"I am always blundering, even with you, Le Glorieux," said the princess, rising, "but now I will go. Try to sleep, try to get well as soon as possible. And now good-by for the present." She smiled down upon him, took her long train over her arm, and motioning to the page to open the door, went from the room.

"She is a great princess; she is the future Queen of Spain, yet she does not forget the poor jester," murmured the sick man, while to himself his words sounded as if they had been uttered by some one else and he seemed to sail away into a silent sea.

When he once more became conscious the bright sun was streaming in at the open window, and standing beside his bed and looking down at him with coldly blinking eyes, was the Lady Clotilde.

"I thought I had died and gone to Heaven," said the jester weakly, "but this is only purgatory."

"I do not know that you ought to talk," said the Lady Clotilde. "I wish you had not returned to consciousness while Sister Barbara is out. I never know what to do with sick people."

"I have been talking all my life, and it has not killed me yet," said the jester.

"I came on behalf of her Highness, the Princess of the Asturias," said the Lady Clotilde. "Not being able to come in person, she sent me to see that you were well cared for and had everything that you needed."

"She was here last night," said he; "she said she was so glad to hear me talk again."

"Oh, that was some time ago. She has been here since, but you did not recognize her. You have been raving with fever for six weeks."

"Fever?" he asked, considerably puzzled. "Why, I thought I was pushed over a bridge."

"And so you were, but it terminated in a fever. The leeches do not know whether the accident brought on the fever, or whether the malady was already in your system. They have had several consultations about it."

"I do not see the sense of consulting about a thing like that. What difference does it make what gave me the fever, since it is very evident that I have it? How long have I been here altogether?"

"Just eight weeks ago this night, for I remember I ordered a gown from the best tailor of Salamanca, and he promised it in a week, and it has not come yet, and it was the night of your accident, for I heard about it just as the tailor was leaving the palace, where he had come to take my order. Eight weeks, think of it, and that gown no nearer finished, I will warrant, than it was the day it was fitted! These Spanish tradesmen are the slowest people in this world." And the Lady Clotilde became very much excited about her wrongs.

"Well, I think that your situation was better than mine during those eight weeks," said the jester, "but I dare say I was in no higher fever than you were throughout that time. I do not suppose I have missed anything by being ill, except, perhaps, several dozen bull-fights. I would I were back in Vienna again," he continued, with a sigh.

"Vienna? I would not return there for the world," said the lady. "The climate of Spain is simply glorious."

"I am not especially fond of climate by itself," said the fool.

"I really do think you ought not to talk," said the Lady Clotilde. "I do wish you had not returned to consciousness while Sister Barbara is out."

"You said that before," said the fool fretfully. "Why would it not be just as easy to wish that Sister Barbara had been in when I did return to consciousness?"

"I see that you are inclined to be captious," returned the Lady Clotilde calmly. "They say Prince Juan is like an angel."

"What has that to do with me?" asked Le Glorieux wearily. "He is not a near relative of mine."

"I forgot that you were ignorant of the fact that his Highness is very, very ill."

"Ill? His Highness ill?"

"Yes, he also has the fever, the same that you have, but the leeches are confident that they can cure him."

The fever had now spent itself, and Le Glorieux, being naturally of a strong const.i.tution, made rapid progress toward recovery. Marguerite came no more, for every moment was spent beside the couch of the prince, who was making a brave fight for his life.

But one morning the bells began to toll, and it seemed as if a pall had settled over the land, for the Prince of the Asturias, the hope of Spain, was no more! The heir to the throne of a great kingdom had bowed his young head meekly to the divine will, and gladly had exchanged the splendors of earth for the joys of Heaven. History says, "All the nations mourned, and the court, instead of being hung with white serge, was draped in sackcloth.... Brutus, a beautiful hound belonging to the prince, could not be induced to leave his body, but went to his tomb and died there."

