" And he rose and paced the lower end of the
apartment, struggling with anger and antipathy. Villon
surreptitiously refilled his cup, and settled himself more
comfortably in the chair, crossing his knees and leaning his head
upon one hand and the elbow against the back of the chair. He was
now replete and warm; and he was in nowise frightened for his host,
having gauged him as justly as was possible between two such
different characters. The night was far spent, and in a very
comfortable fashion after all; and he felt morally certain of a
safe departure on the morrow.
"Tell me one thing," said the old man, pausing in his walk. "Are
you really a thief?"
"I claim the sacred rights of hospitality," returned the poet. "My
lord, I am."
"You are very young," the knight continued.
"I should never have been so old," replied Villon, showing his
fingers, "if I had not helped myself with these ten talents. They
have been my nursing mothers and my nursing fathers."
"You may still repent and change."
"I repent daily," said the poet. "There are few people more given
to repentance than poor Francis. As for change, let somebody
change my circumstances. A man must continue to eat, if it were
only that he may continue to repent."
"The change must begin in the heart," returned the old man
solemnly.
"My dear lord," answered Villon, "do you really fancy that I steal
for pleasure? I hate stealing, like any other piece of work or of
danger.
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