e before, the pursuivants had proclaimed the event and
distributed to the knights who were to take active part the shields of
arms of the four _juges-diseurs_, or umpires of the field. On this
gala occasion the scaffolds and stands surrounding the arena were
bedecked in silks of bright colors; against the cloudless sky a
thousand festal flags waved and fluttered in the gentle breeze; beneath
the tasseled awning festoons of bright flowers embellished gorgeous
hangings and tapestries.

The king rode from the castle under a pavilion of cloth of gold and
purple velvet, with the letters F and R, boldly outlined, followed by
ladies and courtiers, pages and attendants. Amid the shouts and huzzas
of the people, the monarch and his retinue took their places in the
center of the stand, the royal box hung with ornate brocades and
trimmings.

In an inclosure of white, next to that of the king, was seated the Lady
of the Tournament, the Princess Louise, and her maids of honor, arrayed
all in snowy garb, and, against the garish brilliancy of the general
background, a pompous pageantry of colors, the decoration of this
dainty nook shone in silvery contrast. A garland of flowers was the
only crown the lady wore; no other adornment had her fair shoulders
save their own argent beauty, of which the fashion of the day permitted
a discernible suggestion. One arm hung languorously across the
railing, as she leaned forward with seeming carelessness, but intently
directed her glance to the scene below, where the attendants were
arranging the ring or leading the wondrously pranked-out chargers to
their stalls.

Behind her, motionless as a statue, with face that looked paler, and
lips the redder, and hair the blacker, stood the maid Jacqueline. If
the casual glance saw first the blond head, the creamy arms and sunny
blue eyes of the princess, it was apt to linger with almost a start of
wonder upon the striking figure of the jestress, a nocturnal touch in a
pearly picture.

"On my word, there's a decorative creature for any lord to have in his
house," murmured the aged chancellor of the kingdom, sitting near the
monarch. "Who is she?"

"A beggar's brat Francis found here when he took the castle," replied
the beribboned spark addressed. "You know the story?"

"Yes," said the white-haired diplomat, half-sadly. "This castle once
belonged to the great Constable of Dubrois. When he fell from favor
the king besieged him; the constable