Giovanni was silent for very amazement.  The fool mistook his attitude.

“See,” he pleaded, tearing open his tunic, “here on my heart are the arms of Milan.  I kept the badge hidden here under the floor for years, for fear that when I was whipt they would find it.  But since I have the Emperor’s favor none dare touch me.

“Do you need money?  Are you a spy?  But nay—­tell me not your errand.  I might—­I might babble in the wine-shop, and then they would torture me to find out the truth, and I might betray you as I betrayed your father.  But if you need money—­look!”

He knelt above a corner of the hearth and raised a stone, thrusting his hand into the deep hollow under it.  He threw out handful after handful of rich gold pieces that winked and gleamed in the pale sunlight.  “They are yours—­all yours—­for Milan.”

Giovanni found his tongue.  “When I was but a child,” he said slowly, weighing his words, “my mother taught me to hate and fear Stefano Baldi.  Yet in truth I neither hate nor fear you, Stefano, and I will trust you in this matter.  I have an errand at the court of Henry the Lion in Saxony, and it was my hope that the Emperor, should he be pleased with our marionettes, might give me safe-conduct that my journey be the sooner ended.  Then I shall go southward to fight for Milan.”

Stefano pushed the gold back into the hole and replaced the stone.  “I see,” he said.  “The Emperor is as easily diverted by shows as the Brocken by its clouds.  Yet I think I can find a way to make him serve you.  Be ready to-night with your puppets and put your own soul into the jesting and the mummery.  That is the only thing for you to do.  If that fails we will try the gold.”

Giovanni spent the hours before the banquet in setting his mimic theater in order, trying every cord, pulley and weight to make sure that it worked perfectly, brushing and reshaping the costumes, going over the songs and speeches of the play in his head.  Cimarron also was busy tuning his rebeck and trying over the melodies of the songs which Ranulph the troubadour had written for this little drama.  It was based on the story of the ten virgins, and contained much by-play and shrewd comment on the follies and fashions of the day.  Besides the written text Giovanni was wont to add some patter of his own, improvised according to the mood of his audience and the scene of the performance, but he ventured on very little of this impromptu comedy on such an occasion as this.  Too much was at stake.

After what seemed endless waiting the time came.  The huge hall was filled with gayly dressed knights, ladies, serving people, soldiers, and half the petty princes of the Empire.  The feasting had given place to wine-drinking, songs and jesting.  The Emperor, cold and impassive, sat in his chair of state, his mind apparently a thousand miles away.  Then there was a great roar of laughter from the doorway, and a lane opened among the audience to let Stefano come prancing through in all his grotesque bravery, his bells chiming a goblin march.  After him came Giovanni, and Cimarron bearing the puppet theater.  Giovanni made his obeisance and his opening speech, and the play began.