The herald answered promptly:
"The worst disasters of war, fire and sword and famine, much blood to shed and much gold to pay and for yourself no hope of pardon."
"Great words," the king sneered.
The herald replied proudly:
"The angels of great deeds."
Villon had been sitting listening as a man listens in a dream, almost unconscious of what was taking place. Among the ladies on the terrace Katherine stood conspicuous in her youth and beauty, and to her his eyes were turned in worship. The quarrels of great princes, the destinies of France were for the moment indifferent to him. He forgot his high desires of empire, his swelling belief in his real mission. He was only conscious that a great prize lay temptingly within his grasp, that he might win his heart's desire. Louis interrupted his reverie:
"The Count of Montcorbier, Constable of France, is my counsellor. His voice delivers my mind. Speak, friend, and give this messenger his answer."
He touched Villon on the arm and Villon turned to him in astonishment. "As I will, sire?"
The king caught him up impatiently.
"Yes, go on, go on. 'If Villon were the king of France.'"