"I warned you, did I not, to let that bear alone?" asked Le Glorieux indignantly. "Did I not tell you that he was terrible when it came to hugging? Why did you do just what I warned you not to do? People who refuse to take good advice are always sorry for it." "I only wanted to have a little sport with him," whimpered Antoine. "I did not know that bears could hug so hard." "You have found it out now," said the jester. "You have played our friend here a fine trick. He was keeping the bear in order to sell him at a good price, and you, in spite of everything I could say to you, must let the animal escape. It would be no more than fair for you to pay whatever he is worth to our good host and consider yourself lucky with getting off without a cuffing in addition--a punishment you deserve!" Antoine felt the justice of this remark and emptied out the contents of his purse. But when he saw what a small sum it was, Le Glorieux relented and said gently, "Put aside your money, my boy; there is not enough to bother about. You are one of our party, the emperor's and mine, and I will pay for the damage you have done." And he offered the innkeeper a handful of silver. The latter, being upright as well as good-natured, refused to take all the money offered him by the jester, merely taking what he had expected to receive for the bear, showing that honesty is a plant that will flourish anywhere, provided the ground be favorable. [Illustration: The remains of what once had been a velvet glove] The Lady Marguerite had an experience of her own with one of the pets belonging to the inn. When she and her ladies returned from their walk they were met at the door by the landlady, who was as pale and terrified as if some calamity had overtaken her. In her left hand she extended toward the princess a wet and torn object which resembled a piece of mop rag that had seen long service, but which in reality was the remains of what once had been a velvet glove embroidered with seed pearls. Under her right arm she held with some difficulty, for he was wriggling with all his might, a small puppy of the age when dogs believe that the chief object of life is to chew things, and who looked at the princess with an impudent little bark, just as if he had not been striving with all the patience and perseverance of which he was capable to reduce a piece of her property to a pulp.