heroics to which I was yielding--I, the Fool, most base of lacqueys--over
a damsel of the noble House of Santafior. It was shame of my motley,
maybe, that caused me to draw my cloak more tightly about me as I urged
forward my horse, until I had come into their midst.

"Lady," said I bluntly and without preamble, "can I assist you? I have
inferred your case from what I have overheard."

All eyes were on me, gaping with surprise--hers no less than her grooms'.

"What can you do alone, sir?" she asked, her gentle glance upraised to
mine.

"If, as I gather, your pursuers are servants of the House of Borgia, I may
do something."

"They are," she answered, without hesitation, some eagerness, even,
investing her tones.

It may seem an odd thing that this lady should so readily have taken a
stranger into her confidence. Yet reflect upon the parlous condition in
which she found herself. Deserted by her dispirited grooms, her enemies
hot upon her heels, she was in no case to trifle with assistance, or to
despise an offer of services, however frail it might seem. With both
hands she clutched at the slender hope I brought her in the hour of her
despair.

"Sir," she cried, "if indeed it lies in your power to help me, you could
not find it in your heart to be sparing of that power did you but know the
details of my sorry circumstance."