eplied, briefly.

Her hand played among the blossoms. Over the flowers she looked at
him. Her features and arms were of the sculptured roundness of marble,
but the reflection of the roses bathed her in the warm hue of life. As
he met her gaze the illumined pages of a book seemed turning before his
eyes. Did she remember?

She could not but perceive his emotion; the tribute of a glance beyond
control, despite the proud immobility of his features.

"Sit here, fool," she said, not unkindly, "and you may tell me more
about the duke. His exploits--of that battle when he saved the life of
the emperor."

The jester made no move to obey, but, looking down, answered coldly:
"The duke, Madam, likes not to have his poor deeds exploited."

"Poor deeds!" she returned, and seemed about to reply more sharply when
something in his face held her silent.

Leaning her head on her hand, she appeared to forget his presence;
motionless save for a foot that waved to and fro, betraying her
restless mood. The sound of her dress, the swaying of the foot, held
his attention. In that little bower the air was almost stifling, laden
with the perfume of many flowers. Even the song of the birds grew
fainter. Only the tiny fountain, more assertive than ever, became
louder and louder. The princess breathed deeply; half-arose; a vine
caught in her hair; she stooped to disentangle it; then held herself
erect.

"How close it is in here!" she murmured, arranging the tress the plant
had disturbed. "Go to the door, fool, and see if you can find your
master."

Involuntarily he had stepped toward her, as though to assist her, but
now stopped. His face changed; he even laughed. That last word, from
her lips, seemed to break the spell of self-control that held him.

"My master!" he said in a hard, scoffing tone. "Whom mean you? The
man who left you to go to the soldier? That blusterer, my master!
That swaggering trooper!"

Her inertness vanished; the sudden anger and wonderment in her eyes met
the passion in his.

"How dare you--dare you--" she began.

"He is neither my master, nor the duke; but a mere free-booter, a
mountain terrorist!"

Pride and contempt replaced her surprise, but indignation still
remained. His audacity in coming to her with this falsehood; his
hardihood in maintaining it, admitted of but one explanation. By her
complaisance in the past she had fanned the embers of a passion which
now burst beyond control.