"What egotists men are!" she said. "Good Sir Jester, in offering you liberty I am serving myself; myself, you understand!" she repeated. "Let us hasten on, lest in defeating your own purpose, you defeat mine."
"What will you answer when he"—indicating the drugged turnkey—"accuses you?"
"Was ever such perversity!" was all she deigned to reply, biting her lip.
"You are somewhat wilful yourself, Jacqueline," he retorted, with that smile which so exasperated her.
"Listen," she said at length, slowly, impressively. "You need have no fear for me when you go. I tell you that more danger remains to me by your staying than in your going; that your obstinacy leaves me unprotected; that your compliance would be a boon to me. By the memory of my mother, by the truth of this holy book"—drawing a little volume passionately from her bosom—"I swear to what I have told you." Eagerly her eyes met his searching gaze, and he read in their depths only truth and candor. "I have a quest for you. It concerns my life, my happiness. All I have done for you has been for this end."
Her eyes fell, but she raised them again quickly. "Will you accept a mission from one who is not—a princess?"
"Name her not!" exclaimed the jester sharply. And then, recovering himself, added, less brusquely: "What is it you want, mistress?"
"This is no time nor place to tell it," she went on rapidly, seeing by his face that his dogged humor had melted before her appeal, "but soon, before we part, you shall know all; what it is I wish to intrust in your hands."
A moment she waited. "Your argument is unanswerable, Jacqueline," he said finally. "I own myself puzzled, but I believe you, so—have your way."
"This cloak then"—handing him a garment she had brought with her—"throw it over you," she continued hurriedly. "If we meet any one it may serve as a disguise. And here is a sword," bringing forth a weapon that she had carried concealed beneath a flowing mantle. "Can you use it?"