It was a pale and sorrowful queen whom Le Glorieux beheld when next he went to court. The fairy-like columns and sparkling fountains of her palaces were no longer a delight to Queen Isabella; for her the roses in the Alhambra gardens had lost their fragrance, and she thought with indifference of her new possessions across the sea, for she had lost the dearest treasure of all, and the great queen had become the sorrowing mother.

CHAPTER XIII

TRIPPING THE MEASURES OF THE EGG-DANCE

Ferdinand and Isabella were very kind to the young Princess of the Asturias, and insisted that she should remain with them. Some writers see a selfish motive in this invitation, saying that the royal couple feared to have Austria's daughter escape from their influence, that they wished to control her future, lest she should make a marriage directly opposed to the interests of Spain. But why not give them the credit of being really kind-hearted, and of wanting the society of the girl-widow, whom they must have loved for their son's sake if not for her own?

But Marguerite longed for her home and for her father, and one day Le Glorieux found her weeping in one of the myrtle walks of the Alcazar gardens. "You are crying in this beautiful twilight," said he, "when the nightingales are just beginning to sing, and you are close beside roses which could not be any redder and which have a fragrance that almost makes one drunk. Look at the goldfishes in that fountain, look at that tree loaded down with oranges, which, though they are of a kind that is not good to eat, make a fine show. Look through the trees at that beautiful palace where you have but to utter a word and your wish is granted, and then have the heart to weep!"

But the princess continued to sob.

"We did not have half so many comforts in your father's empire," he went on. "The time we went to hunt the chamois with Max we found no luxuries in The Hunter's Rest. We were warm and comfortable and that was about all; all you could do was to run about with your ladies and work at your embroidery while the men hunted. Do you remember how gay Max was when he came back, and how he told about the chamois, and----"

"Oh, do not talk of it!" cried the princess, interrupting him. "Why must you make me more wretched than I was before you came?"

Cunegunda came along the walk with a mantilla of fine black lace over her arm; this she threw, Spanish fashion, over the head and shoulders of her young mistress. "You have been making her cry!" she said reproachfully, to the jester.

"That is a fine thing to say, when I have been talking myself hoa.r.s.e to keep her from crying! But, of course, you always blame me with everything."

"You were making her cry; I heard you, and I heard what she said,"

insisted the woman. "You were talking about the inn in the Tyrol."

"I do not deny it. I did it for the purpose of contrast. Think of that mean little inn and the cold snow, then think of this marble palace and these flowers."

"If one is right on the inside, it does not much matter what is on the outside," replied the woman. "When the heart is comfortable everything is bright to the eyes."

"You do not weep as much as you used to do, Cunegunda," said the jester, looking at her thoughtfully. "Even the sight of me does not make you cry any more."

"I control my tears for the sake of my young mistress, who weeps so much," returned Cunegunda with dignity.

"You have some good points, I must say," replied the fool.

The princess had now dried her eyes, and had drawn the folds of the mantilla closer about her face. "I want to go home," said she. "All of my ladies and gentlemen want to go home. They hate the restraint of the Spanish court; and I want to see my father."

"This is the first time I have mentioned it," said the fool, "but I also want to go home. I want to see Max and I want to see that little wretch of an Antoine, and Pittacus, and Pandora."

"And we will go," cried Marguerite, rising to her feet with a new light sparkling in her eyes. "I will write to the emperor, my father, at once, and we will set out at the earliest possible moment."

And again did the daughter of Maximilian return to him, still only a princess, for it was destined that she should never wear the crown of a queen. But when she beheld her native land, and the handsome, kindly face of her father once more, she was as happy as one whose most ambitious dreams had been realized.

Le Glorieux said, "At last we really have left Clotilde behind, and as Don Geronimo Bartolomeo Zurriago y Escafusa says he never will go out of his native land again, we may safely conclude that Clotilde is a fixture in Spain." The jester was affectionately embraced by Antoine, who declared himself overjoyed to see his old friend again, but their master was disgusted to find that Pandora and Pittacus received him with their usual cold indifference.

One day, in the following spring time, Marguerite said to Le Glorieux: