"
"Joconde," said she in breathless voice, "wouldst shame me--?"
"Shame?" he cried. "Shame? Can there be aught of shame in true love? Or is
it that my ass's ears do shame thee, my cock's-comb and garments pied shame
the worship of this foolish heart, and I, a Fool, worshipping thee, shame
thee by such worship? Then--on, cock's-comb! Ring out, silly bells! Fool's
love doth end in folly! Off love--on folly--a Fool can but love and die."
"Stay, Joconde; ah, how may I tell thee--? Why dost thou start and fumble
with thy dagger?"
"Heard you aught, lady?"
"I heard an owl hoot in the shadows yonder, no more."
"True, lady, but now shall this owl croak like a frog--hearken! Aha--and
now shall frog bark like dog--"
"And what meaneth this?"
"That thou, proud lady, must this night choose betwixt knightly rogue and
motley Fool--here be two evils with yet a difference--"
"Here is strange, wild talk, Fool!"
"Here shall be wild doings anon, lady, methinks. Hush thee and listen!"
A jangle of bridle-chains, a sound of voices loud and rough, and a tread of
heavy feet that, breaking rudely upon the gentle-brooding night, drove the
colour from Yolande's soft cheek and hushed her voice to broken whisper:
"Heaven shield us, what now, Joconde?"
"Wolves, lady, wolves that come to raven--see yonder!" Even as he spake
they espied armed men who, bold and assured by reason of the solitude,
moved in the garden below; and on back and breast of each was the sign of
the Bloody Hand.
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