ness
was one of the dangerous things of life, and of all dangers she was
greatly afraid. The fool carried a dagger at his girdle, and it were
well to pacify him. She could send for the Moorish slaves to cast him
forth, but if he were indeed sent by the King, any ill-treatment of his
messenger might offend Robert, and the anger of offended Robert might
take uglier shapes than the fool's dagger. So she watched the figure
uneasily. Suddenly he stopped in his pacing and turned to her.

"There is the strangest treason abroad in Sicily," he cried. "My
creatures defy me; my friends deny me. They have set a sham king on my
seat; they bow to a crowned pretender; they shall die to-morrow."

Lysidice whispered again to Lycabetta, "He thinks he is the King."

Lycabetta nodded. She had heard how the fool Diogenes had parodied the
King's manner and earned the King's anger. She knew no more than this,
and it seemed strange that the King's rage should have frightened the
knave into madness. But he seemed, indeed, insane as he raged up and
down the room.

"Give me a sword!" he shouted. "Syracuse will stand by me. We will crush
this treason bloodily. Give me a sword! give me a sword!"

In that palace of pleasure there were no weapons of death, yet Robert
ranged the room wildly as if dreaming that some soldier's friend might
lurk behind silken curtains. Lycabetta turned to her comrade and
whispered to her behind her hand:

"The poor ape is moon-crazed--clean out of his wits. He mimicked the
King yesterday, and now the trick grows on him."

The sound of her voice seemed to arrest Robert in his search for a
sword, for he turned and eyed them suspiciously.

"Do not anger him," Lysidice entreated, catching in her fear at her
mistress's hand. Robert moved towards the women, frowning.

"Why are you whispering?" he asked, savagely. Lysidice shivered, but
Lycabetta was less fearful. Serene in her beauty, she was confident of
her power to flatter the fool according to his folly, and she gave him a
deep salutation, mockingly reverential.

"We did but admire the thunder of authority, the lightning of royalty,"
she said; and then, thinking she had done enough to placate his passion,
she turned to whisper to Lysidice, "Let us tickle this fool like a
cracked lute."

Instantly Robert's rage blazed higher. His bemused senses snuffed
treason everywhere. What might these two light women be plotting.

"If you whisper again," he shrieked at the