less thinks likewise of more gorgeous
apparel." His heart beat faster as he strove to answer her in kind.

"A waste of cloth in vanity, as saith Master Calvin!" she replied,
lifting her arms that shone with creamy softness from the dangling
folds of heavy silk. "Were it not for this courtly encumbrance, I
should propose going into the fields with the haymakers. You may see
them now--look!--through the opening in the foliage."

With an expression, part resignation, part regret, she leaned against
the wind-worn griffin which formed the arm of the bench. Fainter
sounded the warning of the jestress in the ears of the duke's fool; so
faint it became but a weak admonition. More and more he abandoned
himself to the pleasure of the moment.

"To make the most of the day," the princess had said.

How? By denying himself the sight of her ever-varying grace; by
refusing to yield to the charm of her voice. He raised his head more
boldly; through her drooping lashes a lazy light shot forth upon him,
and the shadow of a smile seemed to say: "That is better. When the
mistress is indulgent, a fool should not be unbending. A melancholy
jester is but poor company."

And so her mood swayed his; he forgot his resolution, his pride, and
yielded to the infatuation of the moment. But when he endeavored to
call the weapons of his office to his aid, her glance and the shadow of
that smile left him witless. Jest, fancy and whim had taken flight.

"Well?" she said. "Well, Sir Fool?"

His color shifted; withal his half-embarrassment, there was something
graceful and noble in his bearing.

"Madam"--he began, and stopped for want of matter to put into words.

But if the princess was annoyed at the new-found dullness of her
_plaisant_, her manner did not show it.

"What," she said, gently; "no news from the court; no word of intrigue;
no story of the king? I should seek a courtier for my companion, not a
jester. But there! What book have you brought?" indicating the volume
that lay upon the bench.

"Guillaume de Lorris's 'Romance of the Rose,'" he answered, more freely.

"Where did we leave off?"

"Where the hero, arriving at a fountain, beheld a beautiful rose tree,"
said the fool in a low tone. "Desiring the rose, he reached to gather
it--"

"Yes, I remember. And then, Reason and Danger did battle with Love."

"Is it your wish we continue?" he asked, taking the book in his hand.

"I would fain learn if he gathers