“And what meaneth this?”
“That thou, proud lady, must this night choose betwixt knightly rogue and motley Fool—here be two evils with yet a difference—”
“Here is strange, wild talk, Fool!”
“Here shall be wild doings anon, lady, methinks. Hush thee and listen!”
A jangle of bridle-chains, a sound of voices loud and rough, and a tread of heavy feet that, breaking rudely upon the gentle-brooding night, drove the colour from Yolande's soft cheek and hushed her voice to broken whisper:
“Heaven shield us, what now, Joconde?”
“Wolves, lady, wolves that come to raven—see yonder!” Even as he spake they espied armed men who, bold and assured by reason of the solitude, moved in the garden below; and on back and breast of each was the sign of the Bloody Hand.
“My Lord Gui's followers! Alas, Joconde, these mean thee ill—here is death for thee!” Now as she spake, Jocelyn thrilled to the touch of her hand upon his arm, a hand that trembled and stole to clasp his. “Alas, Joconde, they have tracked thee hither to slay thee—”
“And were this so, wouldst fly with me, Yolande? Wouldst trust thy beauties to a Fool's keeping?”
“Nay, nay, this were madness, Joconde; rather will I hide thee—aye, where none shall dare seek thee—come!”