! oh!" murmured a voice behind the jester, and, turning, he saw
Jacqueline. Disturbed by the tumult and the loud voices, the jestress
had left her room to learn the cause of the unusual din, and now, with
her dark hair a cloud around her, stood gazing fearfully over the
fool's shoulder.

At the sound of the young girl's voice, so near, the _plaisant's_ hand,
which for the moment had been unsteady, became suddenly steel. Almost
impatiently he awaited the coming of the morio; at last he drew near,
but, as if instinctively realizing the presence of danger, paused, his
arm ceasing to strike, but remaining stationary in the air.

"Go on!" impatiently shouted those behind him.

At the command the creature sprang forward furiously, when the sword of
the jester shot out; once, twice! From the morio's grip fell the
dagger; over his face the lust for killing was replaced by a look of
surprise; with a single moan, he threw both arms on high, and,
tottering like an oak, the monster fell backward with a crash, carrying
with him the rogues behind. Imprecations, threats and cries of pain
ensued; several knaves went limping away from the struggling group; one
lay prostrate as the morio himself; the master of the boar rubbed his
shoulder, anathematizing roundly the cause of the disaster.

"I think my arm's put out!" he said. "Is the creature dead?" he added,
viciously.

"Dead as a herring," answered the landlord, bending over the motionless
figure.

"Beshrew me, I thought the jester was a craven," growled he of the
boar. "What does it mean?"

"That he saw the snare and spread another," replied the host.

"Go back to your room, mistress," whispered the plaisant to the young
girl, "and lock yourself in."

"Nay; I'll not leave you," she replied. "Do you think they will
return?" she added in a voice she strove to make firm.

"I am certain of it. Go, I beg you--to your window and call out. It
is a slender hope, but the best we have. Fear not; I can hold the
stairs yet a while."

A moment she hesitated, then glided away. At the same time he of the
boar grasped a sword in his left hand, and, with his right hanging
useless, rushed up the stairs.

"Oh, there you are, my nimble wit-cracker!" he cried, as the jester
stepped boldly out. "'Twas a pretty piece of foolery you played on the
monster and us, but quip for quirk, my merry wag!" And, so speaking,
he directed a violent thrust which, had it taken effect, would, ind