The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1915-04-24
PART /.

The snow fell over Paris with
I'LL rigorous, relentless persistence
~ Sometimes the wind made a
sally and scattered it in flying worthless;
sometimes there was lull. and fake
after fake descended out of the black
night air, silent, circuitous, intermina-
BILE.
The cemetery Of st. John had taken
Its own share of the snow. The clock
was hard on 10 when the patrol went
by with halberds and a lantern, beat
ing their hands. and they saw nothing
suspicious about the cemetery of st.
John.
Yet there was small house. backed
up against the cemetery wall, which
was still awake. and awake to evil
purpose, in that snoring district. There
was not much to betray it from with
out. only q stream Of warm vapor from
the chimney top, patch where the
snow melted on the roof and a few
half obliterated footprints at the door.
But within. behind the shattered win
dows, Master Francis villon, the poet.
and some Of the thievish crew with
whom he consorted, were keeping the
night alive and passing round the bot
tie.
A great pile Of living embers diffused
a strong and ruddy glow from the
arched chimney. Before this straddled
Dom Nicolas, the Picardy monk, with
his skirts picked up and his fat legs
barred to the comfortable warmth. His
face had the berry, bruised appearance
of the continual drinkers.
On the right Villon and Guy Tabary
were huddled together over a scrap of
parchment. villon making a ballad
which he was to call the Ballad Of
Roast Fish, and Tabary spluttering
admiration at his shoulder. The poet
was a rag Of man. dark. little and
lean. with hollow cheeks and thin.
black locks. He carried his four and
twenty years with feverish animation.
Greed had made folds about his eyes.
Evil smiles had puckered his mouth.
The wolf and pig struggled together in
his face. It was an eloquent, sharp.
ugly. earthly countenance. His hands
were small and prehensile, with fingers
knotted like cord, and they were con-
tinually Pickering in front of him in
violent and expressive pantomime.
As for Tabary. broad, complacent.
admiring imbecility breathed from his
squash nose and soldering lips. He
had become thief just as he might
have become the most decent of bur-
gesses by the imperious chance that
rules the lives of human geese and hui
man donkeys.
At the monks other hand Montigny
and Thevenin Pensete played game
of chance. About the first there chung
some flavor Of good birth and training.
as about fallen angel. Something
long. 1.-THE and courtly in the person:
something. aquiline and darkling in the
face. Thevenin. poor soul. was in
great feather. He had done good
stroke of knavery that afternoon in
the Faubourg St. Jacques. and all
night he had been gaining from Mon
tigny.
Doubles or quits?" said Thevenin.
Montigny nodded grimly.
Some may prefer to dine in state"
wrote Villon. ION bread and cheese on
silver plate. Or. or-help me out.
Guido!"
Tabary giggled.
'Or parsley on a golden dish." scrib-
bled the poet.
The wind was freshening without.
IA M
was growing sharper.
"Can't you hear it rattle In the glib.
bet?" said villon. ''They are all dane
Ing the DEVILS Jig on nothing up there.
You may dance, my gallants. You'll
be none the warmer. Whew. what a
gust! Down went somebody just now!
A medlar the fewer on the three leg
ged medlar tree: say. Dom Nicolas.
it'll be cold tonight on the st. Denis
road" he asked.
Tabary laughed immoderately over
the medlars. He had never heard any.
thing more lighthearted, and he held
his sides and crowed. villon fetched
him f1llip on the nose. which turned
his mirth into an attack of coughing.
"Oh. stop that row." said villon.
"and think of rimes to fish! Look
at Montigny!"
All three peered covertly at the
gamester. He did not seem to be en-
joying his luck. His mouth was q lit
tie to a side. one nostril nearly shut
and the other much inflated. The
black dog was on his back. as people
say. in terrifying nursery metaphor.
and he breathed hard under the grew
some burden.
There was a brief and fatal move.
ment among the gamesters. The round
was completed. and Thevenin was Just
opening his mouth to claim another
victory when Montigny leaped up swift
as an adder and stabbed him to the
heart. The blow took effect before he
had time to uttet cry. before he
had time to move. A tremor or two
convulsed bis frame. His hands open
ed and shut, his heels ratified on the
door, then his head rolled backward
over one shoulder. with eyes wide
open, and Thevenin Pensete's spirit
had returned to him who made #