"Hush!" whispered his prisoner again. "Do not bawl so loud. It is I, Philibert de Bresse." "In the name of all the saints in the calendar!" exclaimed the fool as young De Bresse crawled from his hiding-place. "Is this the way you execute your commission? I was proud of you, boy; I had faith in you, and now see what has come of it! Max gave you an opportunity to win his confidence for life, and you wrap yourself up in that dirty old mantle and sneak under the bed! I never so thoroughly realized that I am a fool as I do at this moment, when I find how greatly I was mistaken in Philibert de Bresse!" "Do you suppose I am doing this of my own accord?" snapped the young secretary, engaged in securing the band of white linen which was ready to fall from his head. "I do not see anybody forcing you to do it at the point of the sword," returned the jester dryly. "The De Bresses are a wild lot and have done many strange things, according to their history, but I never heard of one that was a coward." Le Glorieux had no sooner finished the sentence than Philibert seized him by the shoulders and gave him a shaking which, the fool afterward declared, changed the relative position of some of his teeth. "Listen, you idiot," hissed the young man, "I intend to go to Venice if seven thousand demons stand in the road! I was well on my way when I found that I had forgotten the emperor's ring, and I have returned for it in the disguise of _Il Capitano_. Do you not see that I was obliged to come in secret? Now let me go. The paper you will find in the drawer of his Majesty's writing case. Leave me!" The jester returned to his master, saying as he opened the door, "Cousin Max, you are a sensible man about some things even if you are an emperor, and I want to ask you where a valuable paper should be but in your own writing case?" Waiting until all was quiet outside, Philibert ventured forth once more, and assuming the dignified stride of _Il Capitano_, he marched past the sentinels, threw off his disguise, and mounting his horse, was once more riding toward Venice, regretting the lost time, and censuring his own thoughtlessness which had rendered his return necessary. It was long after sunrise before he felt justified in taking a rest, stopping at a wayside inn more for the sake of his horse than for his own comfort. "Poor fellow," said he, stroking the tired steed, "you are unfortunate in being obliged to suffer for the folly of your rider." And now he slipped the ring from his finger and secured it on the inside of the lining of his cap, believing that after all it would be less likely to be found in that place of concealment than tied about his neck. [Illustration: He met a party of Florentine soldiers] As soon as possible he resumed his journey, which he pursued without incident of note until late that afternoon, when he met a party of Florentine soldiers, who stopped him. "An Austrian spy," said one of them.