After what seemed to be a very long time the sound of a horn was borne to him on the air, a sound which seemed to the lost one as sweet as the song of an angel. He rose to his feet, and, putting his hands to his mouth once more, he called three times with all his strength. An answering call reassured him, and soon hearing voices, he called again, and was overjoyed to see the faces of his friends looking over the precipice above.
"In the name of all the saints, boy," called Maximilian, "are you hurt?"
"No, your Majesty, only a little bruised."
There was the hurried buzz of conversation, which he could not distinguish, and the looped end of a rope was lowered to him, which he secured about his body. Then he was slowly drawn up, and as he swung opposite the nodding blossoms, Philibert reached out his hands and grasped them, pulling them out by the roots.
"What is the matter with the boy? Is he out of his senses?" asked the emperor, who was anxiously watching the ascent to terra firma.
"No, I do not know that you could call him out of his senses exactly," replied Le Glorieux. "The Lady Marguerite wanted some edelweiss blossoms, and he was trying to find them for her. I have no doubt that he was after that very bunch when he fell. There is one thing that I have noticed about Philibert," went on the jester, "and that is that when he starts out to do a thing he will do it if it threatens every drop of blood in his body."
"He is a foolhardy youth," said the emperor. "I can understand how one could take almost any risk to kill a chamois, but not to pluck a handful of weeds." But he looked pleased, nevertheless, for he was a man who could appreciate perseverance. And he examined Philibert's wound with careful attention, saying that the two boys and the jester should return to the inn in the company of one of the guides. And Philibert de Bresse still clutched the flowers which he had risked so much to obtain.
Behind the mountaineer's hut, where the remainder of the party expected to spend the night, Le Glorieux took from the spot where he carefully had placed them, a cluster of snowy blossoms, which, with great difficulty, a scratched face, and some bruises, he had gathered before he heard of Philibert's mishap. These children of the snow he threw over the cliff unseen by his companions. "Let him have all the praise and the honor of it," said he to himself. "You are nothing but a fool, Le Glorieux, and you must not be selfish."
The princess received the flowers with a little cry of joy, and she thanked the donor with a smile so beaming, inquiring so tenderly about his wound, that Philibert felt repaid a thousandfold for the trouble he had taken to gratify her wish.
"But, my poor Le Glorieux," said the princess sweetly, "you have an ugly scratch across your face, and your hands are bruised. Have you also had a fall?"