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Cocardasse plucked Passepoil by the sleeve and drew him a little away from their fellow-ruffians. "We cannot fight against the Little Parisian," he whispered into the Norman's ear. "We will look on, comrade." Passepoil nodded approval, but spoke no word.
Something like surprise puckered Cocardasse's rubicund face. "You here, Æsop?" he questioned. The man whom he called Æsop looked up for a moment from his book and shrugged his shoulders. "Devil knows why!" he said. "If they want me, they don't want the others. If they want the others, they don't want me." His remarks were interrupted by a slight scuffle between Passepoil and Martine.
"The moat of Caylus," Lagardere answered. He pointed to the window at which Æsop had been sitting so long. "You can see it from that window." There was a general look of astonishment on the faces of all the bravos. Passepoil, quick with his Norman caution, glanced at Staupitz and the group about him, and put his finger cautiously to his lips. Cocardasse was still inquisitive.
He laughed as he spoke; then he drew from his breast another packet and handed it to Passepoil. "Here," he said, "are three invitations for the king's ball to-night one for the girl you will escort, one for each of you.
But when the pair were close upon the hunchback he suddenly drew himself up, flung back the hair from his face, and faced them, crying, "I am here!" Cocardasse and Passepoil paused, gasping. Both had one name on their lips, and the name was the name of Lagardere.
Lagardere, who had taken no notice of the threatened attack of the hunchback, surveyed the group, and, glancing from them, addressed himself to Cocardasse and Passepoil. "Why, my old masters," he asked, drolling them, "what are you doing in this desperate adventure? You ought to be careful. The boy might have hurt you."
He made a signal as he spoke, and Cocardasse and Passepoil, descending from their post upon the bridge, advanced towards the brilliant group, bowing grotesquely as they did so, with their big hats in their hands and their long rapiers tilting up their ragged cloaks.
"This," said the bigger of the black dominos, and his voice was the voice of Cocardasse "this must be the Fountain of Diana." The second of the black dominos pointed to the statue shining in the many-tinted water, and spoke with the voice of Passepoil: "There's some such poor heathen body." The woman in the rose-pink domino turned to Cocardasse and asked: "Is Henri here?"
Gonzague was a fine swordsman, and Gonzague fought for his life, but he did not fight long. Suddenly Lagardere's arm and Lagardere's sword seemed to extend, the blade gleamed in the flare of the flambeaux, and Gonzague reeled and dropped. "Nine," said Cocardasse, thoughtfully. Passepoil placed his forefinger between his brows. "The thrust of Nevers," he murmured.
They were married one year ago in the chapel of Caylus, and the only witnesses were Louis de Gonzague and his factotum, Monsieur Peyrolles, who has summoned us to this tryst." "Why were they secretly married?" asked the amorous Passepoil. Æsop answered him: "An old family feud between the houses of Nevers and Caylus. The marquis would rather kill his daughter than let her marry Louis de Nevers.
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