A look of impatience crossed her face, but she gazed at him intently and her eyes held his from the floor where they would have strayed.
"Are you stupid, or do you but profess to be?" she demanded. "Before the tilt I noticed the duke and his trooper talking together. When they separated the latter, unobserved as he thought, struck the point of his weapon against his stirrup. The disk fell to the ground."
"Your glance is sharp, Jacqueline," he retorted, slowly. "Thank you for the information."
Her eyes kindled; an angry retort seemed about to spring from her lips. It was with difficulty she controlled herself to answer calmly a moment later.
"You mean it can serve you nothing? Perhaps you are right. To-day you were lucky. To-morrow you may be—what? To-day you defended yourself well and it was a good lance you bore. Had it been any other jester, the king would have praised him. Because it was you, no word has been spoken. If anything, your success has annoyed him. Several of the court spoke of it; he answered not; 'tis the signal to ignore it, and—you!"
"Then are you courageous to brave public opinion and hold converse with me," he replied, with a smile.
"Public opinion!" she exclaimed with flashing eyes. "What would they say of a jestress? Who is she? What is she?"
She ended abruptly; bit her lips, showing her gleaming white teeth. Then some emotion, more profound, swept over her expressive face; she looked at him silently, and when she spoke her voice was more gentle.
"I can not believe," she continued thoughtfully, "that the duke told his trooper to do that. 'Tis too infamous. The man must have acted on his own responsibility. The duke could not, would not, countenance such baseness."
"You have a good opinion of him, gentle mistress," he said in a tone that exasperated her.