He was silent. She closed her eyes; but in a moment her lashes uplifted. Her glance flashed once more upon him.
"And I should not have thought it," she said.
"Jacqueline!" he cried, starting up.
She did not answer; indeed, seemed sleeping; her face turned from him.
Through the open doorway a streak of red in the east heralded the coming glory of the morn. "Peep, peep," twittered a bird on the roof of the hovel. From the poplar it was answered by a more melodious phrase, a song of welcome to the radiant dawn. A moment the jester listened, his head raised to the growing splendor of the heavens, then threw himself on the earthen floor of the hut and was at once overcome with sleep.
CHAPTER XXII
THE TALE OF THE SWORD
The slanting rays of the sinking sun shot athwart the valley, glanced from the tile roofs of the homes of the peasantry, and illumined the lofty towers of a great manorial chateau. To the rider, approaching by the road that crossed the smiling pasture and meadow lands, the edifice set on a mount--another of Francis" transformations from the gloomy fortress home--appeared regal and splendid, compared with the humbler houses of the people lying prostrate before it. Viewed from afar, the town seemed to abase itself in the presence of the architectural preeminence of that monarch of buildings. Even the sun, when it withdrew its rays from the miscellaneous rabble of shops and dwellings, yet lingered proudly upon the n.o.ble structure above, caressing its imposing and august outlines and surrounding it with the glamour of the afterglow, when the sun sank to rest.
Into the little town, at the foot of the big house, rode shortly before nightfall the jester and his companion. During the day the young girl had seemed diffident and constrained; she who had been all vivacity and life, on a sudden kept silence, or when she did speak, her tongue had lost its sharpness. The weapons of her office, bright sarcasm and irony, or laughing persiflage, were sheathed; her fine features were thoughtful; her dark eyes introspective. In the dazzling sunshine, the memory of their ride through the gorge; the awakening at the shepherd"s hut; something in his look then, something in his accents later, when he spoke her name while she professed to sleep--seemed, perhaps, unreal, dream-like.
His first greeting that morning had been a swift, almost questioning, glance, before which she had looked away. In her face was the freshness of dawn; the grace of spring-tide. Overhead sang a lark; at their feet a brook whispered; around them solitude, vast, infinite. He spoke and she answered; her reserve became infectious; they ate their oaten cakes and drank their wine, each strongly conscious of the presence of the other. Then he rose, saddled their horses, and a.s.sisted her to mount. She appeared over-anxious to leave the shepherd"s hut; the jester, on the other hand, cast a backward glance at the poplar, the hovel, the brook. A crisp, clear caroling of birds followed them as they turned from the lonely spot.
So they rode, pausing betimes to rest, and even then she had little to say, save once when they stopped at a rustic bridge which spanned a stream. Both were silent, regarding the horses splashing in the water and clouding its clear depths with the yellow mud from its bed. From the cool shadows beneath the planks where she was standing, tiny fish, disturbed by this unwonted invasion, shot forth like darts and vanished into the opaque patches. Half-dreamily watching this exodus of flashing life from covert nook and hole, she said unexpectedly:
"Who is it that has wedded the princess?"
For a moment he did not answer; then briefly related the story.
"And why did you not tell me this before?" she asked when he had finished.
"Would you have credited me--then?" he replied, with a smile.
Quickly she looked at him. Was there that in her eyes which to him robbed memory of its sting? At their feet the water leaped and laughed; curled around the stones, and ran on with dancing bubbles.
Perhaps he returned her glance too readily; perhaps the recollection of the ride the night before recurred over-vividly to her, for she gazed suddenly away, and he wondered in what direction her thoughts tended, when she said with some reserve:
"Shall we go on?"
They had not long left the brook and the bridge, when from afar they caught sight of the regal chateau and the cl.u.s.tering progeny of red-roofed houses at its base. At once they drew rein.
"Shall we enter the town, or avoid it by riding over the mead?" said the _plaisant_.
"What danger would there be in going on?" she asked. "Whom might we meet?"
Thoughtfully he regarded the shining towers of the royal residence.
"No one, I think," he at length replied, and they went on.
Around the town ran a great wall, with watch-towers and a deep moat, but no person questioned their right to the freedom of the place; a sleepy soldier at the gate merely glancing indifferently at them as they pa.s.sed beneath the heavy archway. Gabled houses, with a tendency to incline from the perpendicular, overlooked the winding street; dull, round panes of gla.s.s stared at them, fraught with mystery and the possibility of spying eyes behind; but the thoroughfare in that vicinity appeared deserted, save for an old woman seated in a doorway.
