what one says of a man when one can say nothing else. He is not
then very handsome?"

"He has never been so considered!"

The princess' needle remained suspended, then viciously plunged into the
golden Cupid she was embroidering. "The king hath played with me," she
murmured. "He represented him as one of the most distinguished-appearing
knights in the emperor's domains. Is he dark or light?" she went on.

"Dark."

"Tall?"

"Rather short."

"His eyes?" said the lady, after an ominous pause.

"Brown."

"His manners?"

"Those of a soldier."

"His speech?"

"That of one born to command."

"Command!" returned the princess, ironically. "Odious word!"

"You, Madam," quickly answered the jester, "he would serve."

A moment her glance challenged his, coldly, proudly, and then her
features softened. The indolent look crept into her eyes once more; the
tension of her lips relaxed.

"Command and serve!" laughed the princess. "A paradox, if not a paragon,
it seems! Not handsome--probably ugly!--a soldier--full of oaths--a
blusterer--strong in his cups! What a list of qualifications!
Well"--with a sigh--"what must needs be must be! The emperor plays the
rook; Francis moves his pawn--my poor self. The game, beyond the two
moves, is naught to us. Perhaps we shall be sacrificed, one or both!
What of that, if it's a draw, or one of the players checkmates the
other--"

"But, Princess," cried the fool, "he loves you!
Passionately!--devotedly!--"

"A passing fancy for a painted semblance!" said the lady, as rising she
turned toward the casement, the golden Cupid falling from her lap to the
floor. In the rhythmic ease of her movement, in her very attitude, was
consciousness of her own power, but to the poet-jester, surrounded as he
was by symbols of worship and devotion, her expressed self-doubt seemed
that of some saintly being, cloistered in the solitude of a sanctuary.

"Nay," he answered swiftly, "he has but to see you--with the sunlight in
your hair--as I see you now! The pawn, Madam, would become a queen; his
queen! What would matter to him the game of Charles or Francis? Let
Charles grow greater, or Francis smaller. His gain would be--you!"

The fingers of the maid who sat at the far end of the room ceased to
caress the silver vase; her hands were tightly clasped together; in her
dark eyes was an ironical light, as her gaze passed from the jester to
her mistress. Almost motionless stood the