t!" he said, and was about to depart when the free baron held
him with a word.

"Hold! Why have you not attempted to unmask me--before?"

Steadily the two looked at each other; the eyes of the elder man,
cruel, deep, all-observing; those of the younger, steady, fearless,
undismayed. Few of his troopers could withstand the sinister
penetration of Louis of Hochfels' gaze, but on the jester it seemed to
have no more effect than the casual glance of one of Francis' courtiers.

"You knew--and yet you made no sign?" continued the master of the
fortress.

"Because I like a strong play and did not wish to spoil it--too soon!"

The questioner's brow fell; the lids half-veiled the dark, savage eyes,
but the mouth relaxed. "Ah, you always have your answer," he returned
with apparent cordiality. "Good-night--and, by the by, our truce is at
an end."

"The truce--and the wine," said the jester, as with a ceremonious bow,
he vanished amid the shadows in the hall.

Slowly the free baron closed the door and locked it; looked at the
cross and at the bed, but made no motion toward either.

"He has already rejected my proposal," thought the self-styled duke.
"Does he seek for higher rewards by betraying me? Or is it, then,
Triboulet told the truth? Is he an aspiring lover of the princess? Or
is he only faithful to his master? Why have I failed to read him? As
though a film lay across his eyes, that index to a man's soul!"

Motionless the free baron stood, long pondering deeply, until upon the
mantel the richly-chased clock began to strike musically, yet
admonishingly. Whereupon he glanced at the cross; hesitated; then,
noting the lateness of the hour, and with, perhaps, a mental
reservation to retrieve his negligence on the morrow, he turned from
the silver, bejeweled symbol and immediately sought the sensuous bodily
enjoyment of a couch fit for a king or the pope himself.

CHAPTER IX

THE FLIGHT OF THE FOOL

Another festal day had come and gone. The crimson shafts of the dying
sun had succumbed to the lengthening shadows of dusk, and the pigeons
were wending their way homeward to the castle parapets and battlements,
when, toward the arched entrance on the front, strode the duke's fool.
Beyond the castle walls and the inclosure of the pleasure grounds the
peace of twilight rested on the land; the great fields lay becalmed;
the distant forests were bivouacs of rest.

The afternoon had been a labor of pleasur