for his wound.

"It is not much, I think--all due to a weak parry on my part." And he
strove with a gold-laced handkerchief to staunch the blood that was
flowing somewhat freely. I was about to offer what help I could when
the jester cut in.

"Faith of a fool!" he said, sheathing his dagger, "my gossip here is
apt to make light of these scratches; but I would give my cap and bells
now for a little salve."

"If you will come into my house, messieurs--'tis but a step--we will
see to the hurt."

I almost repented of my offer the moment after I made it, for I caught
the jester plucking at my friend's sleeve in warning; but the other
laughed, and, addressing me in a high and gracious way, said:

"Monsieur, once more thanks! I accept your offer. Of a truth!" and he
ruefully looked at his handkerchief, "this is a trifle too much cupping
for me."

I bowed, and led the way across the road; but the jester stayed us,
calling out in his high-pitched tones:

"Just a look at this carrion! One may as well see upon whom our friend
here has put his mark." So saying he stooped and turned over the man,
the first of the two who had fallen. He lay half in a stagnant pool of
water, and was quite dead, as we could see, for the moon fell clearly
on his evil and distorted face and horny, film-covered eyes.

"As dead as imperial Caesar," said the jester; "nor can I say who or
what he was. St. Siege! Stay--see this!" And throwing back the man's
cloak, which half covered his breast, he pointed with his fingers at a
crest embroidered on the doublet. It was a crescent in silver, with a
scroll beneath it, and as we all stooped down to see, the jester's keen
eyes met those of his companion.

"The scroll explains all," he said, as if in reference to the attack
upon them: "it is _totum donec impleat orbem_."

"Diane?"

"Yes; Diane de Poitiers--Diane, Duchess of Valentinois--Diane, the
curse of France! But I should play the Caliph Aaron no more, and keep
home of nights; better still, take horse with the dawn for Navarre!"

There was a strange earnestness in the speaker's voice. There he was,
one knee to ground, a finger resting on the ill-omened crest of the
mistress of the King, the moon shining on his rich dress of black and
gold, on the sharp, weasel-like face, and keen eyes that looked up at
his friend.

"There is more in this than I thought at first," I said to myself, and
scanned the features of the dead man more clos