road broke into two parts, the
one continuing southward and the other branching off to the east.

While the horseman was thus reflecting, Triboulet, like an imp, began
to dance before them, slapping his crooked knees with his enormous
hands.

"A good joke, my master and mistress in motley," he cried. "The king
was weak enough to exchange his dwarf for a demoiselle; the latter has
fled; the monarch has neither one nor the other; therefore is he,
himself, the fool. And thou, mistress, art also worthy of the madcap
bells," he added, his distorted face upturned to the jestress.

"How so?" she asked, not concealing the repugnance he inspired.

"Because you prefer a fool's cap to a king's crown," he answered,
looking significantly at her companion. "Wherein you but followed the
royal preference for head-coverings. Ho! ho! I saw which way the wind
blew; how the monarch's eyes kindled when they rested on you; how the
wings of Madame d'Etampes's coif fluttered like an angry butterfly.
Know you what was whispered at court? The reason the countess pleaded
for an earlier marriage for the duke? That the princess might leave
the sooner--and take the jestress, her maid, with her. But the king
met her manoeuver with another. He granted the favorite's request--but
kept the jestress."

"Silence, rogue!" commanded the duke's fool, wheeling his horse toward
the dwarf.

"And then for her to turn from a throne-room to a dungeon," went on
Triboulet, satirically, as he retreated. "As Brusquet wrote; 'twas:

"'_Morbleu_! A merry monarch and a jestress fair;
A jestress fair, I ween!'--"

But ere the hunchback could finish this scurrilous doggerel of the
court, over which, doubtless, many loose witlings had laughed, the
girl's companion placed his hand on his sword and started toward the
dwarf. The words died on Triboulet's lips; hastily he dodged into a
narrow space between two houses, where he was safe from pursuit.
Jacqueline's face had become flushed; her lips were compressed; the
countenance of the duke's _plaisant_ seemed paler than its wont.

"Little monster!" he muttered.

But the hunchback, in his retreat, was now regarding neither the
horseman nor the young girl. His glittering eyes, as if fascinated,
rested on the weapon of the _plaisant_.

"What a fine blade you've got there!" he said curiously. "Much better
than a wooden sword. Jeweled, too, by the holy bagpipe! And a coat of
arms!"--more excitedly