“I asked you,” said the jester, “what you had in your luggage.  It was an idle question, but you might be a showman of Milan.”

Giovanni laughed with mingled amusement and horror.  “Milan, do you say?  Is it safe to say that name in Goslar?  No, master, I am a poor showman from Paris, asking only the opportunity to display my puppets before the great folk.  ’Tis a goodly show, I assure you, master—­the play of the Ten Virgins.  Having but six lady-figures I am forced to make them serve for the wise and the foolish virgins and the bride, but there are also a King, who in this play is the bridegroom, the Merchant, the Monk, the Jester—­ who is most amusing and can dance upon his head or his heels as you will.  The figures were carved by the most skilful wood-carvers of Paris, and the play was written by a pious monk of the Benedictines.” (Padraig the scribe would have hooted at this.) “It is a most wise and diverting entertainment, master, I do assure you.”  The jester seemed not to be listening very attentively.  He twirled the stem of the wine-cup in his hand, crooning,

    “’Fantoccini, fantoccino,—­
      Chi s’arrischia baldacchino,
      Ognuno per se,
      Diavolo per tutti.’”

Only long practice in self-control could have kept Giovanni from starting.  The rhyme was a common street-song which every lad in Milan, the city of puppet-shows, would recognize, and not only did it refer to the puppets as “fantoccini” instead of marionettes, but the significance of the last two lines, “Each for himself and the fiend for all,” was rather too pointed to be pleasant.  But he only bowed uncomprehendingly and awaited the further comment of the singer with more interest than comfort.

“I have a mind to speak a word for your puppet-show,” said the jester, cradling his bauble in his arms.  “The Emperor gives little thought to such toys; nevertheless he may be graciously pleased to spend a few minutes in that way to-night after supper.  Follow me.”

He strutted away, a small pompous figure in scarlet and orange, and Giovanni noted the mingled deference and contempt with which he was regarded by the crowd.  No more trouble was experienced in getting the donkey along the crowded streets.  The fool’s discordantly-clashing bells opened a way everywhere.  The porter at the castle gate grinned and flung a jest at him, but admitted him and those who followed in his train, without question.

A few steps farther on they were halted by a tall, thin, sour-looking man in the elaborate headgear and robes of a dignitary of the household.

“How now, Master Stephen!” he said sternly.  “What foolery is this?”

“Only a showman, Conrad,” grinned the jester.  “He has a puppet-show in those fat bags of his.  Did you think I was trying to smuggle meat-puddings out of the kitchens for my own solitary meals?”

The steward was not satisfied.  “Show me the puppets,” he ordered.  Giovanni obeyed.