"His kingdom!" said the fool, with derision. "But go on. Tell me about it, Jacqueline. Their parting with the court? How they set out on their journey. All, Jacqueline; all!"
"They were married in the Chapelle de la Trinité," responded the girl, hesitating. Then with an odd side look, she went on rapidly: "The bridal party made an imposing cavalcade: the princess in her litter, behind a number of maids on horseback. At the castle gates several pages, dressed as Cupids, sent silver arrows after the bridal train. 'Hymen; Io Hymen!' cried the throng. 'Godspeed!' exclaimed Queen Marguerite, and threw a parchment, tied with a golden ribbon, into the princess' litter; an epithalamium, in verse, written in her own fair hand. 'Esto perpetua!' murmured the red cardinal. Besides the groom's own men, the king sent a strong escort to the border, and thus it was a numerous company that rode from the castle, with colors flying and the princess' handkerchief fluttering from her litter a last farewell."
"A last farewell!" repeated the fool. "A splendent picture, Jacqueline. They all shouted Te Deum, and none stood there to warn her."
"To warn!" retorted the jestress. "Not a maid but envied her that spectacle; the magnificence and splendor!"
"But not what will follow," he said, and, lying back on his couch, closed his eyes.
Rapidly the scene passed before him; the false duke at the head of the cavalcade, elate, triumphant; the princess in her litter, brilliant, dazzling; the laughter, the hurried adieus; tears and smiles; the smart sayings of the jesters, a bride their legitimate prey, her blushes the delight of the facetious nobles; the complacency of the pleasure-loving king—all floated before his eyes like the figment of a dream. How mocking the pomp and glitter! For the princess, what an awakening was to ensue! The free baron must have known the emperor was in Spain, and had met the fool's stratagem with a final masterly manoeuver. The bout was over; the first great bout; but in the next—would there be a next? Jacqueline's words now implied a doubt.
"You are soon to leave here," she said. "For Paris."
Seated on the stool, her hands crossed over her knees, Jacqueline seemed no longer a creature of indefinite or ambiguous purpose. On the contrary, her profile was rimmed in light, and very matter-of-fact and serious it seemed.
"Why am I to leave for Paris?" he remarked, absently.
"Because they are going to take you there," she returned, "to be tried as a heretic." He started and again sat up. "In your room was found a book by Calvin. Of course," she went on, "you will deny it belonged to you?"