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Cocardasse continued: "Faenza was killed at Burgos." Passepoil went on: "Saldagno at Toledo." Cocardasse took up the tale: "Pinto at Valladolid." Passepoil concluded the catalogue: "Joel at Grenada, Pepe at Cordova." "All with the same wound," Cocardasse commented, with a curious solemnity in his habitually jovial voice. Passepoil added, lugubriously: "The thrust between the eyes."
"The best swordsman in Paris!" Passepoil cried, enthusiastically. "The best swordsman in France!" Cocardasse shouted. Passepoil commented again: "The best swordsman in Europe." Cocardasse, not to be outdone, put the final touch to the picture: "The best swordsman in the world." The name of Lagardere seemed to make a marked impression upon the company.
Lagardere looked at them mockingly. "Doesn't it strike you that Æsop will soon be alone?" Cocardasse shuddered. "It's no laughing matter." Lagardere still continued to smile. "Vengeance sometimes wears a sprightly face and smiles while she strikes." Passepoil was now a sickly green. "A very painful humor," he stammered.
"That is all right," he said, and placed the still wet writing on the table in front of Staupitz. Peyrolles made as if to move towards the door, but again Passepoil, who was watching intently the face of Cocardasse, read a meaning there, and, pouncing upon Peyrolles, persuaded him firmly back into the seat he had quitted. "That is not all," said Cocardasse to the astonished and angry valet.
Passepoil cast a melancholy glance over his own dingy habiliments and then over the garments of Cocardasse, garments which, although glowing enough in color, were over-darned and over-patched to suggest opulence. "In a manner," he said, dryly. Cocardasse drew himself up proudly and slapped his chest. "Poor but honest."
Passepoil had so far conquered his natural timidity as to go to the length of soliciting a kiss from the Inn maid. She had successfully repulsed him with a slap on each of his cheeks, and had slipped from the room. While Passepoil was rubbing his face ruefully, Æsop went on, sardonically: "What do you think of it, friend Cocardasse?
Then Cocardasse and Passepoil went out through the antechamber, and Lagardere remained alone with the Three Louis. He rose again and looked at them each in turn, and his mind was hived with memories as he gazed.
"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."
"That's what I'm thinking," said Passepoil. Cocardasse groaned. "What will Lagardere say?" "Well, we did our best," Passepoil sighed. Cocardasse groaned again. "What's the good, if we didn't do what he wanted?" "Where shall we find him?" asked Passepoil. Cocardasse consulted the watch which he owed to the bounty of the Prince de Gonzague. "He will be here at midnight. It is nearly that now.
There was a moment's silence, and then Cocardasse observed: "I'm afraid of just two men in the world." "The same with me," added Passepoil, humbly. Cocardasse resumed his interrupted speech: "And one of them is Louis de Nevers." Staupitz's puzzled, angry face travelled round the room, ranging over the Gascon, the Norman, the Spaniard, the Portuguese, the Biscayan, the Breton, and the hunchback.
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