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Updated: June 24, 2025
Presently he came to an end, reread his letter, shook over the final writings some silver sand, then folded it and sealed it leisurely. When he had done he spoke to Peyrolles: "This letter is to go to his majesty. Send Doña Flora here. Stay! Who is in the antechamber?" Peyrolles answered with a bow: "The Chevalier Cocardasse and the Chevalier Passepoil, monseigneur."
And my master made me an athlete, too; taught me every trick of wrestling and tumbling and juggling with the muscles. That is why I was able to tumble you about so pleasantly just now. I should have been a mountebank to this day but for an accident." Passepoil was curious. "What accident?" he asked. Lagardere answered him: "A brawl over a wench with a bully.
That night in Caylus, seventeen years ago, when the darkness quivered with swords, I did not meet your blades." Cocardasse explained. "When you backed Nevers we took no part in the scuffle." "Nor did we join in hunting you later," Passepoil added, hurriedly. Lagardere's face wore a look of satisfaction.
Gonzague's friends took advantage of the crowd and the confusion. They huddled around Gabrielle and her escort, laughing and chattering volubly. They hustled Cocardasse, they hustled Passepoil, treading on their toes and tweaking their elbows, much to the indignation of the Gascon and the Norman, each of whom tried angrily and unavailingly to get hold of one of his nimble tormentors.
Passepoil nodded, and glided discreetly among the bravos huddled together at the table, whispering the words of Cocardasse in the ears of each. Lagardere frowned at this mystery. "What are you whispering?" he asked, angrily. Cocardasse explained, plausibly. "Only that if you wanted to keep Nevers to yourself " Passepoil interrupted, concluding: "It mattered little who did the job."
The man in black and the man in many colors each clapped a hand to a sword-hilt, only to withdraw it instantly and extend it in sign of amicable greeting. "Passepoil!" cried the man in many colors. "Cocardasse!" cried the man in black. "To my arms, brother, to my arms!" cried Cocardasse, and in a moment the amazing pair were clasped in each other's embrace.
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.
"Children!" he said, with a forced laugh, and it was with a forced laugh that Passepoil repeated the word "Bogey." For a moment the good-humor faded from the face of Lagardere, and he spoke grimly enough: "There were nine assassins in the moat at Caylus. How many are left now?" "Only three," Cocardasse answered. Passepoil was more precise. "Cocardasse and myself and Æsop."
He led the way to the very table at which, such a short time before, Æsop had sat with Peyrolles. Now he and Cocardasse and Passepoil seated themselves, the two bravos side by side and still seemingly not a little perturbed, Lagardere opposite to them and studying them closely, resting his chin upon his hands.
But while Cocardasse was busy engaging clasps of the hand with the men of many nationalities who had been waiting for him, the attention of Passepoil was entirely diverted by the appearance of the Inn maid, Martine, who at that moment appeared upon the scene with a fresh pitcher of wine in honor of the fresh arrivals. The lean and pale man blushed and sighed as he saw her.
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