Part 22 (1/2)
”If you were to die to-morrow, I might tell you this much to-night.
A woman may love a man because he is brave, or because he is comely, or because he is wise, or gentle--for a thousand thousand reasons.
But the best of all reasons for a woman loving a man is just because she loves him, without rhyme and without reason, because heaven wills it, because earth fulfils it, because his hand is of the right size to hold her heart in its hollow.”
The lovers' hands were closely clasped, the lovers' lips were very near to meeting. Only the G.o.d Pan smiled and sneered as if he knew that sometimes lovers' lips fail to meet even when the s.p.a.ce between fervent mouth and mouth is no bigger than a rose-leaf.
”Katherine,” Villon whispered, and drew her closer to him. Love, happiness, life were coming to his arms as to a shrine.
In the sudden bliss that had come upon both the lovers they paid no heed to a footstep upon the terrace, till a voice struck like a sword-stroke across their ecstasy, the voice of Noel le Jolys.
”Where are the lovers of yesterday?” Noel said mockingly as he slowly descended the steps to join them.
There was a red rage in Villon's heart, but he bridled it as he turned upon the interloper contemptuously.
”Your pink and white lady-bird,” he said to Katherine, and then waving his hand at Noel with a gesture of disdain and dismissal, chanted at him:
”Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home.”
Noel's pink face flushed a poppy red and his white hand went to his sword hilt. There was courage in the foppish substance, and he would clearly have rejoiced to try his chance in a pa.s.sage-at-arms.
”My lord,” he said, ”I will measure word and sword with you at any season, but now I seek promised speech with this lady.”
Villon laughed at his menace.
”While I have better business in hand, you shall know only the smooth of my tongue and the flat of my falchion. Compa.s.s your swelling heart lest you play the lion before a lady.”
The two men eyed each other like angry dogs, eager to spring at each other's throats. Katherine dropped her restraining hand on Villon's arm.
”My lord,” she whispered, ”he has importuned me for audience. I will speak with you again ere you ride.”
Villon turned to her.
”We ride at nine, remember,” he said in a low voice; and then in a louder tone, looking at Noel, he added mockingly, ”Till then I shall busy myself in writing my last will and testament, and bequeathing a thousand nothings to a thousand n.o.bodies to puzzle posterity. You shall taste of my bounty, Messire Noel,” and he began to improvise derisively:
”To Messire Noel, named the neat By those who love him, I bequeath A helmless s.h.i.+p, a houseless street, A wordless book, a swordless sheath, An hourless clock, a leafless wreath, A bed sans sheet, a board sans meat, A bell sans tongue, a saw sans teeth, To make his nothingness complete.”
Noel shrugged his shoulders and turned his back. He was very irate, but he was resolved to show nothing but indifference.
”Do you leave me nothing?” Katherine whispered, and Villon answered:
”Now and always the heart of my heart.”
He turned on his heel and glided into the liquid darkness of the rose alley, alone with exquisite thoughts.
Katherine turned to Noel haughtily.
”Well?” she said.
”I have always to seek you nowadays,” Noel protested.