THE DUKE'S FOOL

The towers and spires of the city were silhouetted against the early grey of the dawn when Jean stood knocking at the postern beside the great gates of the castle.

The dwarf had hurried through the dark and deserted streets from the Place Beauvoisin to the Rue St. Romain, and had watched Herrick closely as he gave him the message, the promise of obedience and trust. By neither look nor word did Herrick betray whether the promise were more or less than he had hoped for; he seemed entirely absorbed in the events which must shortly come to pass. First with Herrick alone, and then with Father Bertrand, who joined them, Jean sat through the night discussing revolution and the fighting spirit that was in the people of Vayenne. At dawn he was at the castle to learn what was to happen to Gaspard Lemasle.

"You!" exclaimed the soldier as Jean stepped in.

"I've come to see the Count. It's no good to laugh and refuse me admittance. He wants to see me; has sent all over the city for me, I hear."

"That's true enough, and last night when they found you, you slipped away."

"And that's true, too, comrade," answered the dwarf.

"The Count heard of it, and you'll find him in no good mood this morning, I warrant."

"He'll listen to reason, and there was no reason in last night's affair," Jean returned. "Come, comrade, think of it yourself. Here was I, peaceably walking along a street, counting the moments that brought me nearer to my love, when——"

"Love!" laughed the soldier.

"Did I not speak plainly, or is it that your head is full of sleep yet and you are somewhat deaf?"

"Do you mean a girl?"

"Faith, friend, this is full early to be full of liquor," answered the dwarf. "What should a man love but a girl?"

The soldier nearly choked with laughter, and this brought two other men out of the guard-house to see what it was that so amused him.

"A girl! He says there's a girl who loves—who loves him," spluttered the soldier.

The dwarf looked from one to the other, an expression of blank dismay on his face.

"He laughs because a man courts a girl," Jean said to the other men. "Where is the humor in it? What goes he after when he goes courting? A talking parrot in a cage or a cat mow-wowing on a wall?"

"How long have you called yourself a man?" asked one of the soldiers, laughing.

"About as many years as you have. I warrant there were not many months between the time that you and I began to run alone," answered the dwarf; and then as though a reason for their mirth had only just occurred to him, Jean looked down at his deformed limbs. "Ah, now I see! That's the humor of it!" And he began to laugh uproariously too.

"You'd forgotten what you were like, eh, Jean?" they said in chorus.

The question only made the dwarf laugh the more, and his companions were astonished into seriousness.

"To think—to think that you are such fools!" Jean cried. "Do you suppose all girls love such men as you? Why, set you in a row, marching in step round the court-yard, and there aren't a dozen women in Vayenne who could pick out their own man. You're all alike, comrades, there are girls, mark you, who favor men more distinguished, men there is no mistake about, and care not a jot for just a sample of the ordinary kind, which look as though they had been turned out of the same mould by the dozen. My girl's of that sort."

"Pretty, Jean?" asked one.

"What's the color of her eye?" asked another; "for surely she can only have one, and that defective, if she looks with favor upon you."

"Last night I climbed to her balcony," said Jean solemnly. "My lady looked down from her window, as an angel might from an open door in heaven, and all the world seemed flooded with silver light. There was music in the air, music that thrilled my soul, her voice and her laughter. There was a sense of holiness about me as when incense rises from before an altar, and the prayers of saints meet sinners' prayers and, mingling, float upward to the throne of God. Her eyes were twin stars, afire with truth, to guide me in the way that leads to the hereafter; her hair an aureole like to the crown that I may win; and her breath, the essence of all the perfumes that cling about the fair fields of Paradise."

The men were silent, and laughed no more, for the dwarf looked almost inspired as he spoke.

"'Twas in St. Etienne. Surely he saw a vision last night," whispered one man to his companions.

"Wouldn't you have rushed from half a dozen miserable soldiers when such a love was awaiting your coming?" asked the dwarf, turning sharply to them. "It was not that I minded visiting the Count. He is hardly out of bed yet, eh, comrades, and I scent the perfume of coffee through the doorway there. Will you welcome me? The chill of the morning is in my bones."

"Come you in. I'll risk it," said the soldier who had opened the postern. "I ought to lock you up lest you escape again. Look you, Jean, the Count's in the mood to hang me if you run away."

"You shall not hang, comrade; my hand on it."

"They lost you last night, but they captured a bigger prize," said one man.

"That may easily be," the dwarf returned. "There are men of more inches than I am in plenty. Who was it they captured?"

"Captain Lemasle."

"Ah! a truculent man, but a brave soldier," said Jean. "What's his crime, and what will they do with him?"

"I know not the crime, but he's like to end there," was the answer as the man pointed to the top of the gate.

"That will be waste of good material," said Jean. "I must speak to the Count about it. Meanwhile the smell of that coffee haunts me." And he moved toward the door.

The man who told Count Felix that the dwarf had come to the castle, told him also that Jean was strange and talked of visions he had seen.

"Bring him to me here, at once. I will see him alone."

It was in a superstitious frame of mind that Felix had had the dwarf searched for. Deep in his schemes, with enemies constantly about him, and living in hourly uncertainty of what might happen, he was in the mood to augur good or ill from dreams and visions.

"I have sought for you everywhere," he said when Jean entered and the man who had brought him had gone.

"You were unfortunate in not finding me," said the dwarf, with a grotesque bow. "I am always at the Duke's service."

"Tell me, Jean, why do you call me Duke? You are in advance of time. The crown has not yet touched this head of mine."

"We speak of to-morrow ere the sun has risen upon it," the dwarf answered.

"True; but it might never dawn."

"Ah, my lord, one cannot stop to consider possibilities if life is to be lived."

"The other day you spoke of visions, visions in St. Etienne in the night. Is it true that you have been dreaming again?" asked Felix.

"I always dream; so do other men, only with the light they forget. I remember. Half our life is a dream, visions of things we long for, yet never attain to. Love, hope, ambition, they are all dreams, sometimes turned to realities, yet seldom fulfilling expectation."

"Have I entered into your visions?" asked Felix, and eagerness was in the question in spite of his efforts to conceal it.

"Often," answered the dwarf, quick to catch the trend of the Count's question. "Often, as lover, as a man of hope, as a slave of ambition."

"How say you? Slave!"

"Truly we are all slaves in varying degree; slaves to love, slaves——"

"Since when have I been slave to love?" asked Felix.

"Since the day a woman first said you nay," was the quick answer. It was a general answer enough, applicable to any man, yet the Count, remembering Elisabeth and Christine, found it easy to apply it forcibly to himself.

"And for the others, hope and ambition, what of them?" he asked.

"They stand with one foot on the steps of a throne," said Jean.

"And shall I mount it? Have your visions told you that?"

"Who can stop you?" asked the dwarf. "Is not the pale scholar of Passey dead? You did not know that when last we talked together, nor did I. Did I not leave you to go and welcome him at the gate of Vayenne? Yet I called you Duke then. I am but the dwarf of St. Etienne, a fool; yet maybe I sometimes utter prophecies."

There were steps outside the room, and then a soldier entered.

"Stand you here, Jean," said Felix. "You shall see how I deal with traitors."

"Have a care that you mistake not friends for traitors and traitors for friends," said the dwarf. "They have a habit of looking and speaking much alike." And, doubling his legs under him, Jean sank into a sitting posture by the Count's chair.

With chains upon his wrists, Gaspard Lemasle was marched into the room. He glanced at the dwarf, who did not meet his look, and then he fixed his eyes upon Felix.

"We looked upon you as an honest man, Lemasle," said Felix.

"Duke Robert ever found me so," was the answer.

"He is dead," said Felix, "and his son, who should have been Duke, was placed in your keeping. Where is he?"

"I do not know."

"He, too, is dead," said Felix. "His mangled corpse has been found in the forest yonder. How dare you come to Vayenne, Duke Maurice being dead?"

Lemasle was silent. He had no intention of being tricked into answering questions which might give the Count information.

"I will tell you," said Felix slowly. "You deserted him in his hour of need, not from actual cowardice it may be, that I will not accuse you of, but because you trusted in another man, and devoted yourself to Mademoiselle de Liancourt."

"I acted for the best," said Lemasle. "Should I have been welcome in Vayenne if Mademoiselle's body had been found mangled in the forest?"

"A loyal soldier obeys orders," the Count answered. "Your orders were to bring my cousin safe to Vayenne. There are plots in the city. I suggest that you never meant the young Duke to enter the city alive."

"You suggest—you——"

The dwarf raised his eyes for a moment, and Lemasle stopped.

"Well?" said Felix. "Have you an answer?"

"I was privy to no such plot."

"This priest in whom you trusted, where is he?" Felix asked sharply.

"I do not know, Count."

"Who was he?"

"An honest man, for he fought side by side with me," Lemasle answered. "I do him this justice, for the troopers can bear me witness that I complained loudly that he was of our company."

