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Rapin de Thoyras and M. de Chavernay, commanding two companies of French Huguenots, were on board one of the missing ships. The frightful tempest had separated them from the fleet. They had been driven before the wind as far as the coast of Norway. They thought that each moment might be their last. But the sailors were brave, and the ship was manageable.
Suddenly, then, the Princess de Gonzague, clinging to the child in her arms, cried out, calling to Chavernay: "Monsieur de Chavernay, in yonder alcove lies the sword of my dead husband. Fetch it, and give it to Monsieur de Lagardere."
Well, gentlemen, would you believe it, to-night Louis of France and Louis de Gonzague will be told the name of the assassin of Nevers?" "And the name?" asked Chavernay. Choisy plucked him impatiently by the sleeve. "Don't you see that the humpbacked fool is making game of us?" Æsop shrugged his shoulders. "As you please, sirs, as you please; but that is why the guards are doubled."
Gonzague looked at Chavernay with a pitying smile. "You come too late," he said, "if you come at the summons of such a host. Lagardere is dead." Chavernay gave a little start of surprise, while the others, to whom the news had been good news some little while ago, but was no news at all now, laughed boisterously at his expected discomfiture.
All present, with the exception of Chavernay, burst into the loud laughter of relieved nerves as they beheld him. "This is not Lagardere," said Oriol, holding his fat sides. The hunchback laughed a mocking laugh in answer to the amusement of the company and the amazement of Chavernay. "Who speaks of Lagardere? Who remembers Lagardere?
Now the hunchback walked slowly in a circle round the chair on which Gabrielle was seated, making as he did so fantastic gestures with his hands over her head gestures which suggested to the amazed spectators some wizard busy with his horrid incantations. Taranne nudged Oriol. "She listens." "She seems pleased," Oriol answered. Chavernay muttered, angrily: "This must be witch-craft."
Thus Chavernay mused, affecting the fancies of some fashionable romance; and then, finding that his attentions appeared strangely to embarrass the angular individual in black, he turned on his heels to make for the bridge, and again came to a halt, for on the bridge appeared another figure as grotesque as the first-comer, but grotesque in a wholly different manner.
I need elbow-room for my signature." He advanced to the table, holding Gabrielle by the hand, and still, though the humor of the situation had endured so long, even the wine-flushed men and the wine-flushed women seemed almost as conscious as Chavernay of the tragedy that underlay the humor of the play. All fell back and left a free table for the hunchback and his bride.
Chavernay, who had kept resolutely apart from the rest of the guests, now advanced to the beautiful girl who stood there alone and friendless, save for Flora, and made her a respectful bow. "I will defend you in his name," he said, simply. Flora clapped her hands. "Bravo, little man!" she cried. Gonzague, with a stern gesture, motioned to Chavernay to stand back. "You presume," he said.
So, dreaming of amorous possibilities, Chavernay came daintily across the bridge, very young, very self-confident, very impudent, very much enjoying himself. As he neared the Inn he looked about him nonchalantly, and, seeing that no one was in sight, he stooped and caught up a pebble from the roadway and flung it dexterously enough against the window above the Inn porch.
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