of the fear that sprang into the jester's eyes.

"I crave your pardon--most humbly do I crave it, Illustrious," said the
fool, still in fear. "I was pursued."

"Pursued?" echoed the other, in a tone not free from a sudden uneasiness.
"And, pray, by whom?"

"By the very fiend, disguised in the gross flesh and semblance of a
Dominican brother."

"Do you jest?" came the angry question.

"Jest? Had you caught his villainous sandal between your shoulders, as
did I, you would know how little I have a mind to jest."

"Now answer me a plain question, if you have the wit to answer with,"
quoth the other, anger ever rising in his voice. "Is there hereabouts a
monk?"

"Aye, is there--may a foul plague rot him!--lurking in the bushes yonder.
He is over-fat to run, or you had seen him at my heels, arrayed in that
panoply of avenging wrath that is the cognisance of the Church Militant."

"Go bring him hither," was the short answer.

"Gesù!" gasped the fool, in very real affright. "I'll not go near him
till his anger cools--not if you made me straight and bribed me with the
Patrimony of St. Peter."