s!" And the fallacy of
this conclusion the duke's _plaisant_ had not sought to demonstrate.

Without question, the young girl listened, but when he had finished her
features hardened. Intuitively she divined a gap in the narrative;
herself! From the dwarf's slur to Caillette's gentle look of surprise
constituted a natural span for reflection. And the duke's fool, seeing
her face turn cold, attributed it, perhaps, to another reason. Her
story recurred to him; she was no longer a nameless jestress; an
immeasurable distance separated a mere _plaisant_ from the survivor of
one of the noblest, if most unfortunate, families of France. She had
not answered the night before when he had addressed her as the daughter
of the constable; motionless as a statue had she gazed after him; and,
remembering the manner of their parting, he now looked at her curiously.

"All's well that ends well," he said, "but I must crave indulgence,
Lady Jacqueline, for having brought you into such peril."

She flushed. "Do you persist in that foolishness?" she returned
quickly.

"Do you deny the right to be so called?"

"Did I not tell you--the constable's daughter is dead?"

"To the world! But to the fool--may he not serve her?"

His face was expectant; his voice, light yet earnest. Her answer was
half-sad, half-bright, as though her tragedy, like those acted dramas,
had its less somber lines. And in the stage versions of those dark,
mournful pieces were not the softer bits introduced with cap and bell?
The fool's stick and the solemn march of irresistible and lowering
destiny went hand in hand. Everywhere the tinkle of the tiny bells.

"Poor service!" she retorted. "A discredited mistress!"

"One I am minded for," he replied, a sudden flash in his eyes.

She looked away; her lips curved.

"For how long?" she said, half-mockingly, and touched her horse before
he could reply.

What words had her action checked on his lips? A moment was he
disconcerted, then riding after her, he smiled, thinking how once he
had carelessly passed her by; how he had looked upon her but as a
wilful child.

A child, forsooth! His pulses throbbed fast. Life had grown strangely
sweet, as though from her look, when she had stood on the stairs, he
had drawn new zest. To serve her seemed a happiness that drowned all
other ills; a selfish bond of subordination. Her misfortunes dignified
her; her worn gown was dearer in his eyes than courtly splendo