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"When?" asked the king, to whom Gonzague had at once yielded the privilege of question. The voice whispered, "To-night," and the princess repeated the words. The voice whispered again, "At the ball in the Palais Royal," and again the Princess echoed it, "At the ball in the Palais Royal." The king had no more to say; he was silent. Gonzague groaned aloud as he turned to Flora.
Lagardere laughed as he answered the riddle. "Because, dear dullards, I want you to enter the service of Gonzague. If I return to France to right a wrong, I know the risk I run and the blessing of you two devils to help me." Each of the two bravos extended his right hand. "Any help we can give," protested Cocardasse "is yours," added Passepoil. Lagardere clasped the extended hands confidently.
Chavernay had come over the bridge, with, curiously enough, Cocardasse and Passepoil at his heels. When he saw that a dance was toward, he made a sign to his followers to remain upon the bridge, while he himself mingled with his habitual companions. When the dance was over and Flora had disappeared, Chavernay advanced to Gonzague. He, at least, was foolhardy enough for anything.
Here he stood a little while longer in silence, studying curiously the striking lineaments of his enemy, that enemy who, through all the change of years, had retained the grace and beauty represented on the canvas. "Louis de Gonzague," he murmured, "you shall be judged to-night."
Once when he was the guest of his cousin of Gonzague in Mantua he fell ill of a strange fever that came near to ending his days, and was only saved by his French physician, who tended him day and night and took him back to France in the first dawn of his convalescence."
Peyrolles bowed. "I will do my best, monseigneur." "Good," said Gonzague. "I must wait upon his majesty. And upon the princess," he added. Gonzague, whose intimacy with the king always made him the first to be bidden to any special festivity, entered the tent unchallenged, and was warmly welcomed by Louis. Peyrolles remained outside, walking up and down, immersed in distasteful reflections.
"That may be, but I must attend on his majesty." Æsop still restrained him. "You can do me a favor." Breant eyed the impertinent hunchback with disfavor. "Why should I do you a favor, Æsop the Second?" The hunchback explained, gayly: "In the first place, because I am the guest of his Majesty the King. In the second place, because I am the confidential devil of his Highness the Prince de Gonzague.
Peyrolles went on: "His highness the Prince de Gonzague is delighted with the girl you have found; she will pass admirably for the girl of Nevers." The seeming Æsop nodded his head and said, quietly: "I am glad to hear it." "The Prince wishes to see you," Peyrolles continued. "The Prince wishes you to enter his service. Master Æsop, Master Æsop, your fortune is made, thanks to me."
She has his features, his eyes, his hair. Her mother would recognize her in a moment if she saw her, but " He paused, and the hunchback repeated his last word interrogatively: "But ?" Gonzague smiled, not enigmatically. "She never will see her. Nevers's daughter is not destined to live long."
The departing guests found that every exit was guarded by soldiers, and that their faces were carefully scanned before they were suffered to leave the precincts of the Palais Royal. Gonzague remained alone in the solitude by the Fountain of Diana, waiting for Peyrolles, who presently joined him. "Well?" Gonzague asked, anxiously. Peyrolles looked disappointed. "He has not left by any of the gates.
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