"You bear a brave sword, fool, for one so loath to draw," sneered the master of the boar.
Disappointed at this tame outcome of an affair which had so spirited a beginning, the company, with derisive scoffing and muttered sarcasm, resumed their places; all save the morio, who stood glaring upon the jester.
"Stab! stab!" he muttered through his dry lips, and at that moment the troubadour played a few chords on his instrument. The passion faded from the creature's face; quietly he turned and sought the chair nearest to the minstrel.
"Sing, master," he said.
"Diable, thou art an insatiable monster!" grumbled the troubadour.
"Insatiable," smilingly repeated the strange being.
"If you went also, ma douce miette!
The joys of heaven I'd forego
To have you with me there below,'—
Said Aucassin to Nicolette."
softly sang the troubadour.
Over the gathering a marked constraint appeared to fall. More soberly the men shook their dice; the scamp-student took up his book, but even Horace seemed not to absorb his undivided attention; a mountebank attempted several tricks, but failed to amuse his spectators. The candles, burning low, began to drip, and the servant silently replaced them. Beneath lowering brows the master of the boar moodily regarded the young girl, whose face seemed cold and disdainful in the flickering light. The plaisant addressed a remark to her, but she did not answer, and silently he watched the shadow on the floor, of the chandelier swinging to and fro, like a waving sword.
"Will you have something more, good fool?" said the insinuating and unexpected voice of the host at the plaisant's elbow.