François. How insolent!
Katherine. It was insolence—and yet they were beautiful verses. I was in mortal fear of Thibaut. I went to this Villon and begged him to kill my enemy. He backed his love-tale with his sword—and he lies in the shadow of death. It is not just that he should suffer for my sin.
François. Do you by any chance love this Villon?
Katherine. Great ladies do not love tavern bravos. But I pity him and I do not want him to die.
François. If I had stood in this rascal’s shoes, I would have done as he did for your sake.
Katherine. If you think this, you should grant the poor knave his freedom.
François. That brother of ballads shall go free. We will do no more than banish him from Paris. Forget that such a slave ever came near you.
Katherine. I shall remember your clemency.
François. By Saint Venus, I envy this fellow that he should have won your thoughts. I, too, would die to serve you!
Katherine. My lord, you do not know me.