tuous smile crossed the free baron's face.

"And tell him how you dared look up to his mistress? That you sought
to save her from another, while you yourself poured your own burning
tale into her ear? Two things I most admire in nature," went on the
free baron, with emphasis. "A dare-devil who stops not for man or
Satan, and--an honest man. You take but a compromising middle course;
and will hang, a hybrid, from some convenient limb."

"But not without first knowing that you, too, in all likelihood, will
adorn an equally suitable branch, my Lord of the thieves' rookery,"
said the jester, smiling.

Louis of Hochfels responded with an ugly look. His bloodshot eyes took
fire beneath the provocation.

"Fool, you expect your duke will intervene!" he exclaimed. "Not when
he has been told all by the king, or the princess," he sneered. "Do
you think she cares? You, a motley fool; a theme for jest between us."

"But when she learns about you?" retorted the plaisant, significantly.

"She will e'en be mistress of my castle."

"Castle?" laughed the Jester. "A robber's aery! a footpad's retreat!
A rifler of the roads become a great lord? You of royal blood! Then
was your father a king of thieves!"

The free baron's face worked fearfully; the kingly part of him had been
a matter of fanatical pride; through it did he believe he was destined
to power and honors. But before the cutting irony of the _plaisant_,
that which is heaven-born--self-control--dropped from him; the mad,
brutal rage of the peasant surged in his veins.

Infuriate his hand sought his sword, but before he could draw it the
fool, anticipating his purpose, had rushed upon him with such
impetuosity and suddenness that the king's guest, in spite of his bulk
and strength, was thrust against the wall. Like a grip of iron, the
jester's fingers were buried in his opponent's throat. For one so
youthful and slender in build, his power was remarkable, and, strive as
he might, the princess' betrothed could not shake him off. Although
his arms pressed with crushing force about the figure of the fool, the
hand at his throat never relaxed. He endeavored to thrust the
_plaisant_ from him, but, like a tiger, the jester clung; to and fro
they swayed; to the free baron, suffocated by that gauntlet of steel,
the room was already going around; black spots danced before his eyes.
He strove to reach for the dagger that hung from his girdle, but it was
held between