The Duke's minstrels swept their lutes at intervals, and a fountain played red Burgundy in six jets that met and battled in the air.

The evening sun darted its fires through those bright and purple wine spouts, making them jets and cascades of molten rubies, then passing on, tinged with the blood of the grape, shed crimson glories here and there on fair faces, snowy beards, velvet, satin, jewelled hilts, glowing gold, gleaming silver, and sparkling glass.

Gerard and his friends stood dazzled, spell-bound.

Presently a whisper buzzed round them, "Salute the Duke! Salute the Duke!" They looked up, and there on high, under the dais, was their sovereign, bidding them welcome with a kindly wave of the hand.

The men bowed low, and Margaret curtsied with a deep and graceful obeisance.