word."

"Why," spoke up the young girl, her attention sharply arrested, "was it
not a mere discussion of some kind? And--the quarrel?"

"A pretense on the rogue's part to avert the suspicion of the master of
the boar. I could but marvel"--to the jester--"at your forbearance."

"I fear me Jacqueline had the right to a poor opinion of her squire,"
replied the duke's fool. "Nor do I blame her," he laughed, "in
esteeming a stout bolt more protection than a craven blade."

But the girl did not answer. Through her brain flashed the
recollection of her cold disdain; her scornful words; her abrupt
dismissal of the jester at her door. Weighing what she had said and
done with what he had not said and done, she turned to him quickly,
impulsively. Through the semi-darkness she saw the smile around his
mouth and the quizzical look with which he was regarding her.
Whereupon her courage failed. She bit her lip and remained silent.
They had now passed the brow of the hill; on each side of the highway
the forests parted wider and wider, and the thoroughfare was bathed in
a white light.

As they rode along on this clearly illumined highway, Caillette glanced
interrogatively at the _plaisant_. The outcome of his journey--should
he speak now? Or later--when they were alone? Heretofore neither had
made reference to it; Caillette, perhaps, because his mind had been
surprised into another train of thought by this unexpected encounter;
the duke's fool because the result of the journey was no longer
momentous. Since the other had left, conditions were different. The
good-natured scoffing and warnings of his fellow-jester had proved not
unwarranted.

The answer of the duke's fool to his companion's glance was a direct
inquiry.

"You found the emperor?" he said.

"Yes; and presented your message with some misgiving."

"And did he treat it with the scant consideration you expected?"

"On the contrary. His Majesty read it not once, but twice, and changed
color."

"And then?"

The narrator paused and furtively surveyed the jestress. Her face was
pale, emotionless; as they sped on, she seemed riding through no
volition of her own, the while she was vaguely conscious of the
dialogue of her companions.

"Whatever magic your letter contained," resumed Caillette, "it seemed
convincing to Charles. 'My brother Francis must be strangely credulous
to be so cozened by an impostor,' quoth he, with a gleam of humor in
his gaze."