"Fair mistress, you have a comely face and you make it very plain that you have a comely figure. Why do you go thus?"
The girl shrugged her green shoulders and shifted the balance of her body from one green leg to the other, as she answered impudently,
"For ease and freedom, to please myself, and to show my fine shape to please others."
Last night this girl had been his own familiar friend; to-day she lay leagues away from his fairy greatness. There was pity in his next speech.
"Are you a happy woman, mistress?"
"Happy enough," she answered as she snapped her fingers defiantly, "when fools like you don't clap me into prison for living my life in my own way."
"I may be a fool, but I did not clap you into prison. Heaven forbid!"
A curious look came into the girl's eyes, and she drew a little nearer to him. Her voice was a caress; the tenor of her hands was a caress; every supple curve of her alluring body caressed. She seemed to coax him, cat-like, as she whispered:
"Your voice sounds familiar, Monseigneur. Had I ever the honour to serve you?"
Villon drew away from her. He felt suddenly body-sick and soul-sick; sorry for the woman, sorry for himself.