"'Morbleu! A merry monarch and a jestress fair;
A jestress fair, I ween!'—"
But ere the hunchback could finish this scurrilous doggerel of the court, over which, doubtless, many loose witlings had laughed, the girl's companion placed his hand on his sword and started toward the dwarf. The words died on Triboulet's lips; hastily he dodged into a narrow space between two houses, where he was safe from pursuit. Jacqueline's face had become flushed; her lips were compressed; the countenance of the duke's plaisant seemed paler than its wont.
"Little monster!" he muttered.
But the hunchback, in his retreat, was now regarding neither the horseman nor the young girl. His glittering eyes, as if fascinated, rested on the weapon of the plaisant.
"What a fine blade you've got there!" he said curiously. "Much better than a wooden sword. Jeweled, too, by the holy bagpipe! And a coat of arms!"—more excitedly—"yes, the coat of arms of the great Constable of Dubrois. As proud a sword as that of the king. Where did you get it?" And in his sudden interest, the dwarf half-ventured from his place of refuge.
"Answer him not!" said the girl, hastily.
"Was it you, mistress, gave it him?" he asked, with a sudden, sharp look.
Her contemptuous gaze was her only reply.
"By the dust of kings, when last I saw it, the haughty constable himself it was who wore it," continued Triboulet. "Aye, when he defied Francis to his face. I can see him now, a rich surcoat over his gilded armor; the queen-mother, an amorous Dulcinea, gazing at him, with all her soul in her eyes; the brilliant company startled; even the king overawed. 'Twas I broke the spell, while the monarch and the court were silent, not daring to speak."
"You!" From the young woman's eyes flashed a flame of deepest hatred.