"He is the enemy I spoke of," said Hugh. The jongleur made a gesture of amazement. "By Our Lady of Tortosa, this hath the makings of a pretty tale!" he exclaimed. "Tell me more." So Hugh told at length of Mocenigo's coming to take Edith to Constantinople, of their meeting on the London Road, of Mocenigo's veiled warnings to him, of the attempt to knife him as he rode home from Blancherive that evening. The jongleur followed the story with an interest that never flagged. "And see you not," he cried when Hugh had finished, "that this bears out fully what I have said to you?" "How is that?" "That your quest begins of right in Constantinople." "I do not follow you, sir jongleur." "But, Messer Hugh, here is an attempt, repeated, to keep you from setting forth upon your quest, and in it you think you trace the hand of one who is no less than the shadow of the Emperor Alexius. What more would you have?" "True," admitted Hugh reflectively, "an your suspicions be justified." "Have you a more definite plan to work upon?" "No." "Then why not accept them, failing somewhat more definite to follow? But I fear me, fair sir, I am over-bold in my interest. I cry your pardon, an you deem it impertinent----" "Not so," protested Hugh warmly. "Messer Matteo, I take kindly all that you have said. I know not why it is, but by St. James, I have talked to you more freely than to any man, save it be my guardian, the Prior of Crowden. I like your counsel. You came to my aid when I was in mortal peril, and stood by me loyally until I was safe. Why should I not trust you?" The jongleur's thin face flushed. "Right knightly said, fair sir," he acknowledged. "You give me courage to ask of you a boon that I crave more than anything else in the world." "It shall be yours, if it is within my power to grant it," answered Hugh. He felt very lordly, for this was the first time a man his equal in rank had sought a boon from him. "First, I shall burden your ears a little longer," said Matteo. "It is meet that before you undertake to grant the boon you should know somewhat of him who asks it." He put down the alehorn, and picked up his gittern, and as he talked he plucked now and then at the strings, so that, although he played no set melody, there was an effect of accompanying music to the words that he recited, after the manner of the jongleurs, in a clear, bell-like voice, that was exquisitely sweet.