ove, in the palace, the trooper with the red mustaches lay on his
couch unconscious.

For how long? The court physician could not say. The soldier might
remain insensible for hours. Thus had the jester served himself with
that stroke better than he knew, and he of Hochfels bit his lip and
fumed inwardly, but to no purpose. Not that he believed the peril to
be great, but the fact he could not grasp it goaded him, and he cursed
the trooper for a dolt and a poltroon that a mere fool should have
vanquished him. And so he had left him, with a last look of disgust at
the silent lips that could not do his bidding, and had proceeded to the
royal pavilion, where the final act of the day's drama--more momentous
than the king or other spectators realized--was to be performed; an act
in which he would have appeared with much complacency, but that his
chagrin preyed somewhat on his vanity.

But his splendid self-control and audacity revealed to the courtly
assemblage no trace of what was passing in his mind. He walked by the
king's side as one not unaccustomed to such exalted company, nor
overwhelmed by sudden honors. His courage was superb; his demeanor
that of one born to command; in him seemed exemplified a type of brute
strength and force denoting a leader--whether of an army or a band of
swashbucklers. As the monarch and the free baron drew near, the
princess slowly, gracefully arose, while now grouped around the throne
stood the heralds and pursuivants of the lists. In her hand Louise
held the gift, covered with a silver veil, an end of which was carried
by each of the maids.

"Fair Lady of the Tournament," said the king, "this gallant knight is
_Bon Vouloir_, whom you have even heard proclaimed the victor of the
day."

"Approach, _Bon Vouloir_!" commanded the Queen of Love.

The maids uncovered the gift, the customary chaplet of beaten gold,
and, as the free baron bowed his head, the princess with a firm hand
fulfilled the functions of her office. Rising, _Bon Vouloir_, amid the
exclamations of the court, claimed the privilege that went with the
bauble. A moment he looked at the princess; she seemed to bend beneath
his regard; then leaning forward, deliberately rather than ardently, he
touched her cheek with his lips. Those who watched the Queen of Love
closely observed her face become paler and her form tremble; but in a
moment she was again mistress of herself, her features prouder and
colder than before.