"Who is this knave?" he asked at length, fixedly regarding the erstwhile badge of his defeat.
"A poor fool, Sire!" replied the kneeling man.
"Those arms, embroidered on your dress—what do they mean?" said the king shortly.
"The arms of my master's master, your Majesty!" was the over-confident answer.
"Who is your master?"
"The Duke of Friedwald, Sire, the betrothed of the Princess Louise."
"And your purpose here?"
"My master sent me to the princess. 'I'll miss thee, rogue,' said he. ''Tis proof of love to send thee, my merry companion of the wine cup! But go! Nature hath formed thee to conjure sadness from a lady's face.' So I set out upon my perilous journey, and, favored by fortune, am but safely arrived. I was e'en now about to repair to the princess, whom I trust, in my humble way, to amuse."
"And thou shalt!" said the king, significantly.
"Oh, your Majesty!" with assumed modesty.