My teeth chatter when I see a gallows. But I must eat, I
must drink, I must mix in society of some sort. What the devil!
Man is not a solitary animal - CUI DEUS FAEMINAM TRADIT. Make me
king's pantler - make me abbot of St. Denis; make me bailly of the
Patatrac; and then I shall be changed indeed. But as long as you
leave me the poor scholar Francis Villon, without a farthing, why,
of course, I remain the same."
"The grace of God is all-powerful."
"I should be a heretic to question it," said Francis. "It has made
you lord of Brisetout and bailly of the Patatrac; it has given me
nothing but the quick wits under my hat and these ten toes upon my
hands. May I help myself to wine? I thank you respectfully. By
God's grace, you have a very superior vintage."
The lord of Brisetout walked to and fro with his hands behind his
back. Perhaps he was not yet quite settled in his mind about the
parallel between thieves and soldiers; perhaps Villon had
interested him by some cross-thread of sympathy; perhaps his wits
were simply muddled by so much unfamiliar reasoning; but whatever
the cause, he somehow yearned to convert the young man to a better
way of thinking, and could not make up his mind to drive him forth
again into the street.
"There is something more than I can understand in this," he said at
length. "Your mouth is full of subtleties, and the devil has led
you very far astray; but the devil is only a very weak spirit
before God's truth, and all his subtleties vanish at a word of true
honour, like darkness at morning.
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