Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1903-02-07

and one wine of Burgundy. He rose and
crept across the soft grass to the table
and lifted one Of the golden hagons
~gingerly, shifted at 1t fearfully and
poured some of it's contents carefully
into a golden goblet. Lifting IL
cautiously to his lips, he tasted II Ju-
diciously. A ripe, warm, royal naVor
rewarded him.
by heaven!" he cried; mo nobler
juice ever rippled from Burgundian
vineyards"
He drained the cup and set 1t down
to fill another from the companion yes
sci and to repeat the ceremony OF sniff
fling, tasting and swallowing. again
the desire of his palate was pleased and
pacifed. He reflected as he slipped and
swallowed.
This ouintessence Of crushed violets
ripened no otherwhere than In the val
leys of Bordeaux. Ergo, l am not
drunk. I do not hin / am mad,
neither, for l know In my heart that /
am poor Francois Villon, penniless
master of arts, and no Will o the wisp
grand constable. Then l am dreaming,
fast asleep In the chimney corner of the
Fircone tavern, having finished that
flask l hlched, and everything since
then has been and is a dream. The
coming Of Katherine, a dream. My
fight with Thibaut d'Aussigny, a dream.
Then the king-popping up at the last
moment, like a jack-in-the-boX-a
dream. These clothes, these servants,
this garden-dreams. dreams, dreams
l shall wake presently and be devilish
shabby. But in the meantime, these
dream liquors make good drinking"
He was about to fill himself another
cup when a shadow fell at his feet, the
shadow of olivier lie Dain standing be-
fore him with his air Of emphasized re-
spect, which was beginning to pail upon
the TRANSPORTED poet.
Your dignity will forgive me, but 1t
is the kings wish o should pass judg-
ment on certain prisoners"
Villon stared at him.
Il? And here?"
such is the kings pleasure
What ~pri1Cners?'
Certain rogues and v~agabonds, man
kind and womankind, taken Drawing
in the Fircone tavern last night.
Villon stroked his chin thoughtfully.
An idea seemed to a command OF his
confused mind. Here was a chance to
learn something OF the reality that lay
at the core Of all this mystery OF roses
and wine and fine rainment. He leaned
forward curiously and almost whisper
ed to the attendant barber.
Tell me, Is Master Francois Vilon,
Master Of arts, rhymer at his best,
~vagabond at his worst, n~e'er-do-well at
all seasons, and scrapgrace In all
moods, among them?"
Olivier smiled complacently as those
In office are accustomed to smile at the
humors OF great men.
Your dignity Is pleased to Jest. Shall
/ send you the prisoners"
Villon caught at the offer sharply.
"Can | do with them as L WlSh!'
Absolutely as you wish. Such Is the
kings will"
Villon leaned back in resigned sur
render to an astonishing situation. lie
had dreamed strange dreams in his
days and nights, but never a dream
like this dream.
Set a thief to try a thief" he philoso-
phized. We'll, bring them in."
Olivier bowed and disappeared silent
~ along the rose alley by which he had
come. When he was alone again VIII
Ion slapped his forehead resoundingly,
as If he hoped to scare his senses back
into sanity by violent assault.
"Oh, my poor head" he moaned. Am
I awake? Am l asleep? What an am
broglio."
A sense of dislike to his respectful at
tendant surged up through his perplex-
ity. That damned fellow in black is
confoundedly obsequious," he mutter-
ed. II wonder If / could order him TO
be hanged; he has a hanging face"
Even as his Kind reflection came inLo
his head, his meditationS were disturb
ed by the tramp of many feet and the
rattle and clank Of weapons, and a
small company Of soldiers came wheel
ing round into the rose garden from
the side of the palace, guarding a num-
Der of men and women, in whom Villon
| instantly recognized his familiar friends
of the Fircone tavern. At the head of
the soldiers marched a ddpper gentle
man, Courtier-soldie or sOldier-cOurtier,
a thing of silk and steel, half dandy,
half man-at-arms, eXquisitely attired
and nagrantly aware of his own attrac-
lions. He, too, was familiar to the
poet, for he was 10 other thar the pink
and white gentleman whom he had seen
| acting as escort to Katherine on the
day when he first beheld her, and whose
name, as he had learned on the pre-
vious evening from Katherine's W
lips, was Noel lie Jolys.
THE puppet who bangles after my
lady" he grumbled to himself. He
jars the dream"
Villon felt profoundly sorry for his
imprisoned playfellows, and profoundly
hostile to the pink and white gentle
man. His friends looke SO wretched
so woebegone, so bedraggled, while
their captor looked so point-device and
self-satisfed that Villon felt a fierce
Indignation burn within him over the
injustiCes of the world.
How hang-dog my poor devils look
and how dirty" he thought to himself
as the soldiers ranged their prisoners