There seemed to Giovanni to be two of him that night.  One self was utterly absorbed in the performance, intent on making every speech tell, every song win its meed of applause and laughter, every little figure act with the spirit and gayety of life.  The other self hovered somewhere in the air among the rafters of the hall, critically watching the whole scene.  He remembered a sensation something like it when he and Cimarron had crossed a mountain torrent in Spain on a log a hundred and fifty feet above the jagged rocks and tearing waters.  And as on that occasion, Cimarron did his part as calmly and indifferently as if he were mending a strap in the donkey’s harness.

Certainly the play was a success.  Giovanni had never met with greater applause or received more substantial rewards.  The ladies gathered to inspect his wooden figures after the play, like children at a fair.  He was just leaving the hall when a page came to him and directed him to wait in an ante-room until the Emperor should be at leisure.

It was cold and bleak, and Giovanni’s tense nerves shivered as he waited.  The noise of departing guests and the tramp of hoofs died away.  It grew colder and stiller in the small grim room.  At last the Emperor came in, and seated himself in a great chair.  A servant brought in a brazier full of coals and went away.  The ruler of the Holy Roman Empire, a small man with red hair and beard, and cold eyes, looked Giovanni over from head to foot.

“You go,” he said, “to the court of Henry Duke of Saxony?”

“Aye, Sire,” said the youth.

“It is not a very safe journey.  There are robbers in the forest.”

“Surely,” said Giovanni humbly, “a poor showman might hope to escape them?”

“I fear not,” said the Emperor with the ghost of a smile.  “In their disappointment they might break up your puppets and leave you fastened to a tree for the wolves to devour.  Such things have been done.  I will give you safe conduct and send you on with a company of merchants and soldiers, if you will carry a message for me.  Henry the Lion is delaying too long with his answer.  Tell him that the time has passed for trifling.”

“Who,” said Giovanni, wonderingly, “could dream of trifling with your expressed wish?”

“Henry dreams, but he will awake,” said the Emperor curtly.  “Hark you—­you seem to be a clever mountebank, and I know what power fellows of your sort have over the mob—­add to your play lines to be spoken by your puppet King.  They should convey this meaning—­that although he is a King he is but a puppet incapable of independent action.  Puppets that go wrong are broken up and burned in the fire.  My will is the law for my realm.  Saxony shall be taught that law as Milan was taught, if Henry dares disobey.”

Writing a brief sentence or two on his tablets, the Emperor affixed his signet and gave the missive to Giovanni.  “That shall be your proof that you come from me.  Stefano tells me that you go on into Lombardy.  Forget not the meaning of your puppet-show when you reach those rebellious states.  They have been chastised once or twice before.”