consequence, a thorny maze for a jester to tread. From her chair at
the far end of the room, the young woman looked at the new-comer for
the first time since his enthronement. Her fingers yet played between
the gilded bars; the posture she had assumed set forth the pliant grace
of her figure. Above the others, she glanced at him, her hair very
black against the golden cage; her arm, very white, half unsheathed
from the great hanging sleeve.

"You are over-bold," she said, a peculiar smile upon her lips.

"Nay; I have spoken no treason, mistress," he retorted blithely.

"Not by word of mouth, perhaps, but by imputation."

He raised his brows with a gesture of wanton protest, while the face
before him clouded. Her eyes held his; her little teeth just gleamed
between the crimson of her lips.

"I presume you consider Charles the more fitting monarch?" she
continued.

Was it the disdain of her voice? Did she read his passing thoughts?
Did she challenge him to utter them?

"In truth," the jester said carelessly, "Charles builds fortresses, not
pleasure palaces; and garrisons them with soldiers, not ladies."

She half-smiled. Her glance fell. Her hand moved caressingly, the
sleeve waving beneath.

"Poor Jocko! Poor Jocko!" she murmured.

Triboulet's glance beamed with delight. She was casting her spell over
his enemy.

"Oh," muttered Triboulet, "if the king could but have heard!"

Perhaps it was a breath of air, but the tapestry depicting the
misadventures of Momus waved and moved. Triboulet, who noted
everything, saw this, and suffered an expression of triumph momentarily
to rest upon his malignant features. Had his prayer been answered? "A
spring without flowers," forsooth! Dearly cherished the august
gardener his beautiful roses. Great red roses; white roses; blossoms
yet unopened!

Following his gaze, a significant light appeared in the young woman's
eyes, while her arm fell to her side.

"Now to see Presumption sue for pardon," she whispered to herself.

One by one the company, too, turned in the direction Triboulet was
looking. In portraiture the classical buffoon grinned and gibed at
them from the tapestry; and even from his high station above the clouds
Jupiter, who had ejected the offending fool of the gods, looked less
stern and implacable. An expectant hush fell upon the assemblage, when
suddenly Jove and Momus alike were unceremoniously thrust aside, and,
as the folds fell slowly