"God pity me," she sobbed. "I was too selfish of his life--and of his
love."
"And now, be sure, he will do naught but hate thee!"
As if to spite her overwrought emotions, she turned on him sharply.
"Thou art impertinent, fool."
He smiled sadly. "Unpleasant truths must ever seem impertinent--but
they are no less true. An' I be the court fool, pray, noble lady, what
art thou? We be all king's play-things--my wit and thy beauty and the
mute's deformities. For all of us sweet life is slowly spoiled--for
the mute and me by scorn and snickerings; for thee by the cold glitter
of lavished finery and callous flattery. That squire, young and
beautiful and bursting with ambition, was only a play-thing, too--thy
toy, to dally with and break."
"Nay, nay! I loved him dearly and so shall for all time."
The jester laughed shortly. "I had not meant for thee to glance upon
this scene," he said, "but if 'twere best, then look, lady, look!" and
he threw open the trap. A great red light flared up into the donjon,
and waved and danced along the moon-green walls.
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