He was fairly convinced by this time that he was not wandering in the labyrinths of a dream, that he really was awake, but that for some reason which he was unable to fathom, he had been thus strangely transmuted into the semblance of splendour and authority.
"The popinjay fails to recognize me," he said to himself; "so may my bullies," and as he thought, René de Montigny was pushed forward by a couple of soldiers and stood sullenly defiant before him.
Villon leaned forward, oddly interested in the grotesque turn of things which put him in this position with his old companion and fellow-scamp.
"You are—" he questioned.
Montigny answered angrily,
"René de Montigny, of gentle blood, fallen on ungentle days."
"Through no fault of your own, of course?"
"As your grace surmises, through no fault of my own. I am poor, but,
I thank my stars, I am honest."
This remark, which was made aloud for the benefit of all and sundry, provoked a roar of laughter from Guy Tabarie which was promptly converted into a groan as an indignant soldier smote him into silence by a lusty blow on the back. Villon caught him up on the assertion.
"Since when, sir? Since last night?"