Villon looked at her in silence, a silence of seconds that seemed to both of them like the silence of hours. The hearts of both were houses of sweet hopes, and the brains of both were hives of happy thoughts.
"May I ask you a question?" Villon said, and the girl answered:
"Surely."
"Are you content with me?"
"You have done much."
"I have more to do. For seven days I have wrestled with greatness as
Jacob wrestled with the angels; I have made the king popular, the
Parisians loyal, the army faithful—"
"Then why do you linger here where courtiers feast and ladies dance?"
Villon's voice swelled proudly as he answered:
"I want the Duke of Burgundy to believe that the king's favourite is a zany, and the king's court an orgy, where the king's honour melts like a pearl in a pot of vinegar. But our swords are tempered in wine and sharpened to dance music, and to-night we ride."
The girl sighed. "I would that I were a man that I might ride with you."