At last he put out his hands to seize mine, and drawing me to the light he scanned my face, Heaven alone knowing what it was he sought there.

“If you do this,” said he, “Biancomonte shall be yours again, if it remains in my power to bestow it upon you now or at any future time.  I swear it by my honour.”

“Swear it by your fear of Hell or by your hope of Heaven and the compact is made,” I answered, and so palsied was he and so fallen in spirit that he showed no resentment at the scorn of his honour my words implied, but there and then took the oath I that demanded.

“And now,” I urged, “help me to put on this armour of yours.”

Hurriedly I cast off my jester’s doublet and my head-dress with its jangling bells, and with a wild exultation, a joy so fierce as almost to bring tears to my eyes, I held my arms aloft whilst that poor craven strapped about my body the back and breast plates of his corselet.  I, the Fool, stood there as arrogant as any knight, whilst with his noble hands the Lord of Pesaro, kneeling, made secure the greaves upon my legs, the sollerets with golden spurs, the cuissarts and the genouilleres.  Then he rose up, and with hands that trembled in his eagerness, he put on my brassarts and shoulder-plates, whilst I, myself, drew on my gauntlets.  Next he adjusted the gorget, and handed me, last of all, the helm, a splendid head-piece of black and gold, surmounted by the Sforza lion.

I took it from him and passed it over my head.  Then ere I snapped down the visor and hid the face of Boccadoro, I bade him, unless he would render futile all this masquerade, to lock the door of his closet, and lie there concealed till my return.  At that a sudden doubt assailed him.

“And what,” quoth he, “if you do not return?”

In the fever that had possessed me this was a thing that had not entered into my calculations, nor should it now.  I laughed, and from the hollow of my helmet not a doubt but the sound must have seemed charged with mockery.  I pointed to the cap and doublet I had shed.

“Why, then, Illustrious, it will but remain for you to complete the change.”

“Dog!” he cried; “beast, do you deride me?”

My answer was to point out towards the yard.

“They are clamouring,” said I.  “They wax impatient.  I had better go before they come for you.”  As I spoke I selected a heavy mace for only weapon, and swinging it to my shoulder I stepped to the door.  On the threshold he would have stayed me, purged by his fear of what might befall him did I not return.  But I heeded him not.

“Fare you well, my Lord of Pesaro,” said I.  “See that none penetrates to your closet.  Make fast the door.”

“Stay!” he called after me.  “Do you hear me?  Stay!”

“Others will hear you if you commit this folly,” I called back to him.  “Get you to cover.”  And so I left him.