st reason with himself to learn if he value it at all,"
returned the duke's jester, slowly. "We'll waive the question, if you
find me the horse."

"'Tis Nanette you must ask. There's but one, old, yet serviceable--"

"Then take me to Nanette."

"Very well. Follow me, sir; and if you're still of a mind when you see
her, you can question her."

"Why, is she so weird and witch-like to look upon?" said the fool.

"Nay; the devil hides his claws behind the daintiest fingers, all pink
and white. He conceals his cloven hoof in a slipper, truly sylph-like."

"You arouse my curiosity. I would fain meet this fair monster."

"Come then, Master Fool," replied the scamp-student, leaving the road
for the field to the right, and the jester, after a moment's
deliberation, turned likewise into the stubble, while the hound, as if
satisfied with the service it had performed, slowly retraced its way
toward the castle, stopping, however, now and then to look around after
the two men, whose figures grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
For some space they walked in silence; then the scholar paused, and,
pointing to a low, rambling house that once had been a hunter's lodge
and now had fallen into decay, exclaimed:

"There's where she lives, fool. I'll warrant she's not alone."

At the same time a clamor of voices and a chorus of rough melody,
coming from the cottage, confirmed the assurance his spouse was not,
indeed, holding solitary vigil.

"'Tis e'en thus every night," murmured the scamp student in a
melancholy tone. "She gathers 'round her the scum of all rudeness;
ragged alchemists of pleasure, who sing incessantly, like grasshoppers
on a summer day."

"Where is the horse?" said the jester, abruptly.

"Stalled in one of the rooms for safe keeping. There are so many
rascals and thieves around, you see--"

"They e'en rob one another!" returned the fool.

Advancing more cautiously, the two men approached the ancient
forester's dwelling, the hue and cry sounding louder as they drew near,
a mingled discord of laughter, shouting and caterwauling, with a
woman's piercing voice at times dominating the general vociferation.
The philosopher shook his head despondingly, while, creeping to one of
the windows, the jester looked in.

Near the fire was a misshapen creature, a sort of monstrous imbecile
that chattered and moaned; a being that bore some resemblance to the
ancient morios once sold at the olden Forum Morionum