"Then is he still absent," said the jester, decisively. "Had he come back, you would have heard."
Quickly she looked at him. Caillette!—Spain!—these were the words he had often uttered in his delirium. Although he seemed much better and the hot flush had left his cheeks, his fantasy evidently remained.
"A week and over!" resumed the fool, more to himself than to his companion. "But he still may return before the duke is wedded."
"And if he did return?" she asked, wishing to humor him.
"Then the duke is not like to marry the princess," he burst out.
"Not like—to marry!" she replied, suddenly, and moved toward him. Her clear eyes were full upon him; closely she studied his worn features. "Not like—but he has married her!"
The jester strove to spring to his feet, but his legs seemed as relaxed as his brain was dazed.
"Has married!—impossible!" he exclaimed fiercely.
"They were wedded two days since," she went on quietly, possibly regretting that surprise, or she knew not what, had made her speak.
"Wedded two days since!"