if it had only been he, instead," began the fool.

"Why," interrupted the seemingly injured man, "think you to stand up
against the boar of Hochfels?"

"I would I might try!" said the other quickly.

"Your success with the trooper has turned your head," laughed
Caillette, softly. "One last word. Look to yourself and fear not for
me. Mine injuries--which I surmise are internal as they are not
visible--will excuse me for the day. Nor shall I tarry at the palace
for the physician, but go straight on without bolus, simples or pills,
a very Mercury for speed. Danger will I eschew and a pretty maid shall
hold me no longer than it takes to give her a kiss in passing. Here
leave me at the tent. Turn back to the field, or they will suspect.
Trust no one, and--you'll mind it not in a friend, one who would serve
you to the end?--forget the princess! Serve her, save her, as you
will, but, remember, women are but creatures of the moment. Adieu,
_mon ami_!"

And Caillette turned as one in grievous physical pain to an attendant,
bidding him speedily remove the armor, while the duke's fool, more
deeply stirred than he cared to show, moved again to the lists.

CHAPTER XIII

A CHAPLET FOR THE DUKE

Loud rang encomium and blessing on the king, as the people that night
crowded in the rear courtyard around the great tables set in the open
air, and groaning beneath viands, nutritious and succulent. What swain
or yokel had not a meed of praise for the monarch when he beheld this
burden of good cheer, and, at the end of each board, elevated a little
and garlanded with roses, a rotund and portly cask of wine, with a
spigot projecting hospitably tablewards?

Forgotten were the tax-lists under which the commonalty labored; it was
"Hosanna" for Francis, and not a plowman nor tiller of the soil
bethought himself that he had fully paid for the snack and sup that
night. How could he, having had no one to think for him; for then
Rousseau had not lived, Voltaire was unborn, and the most daring
approach to lese-majesty had been Rabelais' jocose: "The wearers of the
crown and scepter are born under the same constellation as those of cap
and bells."

Upon the green, smoking torches illumined the people and the
surroundings; beneath a great oven, the bright coals cast a vivid glow
far and near. Close to the broad face of a cask--round and large like
that of a full-fed host presiding at the head of the board--sat the
Francisca