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"I suppose Gonzague wants all that are left of us," Cocardasse said, thoughtfully. Passepoil sighed significantly. "There aren't many." Cocardasse looked as gloomy as was possible for one of his rubicund countenance and jolly bearing. "Lagardere has kept his word." "Staupitz was killed at Seville," Passepoil murmured, as one who begins a catalogue of disasters.
I should have told you that I plagued him until he promised me my revenge. When I was exiled I wrote to remind him." Lagardere drew a letter from his breast and held it up for a moment before returning it to its lodging. "In this letter he accepts my challenge, names the time, the place " Cocardasse interrupted: "What time?" "To-night at ten," Lagardere replied. "The place?" asked Passepoil.
Passepoil questioned again: "What became of your bully?" Lagardere was laconic: "We had a chat afterwards. I attended his funeral." Cocardasse clapped his hands. "Well begun, little Parisian." Passepoil pointed admiringly at Lagardere. "Look at you now, a captain in the king's guard." Lagardere laughed cheerfully. "Look if you like, but I am no such thing. I am cashiered, exiled from Paris."
He instantly sprang to his feet, and, rushing to the main door, caught at the handle and found the door firmly locked. "Damn them!" he cried; "they have locked the door." Then he began to shout, furiously, calling first upon Cocardasse, and then upon Passepoil by name to open the door immediately, knowing these two to be his friends among the gang of rascals.
Again Passepoil broke the silence, this time with a question: "Why are we after Louis de Nevers?" Nobody seemed to be able to answer him. Even Staupitz, who was responsible to the others for this gathering of the company, was baffled. He had been told to supply nine swords, and he had supplied them.
Passepoil, who, enjoying like his comrade an abiding drought, had followed his example, hoping to find consolation in wine for the disappointments of love, also expressed his surprise. "Every man of us can fight three men at a time," he whispered, timidly, and he, too, lifted his glass.
"He said 'Nevers," Cocardasse whispered to Passepoil, and Passepoil whispered back, "He did." As for the other bravos, they had been as much surprised as Cocardasse and Passepoil by Lagardere's request, but they managed to conceal their surprise by lifting their mugs, and now as they nodded and winked to one another, they tilted their vessels and drank, shouting, "The health of Louis de Nevers!"
But the most tolerant philosopher has his dislikes, and mine are assassins." Cocardasse sighed, and made for the main door, followed by Passepoil, who said, wistfully, "Adieu, Little Parisian," a greeting of which Lagardere took no notice.
Passepoil, as usual, commented on his comrade's remark: "It might have been longer with advantage." Indifferent to the bravos' obvious distaste for his society, the hunchback continued: "I have news for you. Lagardere and I met yesterday." Cocardasse whistled. "The devil you did!" The hunchback coolly continued: "We fought, and I killed him."
On the one side of the splendid room stood Lagardere, with Chavernay, Cocardasse, and Passepoil, their gleaming weapons ready for attack. On the other side, with a great gap of space between the two parties, stood Gonzague and his cluster of light friends, every man of whom had bared his rapier and was ready to obey the summons of his chief.
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