Hesso bit his lips sullenly, but he knew the positive order which existed, that no one was to be put to death, without first receiving the succors of religion. "Lead the prisoner back to his dungeon," said he, "until the fool and the priest have finished their task." The jester stopped before a tent whose splendid appearance denoted the princely rank of its occupant. In front of the entrance floated a banner on which were blazoned the arms and bearings of episcopal dignity. Upon the threshold stood a man, evidently of high rank, gazing idly at the busy movement of the camp. He wore a long tunic, magnificently embroidered on the cuffs and collar; his hands sparkled with rings of gold and precious stones; his expression was engaging, and he smiled cordially as the fool approached. "I'm in luck!" cried the jester; "I was only looking for a monk, and I've stumbled on a prelate in all his glory." "What do you want, rascal?" "To save a soul from Satan, cousin Adelbert! There is a poor fellow near here who is going to be hanged; he is still in the bonds of sin, and I want you to come out and cut them, so that he can spring from the gallows straight into Abraham's bosom!" "But, Lanzo," replied Adelbert, "don't you perceive that I have neither sword nor dagger in my belt." "Oh! cousin, your tongue is sharp enough of itself. Come with me!" "What! a prelate follow a fool! Rogue, you ought to be flogged." "Well then! let the prelate lead the way. I warrant he will not lose the trail." "Whom do you mean?" "Why, the prelate, of course." "And of whose trail do you speak?" "Zounds! Why, the fool's, to be sure! you look very much like me, cousin, although your cap has no ears, for your surcoat is nearly as motley as mine." "Leave me instantly!" said Adelbert. "You are willing, then, to leave this poor wretch to Satan." "Yes, beyond doubt; and you with him! Find a monk, if you can." "Hey?--Well, I am learning something new every day," said Lanzo, ironically. "I never thought before, that a monk was worth more than a prelate; but I'll remember in future.--Ah, I am in luck, here comes a monk!--two of them.--I may say three, instead of one!" he cried, as several monks dismounted and approached the tent. They were dusty and travel-stained, and apparently fatigued with a long journey; the eldest addressed the prelate, while his companions stood on one side in an attitude of deep humility. "Deign to pardon my boldness," said he, after the usual greetings; "we have just arrived in your camp, and seek a friendly shelter. Our rules prescribe the greatest discretion; but, in these troublous times, it is no longer an easy task to hold our pastoral office. Perhaps, your Excellency will deign to offer us an humble place beneath your tent?" But the modest request seemed to irritate the prelate. He drew himself up, proudly, and glanced disdainfully upon the speaker, as he replied, sharply,-- "The tent of a bishop is not an inn for mendicant friars."