The man turned from him impatiently, and rising his voice:

"Fanfulla!" he called over his shoulder, and then, after a moment's
pause, again: "Olá, Fanfulla!"

"I am here, my lord," came an answering voice from behind a clump of
bushes on their right, and almost immediately the very splendid youth who
had gone to sleep in its shadow stood up and came round to them. At
sight of the fool he paused to take stock of him, what time the fool
returned the compliment with wonder-stricken interest. For however much
Fanfulla's raiment might have suffered in yesternight's affray, it was
very gorgeous still, and in the velvet cap upon his head a string of
jewels was entwined. Yet not so much by the richness of his trappings
was the fool impressed, as by the fact that one so manifestly noble
should address by such a title, and in a tone of so much deference, this
indifferently apparelled fellow over whom he had stumbled. Then his gaze
wandered back to the man who lay supported on his elbow, and he noticed
now the gold net in which his hair was coiffed, and which was by no means
common to mean folk. His little twinkling eyes turned their attention
full upon the face before him, and of a sudden a gleam of recognition
entered them. His countenance underwent a change, and from grotesque
that it had been, it became more grotesque still in its hasty assumption
of reverence.

"My Lord of Aquila!" he murmured, scrambling to his feet.

Scarcely had he got erect when a hand gripped him by the shoulder, and
Fanfulla's dagger flashed before his startled eyes.

"Swear on the cross of this, never to divulge his Excellency's presence