Her contemptuous gaze was her only reply.
"By the dust of kings, when last I saw it, the haughty constable himself it was who wore it," continued Triboulet. "Aye, when he defied Francis to his face. I can see him now, a rich surcoat over his gilded armor; the queen-mother, an amorous Dulcinea, gazing at him, with all her soul in her eyes; the brilliant company startled; even the king overawed. "Twas I broke the spell, while the monarch and the court were silent, not daring to speak."
"You!" From the young woman"s eyes flashed a flame of deepest hatred.
The hunchback shrank back; then laughed. "I, Triboulet!" he boasted.
""Ha!" said I, "he"s greater than the king!" whereupon Francis frowned, started, and answered the constable, refusing his claim. Not long thereafter the constable died in Spain, and I completed the jest.
"So," said I, "he is less than a man." And the king, who remembered, laughed."
"Let us go," said the jestress, very white.
Silently the _plaisant_ obeyed, and Triboulet once more ventured forth.
"Momus go with you!" he called out after them. And then:
""_Morbleu_! A merry monarch and a jestress fair;""
More quickly they rode on. Furtively, with suppressed rage in his heart, the duke"s fool regarded his companion. Her face was cold and set, and as his glance rested on its pale, pure outline, beneath his breath he cursed Brusquet, Triboulet and all their kind. He understood now--too well--the secret of her flight. What he had heretofore been fairly a.s.sured of was unmistakably confirmed. The sight of the tavern which they came suddenly upon and the appearance of the innkeeper interrupted this dark trend of thought, and, springing from his horse, the jester helped the girl to dismount.
The house, being situated in the immediate proximity of the grand chateau, received a certain patronage from n.o.ble lords and ladies.
This trade had given the proprietor such an opinion of his hostelry that common folk were not wont to be overwhelmed with welcome. In the present instance the man showed a disposition to scrutinize too closely the modest attire of the new-comers and the plain housings of their chargers, when the curt voice of the jester recalled him sharply from this forward occupation.
With a shade less of disrespect, the proprietor bade them follow him; rooms were given them, and, in the larger of the two chambers, the _plaisant_, desiring to avoid the publicity of the dining and tap-room, ordered their supper to be served.
During the repast the girl scarcely spoke; the capon she hardly touched; the claret she merely sipped. Once when she held the gla.s.s to her lips, he noticed her hand trembled just a little, and then, when she set down the goblet, how it closed, almost fiercely. Beneath her eyes shadows seemed to gather; above them her glance shone ominously.
"Oh," she said at length, as though giving utterance to some thought, which, pent-up, she could no longer control; "the irony; the tragedy of it!"
"What, Jacqueline?" he asked, gently, although he felt the blood surging in his head.
""_Morbleu_! A merry monarch"--"
she began, and broke off abruptly, rising to her feet, with a gesture of aversion, and moving restlessly across the room. "After all these years! After all that had gone before!"
"What has gone before, Jacqueline?"
"Nothing," she answered; "nothing."
For some time he sat with his sword across his knees, thinking deeply.
She went to the window and looked out. When she spoke again her voice had regained its self-command.
"A dark night," she said, mechanically.
"Jacqueline," he asked, glancing up from the blade, "why in the crypt that day we escaped did you pause at that monument?"
Quickly she turned, gazing at him from the half-darkness in which she stood.
"Did you see to whom the monument was erected?" she asked in a low voice.
"To the wife of the constable. But what was Anne, d.u.c.h.ess of Dubrois, to you?"
"She was the last lady of the castle," said the girl softly.
Again he surveyed the jeweled emblem on the sword, mocking reminder of a glory gone beyond recall.
"And how was it, mistress, the castle was confiscated by the king?" he continued, after a pause.
"Shall I tell you the story?" she asked, her voice hardening.
"If you will," he answered.
"Triboulet"s description of the scene where the constable braved the king, insisting on his rights, was true," she observed, proudly.
"But why had the n.o.ble wearer of this sword been deprived of his feudality and tenure?"
"Because he was strong and great, and the king feared him; because he was n.o.ble and handsome, and the queen-regent loved him. It was not her hand only, Louise of Savoy, Francis" mother, offered, but--the throne."
"The throne!" said the wondering fool.
Quickly she crossed the room and leaned upon the table. In the glimmer of the candles her face was soft and tender. He thought he had never seen a sweeter or more womanly expression.
"But he refused it," she continued, "for he loved only the memory of his wife, Lady Anne. She, a perfect being. The other--what?"
On her features shone a fine contempt.
"Then followed the endless persecution and spite of a woman scorned,"
she continued, rapidly. "One by one, his honors were wrested from him.
He who had borne the flag triumphantly through Italy was deprived of the government of Milan and replaced by a brother of Madame de Chateaubriant, then favorite of the king. His castle, lands, were confiscated, until, driven to despair, he fled and allied himself with the emperor. "Traitor," they called him. He, a Bayard."
A moment she stood, an exalted look on her features; tall, erect; then stepped toward him and took the sword. With a bright and radiant glance she surveyed it; pressed the hilt to her lips, and with both hands held it to her bosom. As if fascinated, the fool watched her.
Her countenance was upturned; a moment, and it fell; a dark shadow crossed it; beneath her lashes her eyes were like night.
"But he failed because Charles, the emperor, failed him," she said, almost mechanically, "and broken in spirit, met his death miserably in exile. Yet his cause was just; his memory is dearer than that of a conqueror. She, the queen-mother, is dead; G.o.d alone may deal with her."
More composed, she resumed her place in the chair on the other side of the table, the sword across her arm.
"And how came you, mistress," he asked, regarding her closely, "in the pleasure palace built by Francis?"
"When the castle was taken, all who had not fled were a gamekeeper and his little girl--myself. The latter"--ironically--"pleased some of the court ladies. They commended her wit, and gradually was she advanced to the high position she occupied when you arrived," with a strange glance across the board at her listener.
"And the gamekeeper--your father--is dead?"
"Long since."
"The constable had no children?"
"Yes; a girl who, it is believed, died with him in Spain."