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As Lagardere uttered his last command, Gonzague thrust the packet that he held into the flame of the candle, and in a moment the flame ran along the paper, lapping it and consuming it. The king and Lagardere both saw the despairing deed. The king was the first to speak. "Louis!" he cried, and could say no more.
Lagardere affected an air of surprise, and then, with the manner of one who thought the matter of no importance, answered her: "You mean my friend in black who spoke to me just now?" The girl nodded. "Yes," she said, "he seemed evil, he seemed dangerous." Lagardere smiled reassuringly. "Evil he may be," he said, "but not dangerous no, not dangerous.
"I am here," he said, in a firm, respectful voice. Louis turned round and looked with curiosity but without apprehension at the man who addressed him, the man who was dressed like a gypsy, but who clearly was no gypsy. "Are you the writer of this letter?" he asked. Lagardere saluted him with a graceful reverence. "Yes, your Majesty. I know that you are the King of France."
'I am Henri de Lagardere, of the king's Light-Horse. I am always in trouble, always in debt, always in love. These are misfortunes a man can endure. But I am always hearing of your merits, which is fretting, and of your irresistible secret thrust, and that is unbearable." Lagardere paused to give dramatic effect to the point in his narrative. "What did he say to that?" asked Passepoil.
Æsop answered the question addressed to Peyrolles. "I can tell you. The man you can neither find nor bind." Gonzague started. "Lagardere?" Æsop nodded. "Lagardere, whom I will give into your hands if you wish." Gonzague caught at his promise eagerly. "When?" he asked. "To-night, at the king's ball," Æsop answered.
Gabrielle looked all about her, sustaining bravely the bold stares of the dancing-women and the evil admiration of the men. "Where is Henri de Lagardere?" she asked; and then, as only silence followed upon her question, she cried: "Ah, he must be dead, since he is not here to defend me." Gonzague confirmed her fears: "He is dead."
Come, man, come." And the baffled, bewildered, angry pair plunged despairingly into the thickness of the crowd about them, hoping against hope to find their lost charge for the moment when Lagardere was to make his appearance.
Cocardasse came nearer to Lagardere, and said in a voice that was almost a whisper, "Why do you drink the health of Louis de Nevers?" Lagardere looked for a moment annoyed at the presumption of Cocardasse in questioning him, then the annoyance gave place to his familiar air of tolerant amusement. "I don't love questions, but you have a kind of right to query." He turned to the others.
"Come with me, Peyrolles," and the prince and his henchman quitted the apartment. The hunchback muttered to himself: "The sword of Lagardere has yet a duty to perform before it be broken." Then he turned to Cocardasse and Passepoil where they stood apart: "Well, friends, do you remember me?" Cocardasse answered him, thoughtfully: "'Tis a long time since we met, Æsop."
She echoed his last words: "Between my mother and you." Then she paused, and her lips trembled, but she spoke very steadily: "Henri, you are the first in the world for me." Lagardere sighed. "You have never known a mother, but there are graver rivals to a friendship such as ours than a mother's love." "What rivals can there be to our friendship?" Gabrielle asked.
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