," returned his host quietly. "A brawl?"

"Well, something of that sort," Villon admitted with a quaver.

"Perhaps a fellow murdered?"

"Oh, no, not murdered," said the poet, more and more confused. "It was
all fair play--murdered by accident. I had no hand in it, God strike
me dead!" he added fervently.

"One rogue the fewer, I dare say," observed the master of the house.

"You may dare to say that," agreed Villon, infinitely relieved. "As
big a rogue as there is between here and Jerusalem. He turned up his
toes like a lamb. But it was a nasty thing to look at. I dare say
you've seen dead men in your time, my lord?" he added, glancing at the
armor.

"Many," said the old man. "I have followed the wars, as you imagine."

Villon laid down his knife and fork, which he had just taken up again.

"Were any of them bald?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, and with hair as whit