m, "I will have you whipped; I
will have you crucified. Are you stained with treason?"

There was that in his voice which startled Lycabetta from her
indifference. Again she mimed servility.

"Have I offended your Majesty?" she sighed. "I pray your royal pardon. I
was but planning with this minion here some way to freshen your spirits.
See, I do you obeisance."

She served him a sweeping salutation, in which her lithe body seemed to
swoon at his feet in complete surrender. Then, straightening, she
swerved and called to her women:

"Girls, girls, girls--Glycerium, Euphrosyne, Hypsipyle--all of you come
hither."

Obedient to her voice, the girls came trooping in, from garden and
gallery, fluttering like doves, murmuring like doves. Lycabetta held up
her hand and they halted, wonder in their lovely eyes to see the
priestess of Venus giving audience to the loathly fool.

"Dainties," Lycabetta cried, "his Majesty honors us with his presence
to-night."

And as she spoke she pointed with extended arm to the deformed,
dishonored man. Glycerium alone voiced the surprise of her fellows.

"His Majesty!" she repeated.

Lycabetta swooped in among her women, laughing and whispering, catching
now one and now another of her pretty minions by the hand, as if
seeking to choose the fairest.

"He is crack-brained, and calls himself the King," she murmured. "Let
him believe it for our sport." Then she called aloud, gulling the
suspicious visitor, "Do homage to the King, damsels, and perhaps he may
fling his favor to the one of you that dances the most alluringly."

Instantly the girls made a rush towards Robert, a wave of flowing hair,
of laughing faces, of fluttering, transparent dresses, a wave that
rippled close to him and then receded as the women swayed wantonly into
postures of impudent supplication.

"Long live the King!" piped Glycerium; and "God save the King!" altered
Euphrosyne; and the others, catching up the cries, repeated them, a
babble of merry blessings, while Lycabetta crowned the clamor with the
cry of, "Hail to the Lily of Sicily!"

Robert waved his hands angrily to banish the bright eyes, the bright
voices, the bright bodies. They were supple and servile enough, but he
did not need them then.

"Dismiss these women," he ordered. "I do not come for them."

Lycabetta thanked him with a deep salutation, dropping her body almost
to the ground in mocking reverence.

"You came for me, sire?" she asserted.