l it completely from view.

The mere fact that the man in thus muffling himself seemed to indicate a
desire not to be seen was enough to spur the curiosity of Lysidice into
a determination to see. She tiptoed through the flower-stalls and
fruit-stalls; she ambushed behind piles of melons; she peeped through
clusters of grapes and bunches of lilies. The friar was choosing the
loveliest of the white roses; he was eager to choose only the loveliest;
as he stooped over them in his eagerness, a little breeze caught for a
moment the cowl that hooded him, filled out its folds, and showed a
momentary glimpse of features that Lysidice remembered well, the
features of the fool who had fled from the house of Lycabetta a month
before, bearing with him the girl from the hills and leaving behind him
the terror of the plague. In a moment the friar's lean hand had pulled
the hood close again about his cheeks, about his chin, but the glimpse
had been enough for Lysidice.

What news would be so welcome to Lycabetta, languorous Lycabetta, as
news of the whereabouts of the fool who had caused her so many hours of
mortal anguish. Lysidice shivered still in the warm air at the thought
of that night when all in the palace of pleasure believed themselves to
be plague-stricken, and of the slow relief that came with day and the
assurances of the physicians that Hildebrand had at last found strength
to seek. There was no plague in the city; the fool had befooled them
finely, carrying off his prize and disappearing into an obscurity so
profound that no searches could unearth him. And now chance would seem
to have given him to Lysidice.

Lilting the burden of a love-song, she passed by the stall where the
friar stood, and saw, without seeming to see, how the friar dragged his
hood closer about his face and bent lower over the roses. It would never
do for her, she knew well enough, to attempt to follow the fool to his
hiding-place. Her bright robes were not made to play the spy in. She
strolled unconcernedly to the end of the market, and at the foot of a
pillar she saw a small boy leisurely devouring a vast cantle of melon.
She beckoned the boy into the cover of a country cart that had carried
fruit and vegetables to the market, and from that intrenchment she
pointed out to him the friar who was now bearing away his roses, bade
the boy follow him, and promised him a silver piece if he would come
back with news of the friar's destination. The boy u