Fanfulla suggested that he might get these things from the convent of
Acquasparta, hard by, and proffered to accompany him thither.

This being determined, they departed, leaving the Count in the company of
the jester. Francesco spread his cloak, and lay down again, whilst the
fool, craving his permission to remain, disposed himself upon his
haunches like a Turk.

"Who is your master, fool?" quoth the Count, in an idle spirit.

"There is a man who clothes and feeds me, noble sir, but Folly is my only
master."

"To what end does he do this?"

"Because I pretend to be a greater fool than he, so that by contrast with
me he seems unto himself wise, which flatters his conceit. Again,
perhaps, because I am so much uglier than he that, again by contrast, he
may account himself a prodigy of beauty."

"Odd, is it not?" the Count humoured him.

"Not half so odd as that the Lord of Aquila should lie here, roughly
clad, a wound in his shoulder, talking to a fool."

Francesco eyed him with a smile.

"Give thanks to God that Fanfulla is not here to hear you, or they had
been your last words for pretty though he be, Messer Fanfulla is a very
monster of bloodthirstiness. With me it is different. I am a man of