ree baron were long delayed, the fool's assurance in
his own ultimate release might prove but vain expectation. In Paris
the trial would doubtless not be protracted. From the swift tribunal
to the slow fire constituted no complicated legal process, and appeal
there was none, save to the king, from whom might be expected little
mercy, less justice.

"Escape!" the jester answered, dwelling on these matters. "But how?"

"By leaving this prison," she answered, lowering her voice.

He glanced significantly at the walls, the windows and the door, beyond
which could be heard the tread of the jailer and the clanking of the
keys hanging from his girdle.

"I would have done that long since, Jacqueline, if I had had my will,"
he replied.

"Are you strong enough to attempt it?" she remarked, doubtfully,
scanning the thin face before her.

"Your words shall make me so," he retorted, and looking into his
glittering eyes, she almost believed him.

"Not to-day, but to-morrow," the girl added, thoughtfully. "Perhaps
then--"

"I shall be ready," he broke in impatiently. "What must I do?"

"Not drink this wine I have brought, but give it to the turnkey in the
morning. Invite him to share it, but take none yourself, feigning
sudden illness. He will not refuse, being always sharp-set for a cup.
Nothing can be done with the other jailers, but this one is a thirsty
soul, ever ready to bargain for a dram. Your couch cost I know not how
many flagons. Although he drinks many tankards and pitchers every day,
yet will this small bottle make him drowsy. You will leave while he is
sleeping."

"In the daylight, mistress?" he asked, eagerly. "Why not wait--"

"No," she said, decisively; "there is no other way. This turnkey is
only a day watchman. It is dangerous, but the best plan that suggested
itself. I know many unfrequented corridors and passages through the
old part of the castle the king has not rebuilt, and a road at the
back, now little used, that runs through the wood and thicket down the
hill. It is a desperate chance, but--"

"The danger of remaining is more desperate," he interrupted, quickly.
"Besides, we shall not fail. It is in the book of fate." His
expression changed; became fierce, eager. "Are you, indeed, the
arbiter of that fate; the sorceress Triboulet feared?"

"You are thinking of the duke," she answered, with a frown, "and that
if you escape--"

"Truly, you are a sorceress," he replied, with