Before this grandam, whose lack-l.u.s.ter eyes were fastened steadfastly before her, the fool paused and asked the direction of the inn.
"Follow your nose, if nature gave you a straight one," cried a jeering voice from the other side of the thoroughfare. "If it be crooked, a blind man and a dog were a better guide."
The speaker, a squat, misshapen figure, had emerged from a pa.s.sage turning into the street, and now stood, twirling a fool"s head on a stick and gazing impudently at the new-comers. The crone whom the _plaisant_ had addressed remained motionless as a statue.
"Ha! ha!" laughed the oddity who had volunteered this malapert response to the jester"s inquiry, "yonder sign-post"--pointing to the aged dame--"has lost its fingers--or rather its ears. Better trust to your nose."
"Triboulet!" exclaimed Jacqueline.
"Is it you, lady-bird?" said the surprised dwarf, recognizing in turn the maid. "And with the _plaisant_," staring hard at the fool. Then a cunning look gradually replaced the wonder depicted on his features.
"You are fleeing from the court; I, toward it," he remarked, jocosely.
"What mean you, fool?" demanded the horseman, sternly.
"That I have run away from the duke, fool," answered the hunchback.
"The foreign lord dared to beat me--Triboulet--who has only been beaten by the king. Sooner or later must I have fled, in any event, for what is Triboulet without the court; or the court, without Triboulet?" his indignation merging into arrogant vainglory.
"When did you leave the--duke?" asked the other, slowly.
"Several days ago," replied the dwarf, gazing narrowly at his questioner. "Down the road. He should be far away by this time."
Suspiciously the duke"s jester regarded the hunchback and then glanced dubiously toward the gate through which they had entered the town. He had experienced Triboulet"s duplicity and malice, yet in this instance was disposed to give credence to his story, because he doubted not that Louis of Hochfels would make all haste out of Francis" kingdom. Nor did it appear unreasonable that Triboulet should pine for the excitement of his former life; the pleasures and gaiety which prevailed at Fools" hall. If the hunchback"s information were true, they need now have little fear of overtaking the free baron and his following, as not far beyond the chateau-town the main road broke into two parts, the one continuing southward and the other branching off to the east.
While the horseman was thus reflecting, Triboulet, like an imp, began to dance before them, slapping his crooked knees with his enormous hands.
"A good joke, my master and mistress in motley," he cried. "The king was weak enough to exchange his dwarf for a demoiselle; the latter has fled; the monarch has neither one nor the other; therefore is he, himself, the fool. And thou, mistress, art also worthy of the madcap bells," he added, his distorted face upturned to the jestress.
"How so?" she asked, not concealing the repugnance he inspired.
"Because you prefer a fool"s cap to a king"s crown," he answered, looking significantly at her companion. "Wherein you but followed the royal preference for head-coverings. Ho! ho! I saw which way the wind blew; how the monarch"s eyes kindled when they rested on you; how the wings of Madame d"Etampes"s coif fluttered like an angry b.u.t.terfly.
Know you what was whispered at court? The reason the countess pleaded for an earlier marriage for the duke? That the princess might leave the sooner--and take the jestress, her maid, with her. But the king met her manoeuver with another. He granted the favorite"s request--but kept the jestress."
"Silence, rogue!" commanded the duke"s fool, wheeling his horse toward the dwarf.
"And then for her to turn from a throne-room to a dungeon," went on Triboulet, satirically, as he retreated. "As Brusquet wrote; "twas:
""_Morbleu_! A merry monarch and a jestress fair; A jestress fair, I ween!"--"
But ere the hunchback could finish this scurrilous doggerel of the court, over which, doubtless, many loose witlings had laughed, the girl"s companion placed his hand on his sword and started toward the dwarf. The words died on Triboulet"s lips; hastily he dodged into a narrow s.p.a.ce between two houses, where he was safe from pursuit.
Jacqueline"s face had become flushed; her lips were compressed; the countenance of the duke"s _plaisant_ seemed paler than its wont.
"Little monster!" he muttered.
But the hunchback, in his retreat, was now regarding neither the horseman nor the young girl. His glittering eyes, as if fascinated, rested on the weapon of the _plaisant_.
"What a fine blade you"ve got there!" he said curiously. "Much better than a wooden sword. Jeweled, too, by the holy bagpipe! And a coat of arms!"--more excitedly--"yes, the coat of arms of the great Constable of Dubrois. As proud a sword as that of the king. Where did you get it?" And in his sudden interest, the dwarf half-ventured from his place of refuge.
"Answer him not!" said the girl, hastily.
"Was it you, mistress, gave it him?" he asked, with a sudden, sharp look.