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Updated: June 8, 2025
The three monks, with white scarfs, hasten in by the door at the back of Nevers's room, without making any account of the stage directions, which enjoin on them to advance slowly. Already all the artists have drawn sword or poniard, which the three monks bless in a trice.
Marguerite de Valois, the betrothed of Henry IV., for the sake of reconciling the dispute between the two religious sects, sends her page to De Nevers's salon and invites Raoul to her château. When he arrives, Marguerite informs him of her purpose to give him in marriage to a Catholic lady, daughter of the Count de St. Bris.
Nevers's only answer was to follow up and thrust rapidly at Lagardere's retreating figure, while he cried, fiercely: "Too late." There was nothing for Lagardere to do but to defend himself in order to gain time with this passionate madman. Therefore, Lagardere drew his sword and parried the attack which Nevers was now making at close quarters.
By this time the ground was strewn with the dead and wounded of their assailants, and, save for the slight scratch on Nevers's forehead, the defenders were unhurt. The galloping of horses was now distinctly heard, and the sound was as displeasing to the bravos as it was delightful to Lagardere. Delightful, indeed, for the sake of his companion, whom he was so hot to save.
The bravos gathered together angrily about Staupitz, buzzing like irritated bees. Lagardere flung his comely head back, and his bright eyes flamed with a royal rage. His words came quick and clear in his anger: "It was for this you sought to learn Nevers's thrust, and I Oh, it would make the gods laugh to think that I taught it to you!
You have the best of the joke so far, excellent assassins, but if any one of you touches a hair of Nevers's head he will find that the joke is two-edged, like my sword. If Nevers must die, it shall be in honorable battle and by my hands, but not by yours, while Lagardere lives." Æsop commented, sneeringly: "Lagardere is not immortal."
Peyrolles was thoroughly interested, and leaned eagerly across the table. "Then you think you have found her?" Æsop grinned at him maliciously. "As good as found her. I have found a girl who may be come, let's put a bold face on it and say must be Nevers's daughter. I told you so much in my letter."
Æsop resumed his narration. "You will ask how the Italianate Mantuan comes to be a cousin of our French Nevers, and I will tell you. Nevers's father, Louis de Nevers, the twelfth duke, had a very beautiful sister, who was foolish enough, or wise enough, as you may choose to take it, to fall in love with a needy Italian nobleman that came adventuring to Paris in the hope of making a rich marriage.
The Nevers's fortune was in the duke's hands, and remained in the duke's hands, for the duke married at much the same time as his sister; and the duke's wife and Gonzague's wife were brought to bed much about the same time, and each bore a son, and each son was named Louis after the twelfth duke, out of the affection his wife bore him, out of the affection his sister bore him, and out of the affection that sister's Mantuan husband pretended, in his sly Italian manner, to bear him."
You remember I told you what happened at the Vanderveer the night you and Madame arrived? I'm sure that waiter overheard what Gonzales and I were talking about." "Well, we are safe now anyhow. What was it that you would not tell me just now at luncheon?" asked the woman, whom Kennedy recognised as Madame de Nevers's maid. "I have a cipher from Washington. Wait until I translate it."
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