While flush of indignation warmed her cheek. "You do forget to whom it is you speak," She cried. "Had I not known your high degree, Should I have asked this royal boon," said he, "Obtained or given, a kiss must ever be. No gift like king's--no kiss like that of queen!" Queen! And on Mahaud's face a smile was seen. XIV. AFTER SUPPER. But now the potion proved its subtle power, And Mahaud's heavy eyelids 'gan to lower. Zeno, with finger on his lip, looked on-- Her head next drooped, and consciousness was gone. Smiling she slept, serene and very fair, He took her hand, which fell all unaware. "She sleeps," said Zeno, "now let chance or fate Decide for us which has the marquisate, And which the girl." Upon their faces now A hungry tiger's look began to show. "My brother, let us speak like men of sense," Said Joss; "while Mahaud dreams in innocence, We grasp all here--and hold the foolish thing-- Our Friend below to us success will bring. He keeps his word; 'tis thanks to him I say, No awkward chance has marred our plans to-day. All has succeeded--now no human power Can take from us this woman and her dower. Let us conclude. To wrangle and to fight For just a yes or no, or to prove right The Arian doctrines, all the time the Pope Laughs in his sleeve at you--or with the hope Some blue-eyed damsel with a tender skin And milkwhite dainty hands by force to win-- This might be well in days when men bore loss And fought for Latin or Byzantine Cross; When Jack and Rudolf did like fools contend, And for a simple wench their valor spend-- When Pepin held a synod at Leptine, And times than now were much less wise and fine. We do no longer heap up quarrels thus, But better know how projects to discuss. Have you the needful dice?" "Yes, here they wait For us." "Who wins shall have the Marquisate; Loser, the girl." "Agreed." "A noise I hear?" "Only the wind that sounds like some one near-- Are you afraid?" said Zeno. "Naught I fear Save fasting--and that solid earth should gape. Let's throw and fate decide--ere time escape." Then rolled the dice. "'Tis four." 'Twas Joss to throw. "Six!--and I neatly win, you see; and lo! At bottom of this box I've found Lusace, And henceforth my orchestra will have place; To it they'll dance. Taxes I'll raise, and they In dread of rope and forfeit well will pay; Brass trumpet-calls shall be my flutes that lead, Where gibbets rise the imposts grow and spread."