"And miss the hunt? Not I, Monsieur Spoil-Sport."
"But if they find you with me?"
She only tossed her head wilfully and did not answer.
Nearer came the hue and cry of the chase. A heavy-horned buck sprang into the road and vanished like a flash into the timber on the other side. Shortly afterward, in a compact bunch, with heads downbent and stiffened tails, the pack, a howling, discordant mass, swept across the narrow, open space.
"Quick!" exclaimed the jester, and they turned their horses into the underbrush.
Scarcely had they done so when, closely following the dogs, appeared the first of the hunters, mounted on a splendid charger, with housings of rose-velvet.
"Pardieu!" muttered the plaisant, "I owe the king no thanks, but he rides well. Do you not think so, Jacqueline?"
Her answering gaze was puzzling. After Francis rode many lords and ladies, a stream of color crossing the road; riding habits faced with gold; satin doublets covered with rivières of diamonds; torsades wherein gold became the foil to precious stones. So near was the gorgeous cavalcade—the grand falconer, whippers-in, and the bearers of hooded birds mingling with the courtiers immediately behind the king—the escaped prisoner and the jestress could hear the panting of horses. Fleeting, transient, it passed; fainter sounded the din of hounds and horn; now it almost died away in the distance. The last couple had scarcely vanished before the fool and his companion left their ambush.
"You ride farther, Jacqueline?" he said.
"A little farther."