GLAMOUR
The hangings behind the image of Venus parted, and Lycabetta surveyed the strange pair. She had grown weary of the garden, grown curious to know how the fool had progressed with his wooing.
“Well,” she asked, “are the lovers happy?”
Perpetua folded her arms in silence as Lycabetta descended the steps, but Robert danced up to the Neapolitan antically.
“A marvel, a marvel,” he carolled; “I have won the mad maid’s heart.”
Lycabetta stared at him. “Does Andromeda dote on the monster? Does Beauty love the Beast?”
Robert jigged and skipped in front of her, almost singing his words. If he had the fool’s shape, he would play the fool’s part to save Perpetua. “Bah, the husk belies the kernel. I am skilled in philtres—I can cast love spells as well as the straightest and the smoothest.”
“Love-making has mended your wits,” said Lycabetta. “So you no longer think yourself the King.”
Robert laughed wildly. “King or no king,” he gibbered, “I sway a maid’s heart.” He was playing his part bravely, for the air seemed full of voices calling, “Save Perpetua!”
“Does the girl accept you?” Lycabetta questioned.