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Fat Oriol, staring in amazement at the controversy, questioned: "What does the fellow mean?" Chavernay burst into a fit of laughing, and patted Oriol on the back. "I'm afraid he means that you are a rogue, Oriol."
Chavernay looked all around him, scanning the faces of the men in the brilliant group of Gonzague's guests, as if seeking there a countenance he failed to find. Then he answered, in a tone of voice that was unusually grave for the light-hearted marquis: "Henri de Lagardere." At the sound of that name a thrill ran through the guests, and all echoed with astonishment the name of Lagardere.
As he spoke he turned to where the hunchback and Gabrielle stood together silent, a strangely contrasted bride and bridegroom youth and age, so it seemed, beauty and ugliness, sin and purity. Truly, it appeared to be what Chavernay thought it and called it a damnable alliance. While the signing had been toward the hunchback had spoken softly one sentence to his bride.
"I come here," he said, "in reply to a letter I received two days ago a letter which appeals to me by a name which compels me to consider the appeal. That is why I come here to-day. My correspondent makes it a condition that I come alone. Take Bonnivet with you. Keep within call, but out of sight." Chavernay bowed very respectfully this time.
He advanced to Gonzague and addressed him. "Can we condole with you on this game of cross-purposes?" Gonzague turned to Chavernay, and his countenance was calm, bold, almost smiling. "No. I shall win the game. We shall meet to-night. Perhaps I shall need your swords." "Now, as ever, at your service," Navailles protested, and the rest murmured their agreement with the speaker.
Leisurely he drew his sword and leisurely fell into position, saying, "Very well, then." The swords engaged for a moment only for a moment. Then, to the surprise and rage of Chavernay, his hand and his sword parted company, and the sword, a glittering line of steel, leaped into the air and fell to earth many feet away from him.
Peyrolles went on: "Then, as you value his friendship, secure the person of that girl whom Monsieur de Chavernay spoke to just now." "Why?" Navailles questioned. Peyrolles answered him, sharply: "Don't ask; act. To please our master it should be done at once." "How is it to be done?" asked Taranne. Peyrolles looked about him. "Is there no other woman here who wears a rose-colored domino?"
She is neither court lady nor a play actress; she is some goddess in disguise, and I am going to reveal divinity." Then he tripped daintily forward and intercepted Gabrielle and her companions as they accomplished their first tour of the pond. "Fair lady," said Chavernay, with a graceful bow, "are you looking for some one?"
The hunchback drolled at him: "She will not need your championship. She will accept with joy the hunchback's hand." Chavernay shook his head scornfully. "That will never happen." The hunchback answered him, coolly: "That will happen, Monsieur de Chavernay." At that moment the door opposite to the antechamber opened, and the figure of a fair girl appeared.
But there is no pretty woman in this case." Chavernay made a still more ironical bow. "Your majesty!" he said, with an air that implied: "Of course I must appear to believe you, but in reality I do not believe you at all."
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