Le Glorieux had no sooner finished the sentence than Philibert seized him by the shoulders and gave him a shaking which, the fool afterward declared, changed the relative position of some of his teeth. "Listen, you idiot," hissed the young man, "I intend to go to Venice if seven thousand demons stand in the road! I was well on my way when I found that I had forgotten the emperor's ring, and I have returned for it in the disguise of _Il Capitano_. Do you not see that I was obliged to come in secret? Now let me go. The paper you will find in the drawer of his Majesty's writing case. Leave me!"

The jester returned to his master, saying as he opened the door, "Cousin Max, you are a sensible man about some things even if you are an emperor, and I want to ask you where a valuable paper should be but in your own writing case?"

Waiting until all was quiet outside, Philibert ventured forth once more, and a.s.suming the dignified stride of _Il Capitano_, he marched past the sentinels, threw off his disguise, and mounting his horse, was once more riding toward Venice, regretting the lost time, and censuring his own thoughtlessness which had rendered his return necessary. It was long after sunrise before he felt justified in taking a rest, stopping at a wayside inn more for the sake of his horse than for his own comfort.

"Poor fellow," said he, stroking the tired steed, "you are unfortunate in being obliged to suffer for the folly of your rider."

And now he slipped the ring from his finger and secured it on the inside of the lining of his cap, believing that after all it would be less likely to be found in that place of concealment than tied about his neck.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He met a party of Florentine soldiers]

As soon as possible he resumed his journey, which he pursued without incident of note until late that afternoon, when he met a party of Florentine soldiers, who stopped him.

"An Austrian spy," said one of them.

"Do I look like an Austrian?" asked Philibert scornfully.

"Who are you, then?"

"A Savoyard student."

"What is a Savoyard student doing here?"

"A student may travel where he pleases, may he not? I can not see that I am accountable to you for my acts."

"Where are you going?"

"To Padua."

"For what purpose?"

"My good sir," drawled Philibert, "for what purpose does a student go to Padua save to attend its famous university, which has sheltered the learned heads of Dante and Petrarch?"

"He looks like a student and he talks like one," said another man. "Let him go."

Philibert was feeling greatly relieved when he caught the eye of a man in the rear of the company. This was a soldier, who, in a slight skirmish a short time before, had been taken prisoner by the Austrians, and who had succeeded in effecting his escape. The young secretary had seen him but once and that only for a few moments, but he never forgot a face and recognized this one immediately. He hoped that the memory of the soldier was less faithful than his own, but this did not appear to be the case.

"Stay," said the man; "I think I can tell you something about this youth. The Emperor of Austria has a secretary, a young Savoyard, of whom I caught a glimpse when I was their prisoner, and if I am not very much mistaken this is he."

The youth laughed contemptuously. "For a faithful secretary, I seem to be quite a distance from my master," said he. "Look at me well, my good man," he continued boldly, "and tell me on your honor if we ever have met before."

The man began to waver. "Of course I had only a glimpse," he stammered.

"The secretary was walking with the emperor and I only saw them a moment."

"Would you recognize the emperor if you should see him again?"

"Aye, that would I."

"Then it must have been he at whom you were staring instead of my countryman, the secretary, and of whom you seem to have received a very faint impression."

As if realizing the force of this argument, the man made no reply, and another said, "It will do no harm to search him at any rate, for if it should be the emperor's secretary, he may be bearing important despatches."

Still putting a bold front on the affair, Philibert leaped to the ground. "Search me, if you like," said he, "and get it over as soon as possible, for I must be on my way." The soldiers searched thoroughly, but of course found no papers, and the youth appreciated the wisdom of the emperor in sending a verbal message to the doge. His cap they merely glanced into and restored to him, so the precious ring was safe. He remounted his horse, even before he received permission to do so, and the soldier who had first spoken to him said sneeringly, "Go, gentle youth, you are too girlish to do any harm."

Considering the danger he was in, the secretary should have ridden away without another word, but this contemptuous remark kindled his indignation to such a heat that he forgot all prudence, and crying, "How do you like this from a 'girlish' hand?" he struck the speaker full across the face with the flat of his sword, leaving a mark that would be noticeable for some time to come, and putting spurs to his horse, he dashed past the other men and galloped away. Some of the men roared with laughter, but he who had been struck rushed for his horse, mounted it and endeavored to give chase, but Philibert had the advantage of an earlier start and a swifter horse, and though a shot came flying after him, it cut the limb of a tree above his head and he escaped unharmed.

