"This new-comer's stay with us promises to be brief, Caillette," she whispered.
"Hark, you witch! He answers," returned the poet.
"What can he say?" she retorted, shrugging her shoulders. "He is already condemned."
"Are you pleased, mistress? Just because the poor fellow stared at you overmuch."
"Oh," she said, insensibly, "it was written he should hang himself. Now we'll hear how ably Audacity parleys with Fate."
"It would be no breach of hospitality, Sire, to hang the princess' fool," spoke the condemned man with no sign of waning confidence, "yet it would seem to depreciate the duke's gift. Your Majesty should hang the one and spare the other. 'Tis a matter of logic," he went on quickly, "to point out where the duke's gift ends and the princess' fool begins. A gift is a gift until it is received. The princess has not yet received the duke's gift. Therefore, your Majesty can not hang me, as the princess' fool; nor would your Majesty desire to hang me as the duke's gift."
Imperceptibly the monarch's mien relaxed, for next to a contest with blades he liked the quick play of words.
"Answer him, Triboulet," he said.
"Your Majesty—your Majesty—" stammered the dwarf, and paused in despair, his wits failing him at the critical juncture.
"Enough!" commanded the king, sternly. A sound of suppressed merriment even as he spoke startled the gathering. "Who laughed?" he cried suddenly. "Was it you, mistress?" fastening his eyes upon the young woman.