On the right, Villon and Guy Tabary were huddled together over a scrap of parchment; Villon making a ballade which he was to call the Ballade of Roast Fish, and Tabary spluttering admiration at his shoulder.

"I shall never finish that ballade," he thought to himself; and then, with another shudder at the recollection, "Oh, damn his fat head!"

Some day, when I grow too old to bear arms, I will to pen and ink-horn and will make of him a ballade that shall, mayhap, outlive our time.

I read somewhere a ballade askingwhere are the "best sellers" of yesteryear?