The journey to Venice at this time involved days of wearisome riding, but he met with no further adventure and in due course of time arrived there in safety. The Queen of the Adriatic seemed like a fairy city when the young Savoyard first beheld it. Its palaces of beauteous tints, its waters like molten gold in the rays of the setting sun, its gondolas with their picturesque rowers, its fair women leaning against their silken cushions as they glided on the Grand Ca.n.a.l, and with it all the tinkling of lutes and voices of sweetest melody floating on the soft breeze, invested the scene with a charm which was like that of a beautiful dream from which he feared to awaken.

The doge's palace, with its white and red marble walls, its cloisters and great balconied windows, was reached at last, and Philibert's request, accompanied by the ring, to see the doge himself, admitted him to the presence of that haughty individual, who carefully listened to the message, not one word of which the secretary had forgotten, and gravely replied that the answer would be given later, as the matter was one that required serious reflection and consultation with his advisers, who never decided in haste.

So Philibert had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with this attractive city, and he stepped into his gondola once more, anxious to become one of the merry throng and to make the most of his spare time.

Many glances of curiosity and interest were cast by the Venetian ladies at the handsome young stranger, who, in his own mind, was comparing them, to their great disadvantage, to a certain princess far off in the imperial palace of Vienna.

When the reply of the doge was handed to him on the following morning, Philibert lost no time, but departed at once, as became a trusted messenger, though it was with regret that he turned his back upon Venice and its many attractions. Nothing of moment occurred on the return journey, and although the emperor was not pleased with the answer he received, for the Venetians flatly refused their aid, still the reply prevented a certain move he had planned, and was most timely.

Maximilian complimented his young secretary upon the fidelity and care with which he had accomplished his errand. Praise from such a source was most gratifying to its recipient, although he felt that it was not altogether deserved. He had been careless at the outset, and in his code of honor it was almost as bad to act as to tell a lie. He had regretted the falsehoods he had been obliged to tell the Florentine soldiers, but in that case not only his own life, but a matter of vital importance to a nation was at stake. Now, however, he resolved not to accept in silence compliments that were not his due.

"I was not altogether faithful, your Majesty," said he. "I was careless at first; I went away and forgot the ring and lost at least five hours'

time in returning for it."

"How did it happen that I knew nothing of your return?" asked the emperor, frowning.

"None knew of it, your Majesty, excepting Le Glorieux, who would not betray me even to you, and one poor soldier who was not sufficiently familiar with my face to recognize me."

"I seem to be blessed with capable sentinels," observed Maximilian sarcastically.

"Your sentinels are not afraid of flesh and blood, your Majesty; they fear only the supernatural." Then the secretary told the whole story of his masquerade as _Il Capitano_, not without many misgivings as to the result of the revelation.

The emperor scowled at first, then he began to laugh, and the more he thought about it the louder he laughed, for after all the messenger had done what he was sent to do, and that better than most could have done in his place, so why not enjoy the humorous side of it, now that it was all over and done with? And as hearty laughter and punishment never go hand in hand, Philibert felt that he was forgiven.

"But I find it hard to forgive you," he afterward said to Le Glorieux, "for taking it for granted that I was a coward before giving me an opportunity to explain."

"When a man who has been sent on a dangerous journey is found some time after he is supposed to have started, snugly hidden under his own bed, it looks, to say the least, somewhat suspicious," replied the fool. "How was I to know that you had dressed up and were capering about in a masquerade?"

The young man smiled. "Perhaps you had reason to believe as you did, for appearances were against me," said he. Then after a thoughtful pause he said, "My good Le Glorieux, that was not the first time you had seen me masquerading. Do you remember Saint Monica and the accusation of Cimburga?"

"Do I remember it? Does a man ever forget a thing like that?" asked the jester.

"Le Glorieux, did it never occur to you that _I_ was Saint Monica on that occasion?"

"You! Are you out of your mind, my lad?"

"My friend," said Philibert, "I did not think that the saint would move, and I was anxious to have the girl's innocence proven."

"Why should you have been anxious about the girl?" asked the fool.

"Because I had heard a prayer that I wanted answered. I saw the Lady Marguerite kneeling in the chapel before the altar, and in her clear, sweet voice she was praying for Cimburga, who she believed was innocent.

I, too, believed in her innocence, for I had learned something about my cousin's nervous ways, and had made up my mind that she had lost the jewel in some other manner. I slipped some gray, colorless drapery from the housekeeper's room, and removing the statue from the pedestal, which was not difficult to do, I arrayed myself and played the part. There was, I imagine, a good deal of difference between my appearance and that of the saint, but every one was too agitated to notice it. And as the girl was really clear of all blame in the matter, who knows but that the saint helped her in another way, and, knowing that her wooden image could not move, put it into my head to do as I did?"