"Little Cousin," said he. The curtains were parted and Marguerite's pretty face smiled at him. "You are now in your very own land of Flanders," said he, "the country your mother brought to Austria as her dower."
"And I am glad to be here," replied she. "I could kiss the very soil of the land that is my own!"
The jester now gradually fell behind, and once more rode at the rear of the procession. "Why do you always ride so far behind?" asked Philibert, checking his own horse to wait for Le Glorieux.
"Do you want me to tell you the real reason?" asked the fool.
"Certainly I do."
"It is because I wish to spare the feelings of Pittacus."
"The legs, rather," laughed the boy.
"I mean exactly what I say—the feelings," persisted the fool. "Do you not think that a donkey can have feelings as well as a person? Of course he can," he went on, answering his own question. "And do you not think that he is greatly humiliated in a company like this?"
"What is there to humiliate him?" asked Antoine, who rode on the other side of the jester.
"Why, look you, many of the other steeds are mounted by the nobility and bear the richest trappings, while poor unfortunate Pittacus has nothing but a common saddle. Do you not suppose that it cuts him to the heart when he notices the contrast? How would either of you feel to mingle with a gay company where jewels flashed and velvets shimmered, while you wore the coarsest fustian?"