a smile. "I confess
life has grown sweet."

She moved abruptly toward the door. "Nay, I meant not to offend you,"
he spoke up, more gently.

"It is your own fortunes you ever injure," she retorted, gazing coldly
back at him.

"One moment, sweet Jacqueline. Why did you not go with the princess?"

Her face changed; grew dark; from eyes, deep and gloomy, she shot a
quick glance upon him.

"Perhaps--because I like the court too well to leave it," she answered
mockingly, and, vouchsafing no further word, quickly vanished. It was
only when she had gone the jester suddenly remembered he had forgotten
to thank her for what she had done in the past or what she proposed
doing on the morrow.

CHAPTER XVII

JACQUELINE'S QUEST

"Truly, are you a right proper fool; for a man, merry in adversity, is
as wise as Master Rabelais. Many the time have I heard him say a fit
of laughter drives away the devil, while the groans of flagellating
saints seem as music to Beelzebub's ears. Thus, a wit-cracker is the
demon's enemy, and the band of Pantagruel, an evangelical brotherhood,
that with tankard and pot sends the arch-fiend back to the bottomless
pit."

And the fool's jailer, seated on the stool within the cell, stretched
out his legs and uplifted the bottle to his lips, while, judging from
the draft he took and assuming the verity of the theory he advanced,
the prince of darkness at that moment must have fled a considerable
distance into his chosen realms.

"Ah, you know the great philosopher, then?" commented the jester from
the couch, closely watching the sottish, intemperate face of his
keeper, and running his glance over the unwieldy form which bade fair
to outrival one of the wine butts in the castle cellar.

"Know him!" exclaimed this lowly votary. "I have e'en been admitted to
his table--at the foot, 'tis true--when the brave fellows of Pantagruel
were at it. Not for my wit was I thus honored"--the _plaisant_ made a
dissenting gesture, the irony of which passed over the head of the
speaker--"but because a giant flagon appeared but a child's toy in my
hands. The followers of Pantagruel fell on both sides, like wheat
before the blade of the reaper, until Doctor Rabelais and myself only
were left. From the head to the foot of the table the great man
looked. How my heart swelled with pride! 'Swine of Epicurus, are you
still there?' he said. And then--and then--"

With a crash the bottle fell from the h