Villon's sententious mood deepened.
"A man might live a thousand years and yet be no more account at the last than as a great eater of dinners. Whereas to suck all the sweet and snuff all the perfume but of a single hour, to push all its possibilities to the edge of the chessboard, is to live greatly though it be not to live long, and an end is an end if it come on the winged heels of a week or the dull crutch of a century."
Louis leaned back and looked at his companion in astonishment.
"Pray heaven this philosophy may sound as fine when your neck is in the halter."
"Your majesty's wit and my wish run nose and nose in a leash."
Louis changed the subject as if there were more important matters in the world than the life, loves and death even of a Grand Constable.
"Messire Noel brings me a new astrologer to-night. The heavens seem in a conspiracy of confusion, the stars are all a tangle! My dream of a star falling from heaven defies divination."
Villon looked at him pityingly.
"Do you never tire of these sky doctors?" he questioned.
Louis frowned, as he always frowned at any hint of disbelief in the science of the stars.