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Lagardere looked at them as one looks at friends who act in accordance with one's expectation of them. "Thanks, friends," he said. Then he sat at Gonzague's table, dipped pen in ink, and wrote two hurried letters. One he handed to Cocardasse. "This letter to the king, instantly." The other he handed to Passepoil. "This to Gonzague's notary, instantly. Come back and wait in the anteroom.
In another moment the two parties would have met and blended in battle; but before Gonzague's followers could obey his command and follow his lead, they were stiffened into immobility by a sudden knocking at the golden doors. At that unexpected sound every sword was lowered, and then from beyond a stern voice came, commanding: "Open, in the king's name!"
Peyrolles crossed the grass, his course followed curiously by the eyes of Gonzague's friends, till he halted at the caravan and knocked at the door. Flora put out her head, and, recognizing Peyrolles, greeted him with an eager smile. "The time has come," said Peyrolles, in a low voice, "for you to dance to this gentleman." Flora touched him eagerly on the arm. "Which is my prince?" she asked.
Perhaps, in spite of himself, some hint of keenness was betrayed in the voice he was so studious to keep indifferent, for this time Flora gave question for question, suspiciously: "Why does all this interest you?" Gonzague's voice was perfectly indifferent when he replied: "Everything that concerns you interests me. Tell me; was this other Gabrielle a Spaniard like you?" Flora shook her head.
But Lagardere was ready for him, and, with a familiar trick of the fencing-schools, wrenched Gonzague's weapon from his fingers and flung it to the floor. A dozen hands seized Gonzague the hands of those that once had been proud to call themselves his friends. Lagardere turned to the king, appealingly: "Monseigneur, I cry a favor.
"Ever since that night I have lived in Spain, hunted for a while by Gonzague's gang, until, gradually, Gonzague's gang ceased to exist." "The thrust of Nevers," Cocardasse commented, quietly. Lagardere smiled sadly. "Exactly. I had only one purpose in life to avenge Nevers and to protect Nevers's child. I abandoned my captaincy of irregulars when the late cardinal quarrelled with Spain.
He turned to Peyrolles, who was standing close to his master's side, and commanded: "Bring in Mademoiselle Gabrielle de Nevers." In a moment Peyrolles had vanished from the room, leaving every man in the assembly impressed and startled by Gonzague's statement.
The great double doors at one end of the room served to shut off a hall devoted for the most part to the private suppers which it was Louis de Gonzague's delight to give to chosen friends of both sexes, and when, as often happened, supper ended, and a choice company of half-drunken women and wholly drunken men reeled through the open doors into the room where the three Louis reigned, Gonzague, who himself kept always sober, was no more than cynically amused by the contrast between the noisy and careless crew who had invaded the chamber and the sinister gravity with which the portraits of the three Louis regarded one another.
Underneath the table, and hidden from the girl's sight, Gonzague's hands clinched tightly, as if they were clinching upon the throat of an enemy; but his face was still quite tranquil as he said, carelessly: "Where are they?" Flora's voice was full of regret. "Ah! I do not know; but they were at the fair where we were playing, and I know that they are coming to Paris."
Your father was a duke." Flora gave a little gasp, and questioned: "Is my father dead?" Gonzague allowed his chin to fall upon his breast and an expression of deep gloom to overshadow his face. "Yes," he said, and his voice was as a requiem to buried friendship. Flora's heart was touched by this display of friendship. "And my mother?" she asked. Gonzague's face lightened. "Your mother lives."
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