"You mean that his being there was Mademoiselle de Liancourt's wish?" said Felix. "Where is Mademoiselle?"

"She did not return with me to Vayenne," Lemasle said.

"Yet you know where she is?"

"I have said, sir, that we parted before I returned to the city."

"Answer me," said Felix, bringing his hand down heavily upon the table beside him.

Lemasle remained silent.

"You will not speak? Then I will see to it that you cannot. We have spies and traitors enough in Vayenne. They shall have warning of the fate in store for them. You shall hang at noon."

The Count, the prisoner, and the soldiers suddenly started, for at that instant the dwarf broke out into a howl of laughter, rocking himself from side to side until it seemed as though he must lose his balance and roll over.

"Peace! fool, peace!" Felix said angrily.

Jean only laughed the more.

"Did I not tell you that traitors and friends were often alike?" he cried. "When you hang that man as a traitor, hang me too, for company."

"It were easily done," said Felix.

"Easy enough," laughed the dwarf, "so there be wood sufficient for gallows, and hemp enough to break our necks. I warrant there's no lack of either in the castle. But two dangling in mid air is a poor sight; three would cover the great gate far better, and there's another may well hang with us—the jailer who let the spy escape the other night."

"That is a good thought," said Felix.

"And noon's an excellent time," said Jean, laughing still. "Send out and let the city know of the show. It would be a pity if none should see your warning."

"Never fear, they shall see it."

"And then hide yourself, Count—mark how I call you Count—hide yourself in the darkest hole you can find in the castle, and even then I warrant they'll find you out, and perhaps——" And then again Jean howled with laughter.

Felix sprang to his feet.

"Take this miserable fool out and whip him. Let strong arms get well tired before they cease and let him go."

Two soldiers hoisted the dwarf to his feet.

"Of your mercy, one word," he said, becoming suddenly serious.

"Speak."

"Was there not a Count once who dangled over the gate? I have heard it was so in Duke Conrad's time," said the dwarf.

"Take him away," Felix thundered.

"A moment," said Jean, exerting his full strength and throwing off the hands which held him. "A warning, Count. Mark the word: the people love not the breaking of laws, and it is unlawful that any man should hang over the castle gate but by order of the Duke of Montvilliers. To-day there is no Duke, only Count Felix."

The Count's teeth savagely bit into his under-lip. Jean was right, and Felix had no wish to incense the people.

"Be wise, wait," said Jean. "This man may be a traitor, but he can wait a day or two. He may confess if you give him time, and let him know that he may perhaps win life by confession. He had accomplices without doubt; he may name them if he has a little time for thought. In a few days when you are Duke, you may hang a whole company of soldiers, if you will, and if I help to choose them, may lose nothing by the sport."

"You are indeed a fool," said Felix, hiding his anger under a boisterous laugh, as men driven to bay often will.

"With wisdom enough to save you from folly," whispered the dwarf as he shuffled to the Count's chair and sat on the floor again.

"The fool has saved you, Lemasle," said Felix. "You hear what he says? I may be lenient if you decide to speak openly."

"I thank the fool," Lemasle answered.

"Keep him close," said the Count as the captain was taken from the room.

Jean turned slowly toward Felix when the door had closed.

"You will never mount the throne if you make such mistakes," he said. "To have me whipped was nothing; but to hang a man!"

"Be your own judge: do you deserve such punishment?"

"Yes; surely. Be as honest, Count, do you?"

"You are good for sad hours," laughed Felix. "You shall have a dress, Jean, a dress of bright colors, and a toy of bells in your hand to jingle. You shall gossip with me as you will, speak to me as no other shall dare to do though he boast the greatest name in Montvilliers. You shall come to honor, Jean."

"You do not answer my question," said the dwarf solemnly.

"Why should I be whipped?" said Felix.

"Because there was never man born yet that didn't deserve it. Have I your leave to go?"

"For a while, yes; but you shall come to honor, Jean. There shall be honor in the title of 'The Duke's Fool.'" And Felix struck a gong which stood on the table. "Jean has my leave to go anywhere in the castle," he said to the soldier who entered. "See that this is known—anywhere, at any time, and may come to me without hindrance when he chooses. But he may not leave the castle on any pretext whatever. See that a lodging is found for him."

Jean rose to his feet, and bowed low.

"Some men never reach their ambition," he said, "but I soar far above it. Have the colored tunic and the bell toy made. My highest hope was to wander at will in God's house of St. Etienne, but behold I live to be the fool of a Duke!"

And that night, when the castle slept, Jean had to leave it by the way he had taken Roger Herrick.