“How now, good youth, hast a leaning to Folly e'en though Folly go fettered, and thyself in dungeon?”
“Fool,” answered the youth, soft-voiced, “me-thinks 't is strange Folly can sing thus in chains! Hast thou no fear of death?”
“Why truly I love it no more than my fellow-fools. But I, being fool uncommon, am wise enough to know that Death, howsoe'er he come, may come but once—and there's a comfortable thought!”
So saying, Jocelyn seated himself beside the youth and watched him keen-eyed.
“And thou canst sing of Freedom, Fool, to the jangle of thy fetters?”
“Truly, youth, 't is but my baser part lieth shackled, thus while body pineth here, soul walketh i' the kindly sun—aye, e'en now as I do gaze on thee, I, in my thought, do stand in a fair garden—beside a lily-pool, where she I love cometh shy-footed to meet me, tall and gracious and sweet, as her flowers. A dream, belike, yet in this dream she looketh on me with eyes of love and love is on her lips and in her heart—so is my dream very precious.”
At this, the youth shrank beneath his cloak while in an adjacent corner the three rolled dice with Robin and quarrelled hoarse and loud.
“Youth,” said Jocelyn, “I pray thee, tell me thy name.”
Without lifting head the youth answered:
“Hugo!”