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Updated: May 21, 2025
"There may be no plot: there is no plot," he said at last, though in the face of Commines' assertion he had little hope he was right; then he added, "and what of Mademoiselle de Vesc?" "The greater includes the less," replied Commines shortly. "What do you mean by that?" "If the King may not spare his son can he spare the girl?"
Grace for grace, beauty for beauty, in fulfilment and promise, they were Ursula de Vesc herself. But almost with his first sentence Commines proved that Villon had shrewd forethought as well as a poet's eye for a fitting simile. "If it is not Mademoiselle de Vesc it is Francois Villon; if it is not philandering it is wine-bibbing," he said harshly.
"Strike at whatever shows itself," and thrust blindly upwards. It was their first sight of bare steel, and Ursula de Vesc drew in her breath with a shiver as she saw the red smear upon its flat. "Oh! Hugues, Hugues," she moaned, and the Dauphin, catching at her hand with both his, shrank closer.
Take advice, Monsieur La Mothe, and bide indoors: the foulest soiling of God's earth is a foul old age unashamed of its disgrace." Then lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, "Come to my room when all is quiet, son Stephen. Look out for the cross of shadow and take care that the de Vesc girl does not see you." The de Vesc girl!
"And when a woman has taught you the colour of her eyes may you see that in them which will make black or blue or grey the one colour in the world for you. As to Ursula de Vesc, she detests me much as I detest that offscouring from the dregs of brazen Paris who will meet you at the Chien Noir.
Are these forgotten? In his embarrassment he glanced at Ursula de Vesc. Owing Commines neither respect nor gratitude, she had no such scruple. "Death is always terrible," she said softly, "or we make it terrible by our own terrors, but there will be a new terror added if love and the loyalty of gratitude die with the life. Is eaten bread so soon forgotten, Monsieur d'Argenton?"
Yes, Ursula de Vesc had saved him from downfall, or worse. Lessaix, watchful as every man was who called Louis master, caught the change of tone and again looked up, but this time with something more than curiosity an anxious wariness, a fear lest some current of events he failed to discover might catch him in its flood and drag him down with its undertow unawares.
"Mademoiselle de Vesc, you cannot know the peril you stand in." "Peril from what, Monsieur d'Argenton?" "from the justice of the King." "If it be only from his justice then I stand in no peril. But I, and all who love the Dauphin, know well how the King's justice deals with Amboise. Saxe, go on with your story your own way. No names were mentioned that day? What then?"
"Surely not to-night: the Dauphin might resent a stranger's coming so late." "The Dauphin? Phit! Little Charles is pretty Ursula's echo and nothing more. Come, let us go." "Then Mademoiselle de Vesc may object." "Mademoiselle de Vesc? So you know her name, do you? And what girl objects to a love song? I never yet knew one who did, and Francois Villon has lived his life.
Dairy-maids might philander, kitchen wenches and such-like common flesh might philander, but never Ursula of the grey eyes, Ursula of the tender, firm mouth. Ursula philander? Never! never! The thought was desecration. What was it Louis had said? All women are the same under the skin. It was a cynic's lie, and Louis had never known Ursula de Vesc. Lifting a lute he touched the strings lightly.
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