'I know it. I have been warned; direct thou my hand.'
'I!' exclaimed the Fool once more in a startled cry. And suddenly, wonder of wonders! he was grovelling at the other's knees, pawing them, weeping and moaning, hiding his face in the grass.
'What saint is this?' he cried, 'what saint that claims the Fool to his guide?'
'Alas!' said the boy, 'no saint, but a child of the human God.'
'And He mated with Folly,' cried Cicada, 'and Folly is to direct the bolt!'
He sat up, beating his brow in an ecstasy, then all in a moment forbore, and was as calm as death.
'So be it,' he said. 'Be thou the divine fool, and I thy mother.'
With a quick movement Bembo caught the Fool's cheeks between his palms.
'Ay, mother,' said he, with a little choking laugh, 'but see that thy hand on mine be steady, lest the quarrel fly wide or rebound upon ourselves.'
It was the true mark indeed to which the cunning rascal had all this time been sighting his bow. He watched anxiously now for the tokens of a hit.