eatures of the lists
than these rapacious riflers, who loudly cheered the merry monarch or
shouted for his gallant knights, while deftly cutting purse-cords or
despoiling honest country dames of brooches, clasps or other treasured
articles of adornment.

Near the duke's pavilion, to the right, had been pitched a commodious
tent of yellow material, with ropes of the same color, and a fool's cap
crowning the pole in place of the customary banner. Over the entrance
was suspended the jester's gilded wand and a staff, from which hung a
blown bladder. Here were quartered the court jesters whom Francis had
commanded to be fittingly attired for the lists and to take part in the
general combat. In vain had Triboulet pleaded that they would occasion
more merriment if assigned to the king's box than doomed to the arena.

"That may be," Francis had answered, "but on this occasion all the
people must witness your antics."

"Antics!" Triboulet had shuddered. "An I should be killed, your
Majesty?"

"Then it will be amusing to see you quiet for once in your life," had
been the laughing reply.

And with this poor assurance the dwarf had been obliged to content
himself--not merrily, 'tis true, but with much inward disquietude,
secretly execrating his monarch for this revival of ancient and
barbarous practices.

Now, in the rear of the jesters' pavilion, his face was yellow with
trepidation, as the armorer buckled on the iron plates about his
stunted figure, fastening and riveting them in such manner, he mentally
concluded he should never emerge from that frightful shell.

"The worst of it is," dryly remarked the hunchback's valet as he
briskly plied his little hammer, "these clothes are so heavy you
couldn't run away if you wanted to."

"Oh, that the duke were married and out of the kingdom!" Triboulet
fervently wished, and the fiery comments of Marot, Villot and those
other reckless spirits, who seemed to mind no more the prospect of
being spitted on a lance than if it were but a novel and not unpleasant
experience to look forward to, in no wise served to assuage his
heart-sinking.

At the entrance of the pavilion stood Caillette, who had watched the
passing of _Bon Vouloir_ and now was gazing upward into a sea of faces
from whence came a hum of voices like the buzzing of unnumbered bees.

"Certes," he commented, "the king makes much of this unmannered,
lumpish, beer-drinking noble who is going to wed the princess."