At this intimation that the other considered the interview ended, the fool started to his feet and deliberately made his way to the door opening into the corridor.
"Good-night!" he said, and was about to depart when the free baron held him with a word.
"Hold! Why have you not attempted to unmask me—before?"
Steadily the two looked at each other; the eyes of the elder man, cruel, deep, all-observing; those of the younger, steady, fearless, undismayed. Few of his troopers could withstand the sinister penetration of Louis of Hochfels' gaze, but on the jester it seemed to have no more effect than the casual glance of one of Francis' courtiers.
"You knew—and yet you made no sign?" continued the master of the fortress.
"Because I like a strong play and did not wish to spoil it—too soon!"
The questioner's brow fell; the lids half-veiled the dark, savage eyes, but the mouth relaxed. "Ah, you always have your answer," he returned with apparent cordiality. "Good-night—and, by the by, our truce is at an end."
"The truce—and the wine," said the jester, as with a ceremonious bow, he vanished amid the shadows in the hall.
Slowly the free baron closed the door and locked it; looked at the cross and at the bed, but made no motion toward either.
"He has already rejected my proposal," thought the self-styled duke. "Does he seek for higher rewards by betraying me? Or is it, then, Triboulet told the truth? Is he an aspiring lover of the princess? Or is he only faithful to his master? Why have I failed to read him? As though a film lay across his eyes, that index to a man's soul!"