By this time Jehan le Loup had recovered the senses which Villon's swinging blow had knocked out of him and was crawling slowly into a sitting posture. He glared ferociously at Master François and his evil right hand stole to the pommel of his dagger.
"You have cracked my crown, curse you," he grunted, and then swiftly sprang to his feet with the bare blade in his hand and rushed at his assailant. But Villon was too alert to be taken unawares. He had not time to draw his sword, but in a second he had snatched a spit from the fire and extending it scientifically kept Jehan le Loup at arm's length. Huguette seized Jehan by the dagger arm.
"She is his mother!" she said angrily. "You all had mothers, I suppose? Let him alone!"
Jehan le Loup unwillingly sheathed his weapon; Huguette dragged him back to the table; Villon replaced the spit, which had somewhat burned his fingers, and sat down by his mother's side on the settle, in peace.
"Did they frighten you, mammy?" he whispered. "But they meant no harm. Boys and girls, girls and boys."
The old woman put her arms tightly about him. Villon grimaced. Her loving touch was as painful as a hostile one to his bruised body, but he made no attempt to repress her embrace.
"Come home, François," she said. "Come home. Where have you been these three days?"
Villon caressed the old woman very tenderly, as he answered:
"Very busy, mammy—state secrets. Mum's the word. How did you find me out?"
"They told me at the Unicorn," the old woman said, "that I might find you here."