he fool; "don't you see! cousin mine, that
this man has not yet been to confession? The head and the body of the
poor devil belong to you and the crows, but neither you, nor your
friend Beelzebub, have any right over his soul! Let this man first
comply with his duties as a Christian!"

"By Satan! what's that to me? Here, you men, tie a new knot, and hang
up the traitor at once!"

"Then you will be hung too, cousin," said the jester. "Would you really
dare to execute a man without confession? I came here to witness the
death of a bandit, but not to see the devil steal his soul! If you have
any respect for your own life, cousin, you will put off the business
until I bring here a monk, or a bishop, or if needs, the Pope himself!"
This said, he rushed toward the encampment.

Hesso bit his lips sullenly, but he knew the positive order which
existed, that no one was to be put to death, without first receiving
the succors of religion.

"Lead the prisoner back to his dungeon," said he, "until the fool and
the priest have finished their task."

The jester stopped before a tent whose splendid appearance denoted the
princely rank of its occupant. In front of the entrance floated a
banner on which were blazoned the arms and bearings of episcopal
dignity. Upon the threshold stood a man, evidently of high rank, gazing
idly at the busy movement of the camp. He wore a long tunic,
magnificently embroidered on the cuffs and collar; his hands sparkled
with rings of gold and precious stones; his expression was engaging,
and he smiled cordially as the fool approached.

"I'm in luck!" cried the jester; "I was only looking for a monk, and
I've stumbled on a prelate in all his glory."

"What do you want, rascal?"

"To save a soul from Satan, cousin Adelbert! There is a poor fellow
near here who is going to be hanged; he is still in the bonds of sin,
and I want you to come out and cut them, so that he can spring from the
gallows straight into Abraham's bosom!"

"But, Lanzo," replied Adelbert, "don't you perceive that I have neither
sword nor dagger in my belt."

"Oh! cousin, your tongue is sharp enough of itself. Come with me!"

"What! a prelate follow a fool! Rogue, you ought to be flogged."

"Well then! let the prelate lead the way. I warrant he will not lose
the trail."

"Whom do you mean?"

"Why, the prelate, of course."

"And of whose trail do you speak?"

"Zounds! Why, the fool's, to be sure! you look very much like m