“Is the King like you?” she questioned.
The fool unhuddled himself and leaped to his feet, snapping his fingers in fantastic imprecation.
“My soul is as the soul of a sucking babe by his wicked soul; but, as for his body, the imperious gods who mock us have given him a most exquisite outside, the case of an angel masking a devil.”
He raged into silence, but his mouth still worked hideously, as if his hate were fumbling for words it could not find. The girl gave a great sigh.
“I did not know there were such men in the world,” she said. The fool stared at her in amaze.
“Then you must have seen few men,” he grunted.
“I have seen few men,” the girl answered, sadly—“my father, who is old, and the timid country folk, and the holy brothers of the church. Of men from the valley, from the city, I have seen but two—you and one other.” She paused for a moment, thoughtfully, and then went on with a swell of exultation in her voice—“and that other was not like you.”
The fool drew nearer to her, eagerly, apish curiosity goading him. “Who was my fellow?” he asked of the girl, who, with averted head, seemed as one who dreams waking. Dreamily she answered:
“One dewy morning a week ago I met a hunter in these happy woods.” She closed her eyes for a moment as if the memory was sweet to her and she wished to shut it away from the staring fool.
“Humph!” said Diogenes. “In the days of Robert the Good men might not hunt in these forests.”