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"Well," said Navailles, eagerly, to Chavernay "well, who was the lady?" Chavernay answered, coolly: "I do not know." At this moment the lean form and yellow face of Monsieur de Peyrolles intruded itself into the group of Gonzague's friends. "Monsieur de Chavernay," he said, "my illustrious master is looking for you. He is with his majesty." "I will join him," Chavernay answered, readily.
In another moment Lagardere was stooping again, the long hair was falling about his face, and the two men could scarcely believe that Æsop was not standing before them. "Hush! To you both, as to all the world, I am Æsop, Gonzague's attendant devil. Now I have work for you. Go to-night at eleven to No. 7, Rue de Chantre." As he spoke he drew a letter from his coat and gave it to Cocardasse.
Chavernay looked all around him, scanning the faces of the men in the brilliant group of Gonzague's guests, as if seeking there a countenance he failed to find. Then he answered, in a tone of voice that was unusually grave for the light-hearted marquis: "Henri de Lagardere." At the sound of that name a thrill ran through the guests, and all echoed with astonishment the name of Lagardere.
Even Gonzague's band, hardened by the influence of long association with their master, could not hear that appeal unmoved, though no man among them made any motion of responding to it. Chavernay, however, rested his hand lightly upon his sword-hilt. "Rely on me," he said, boldly. Gonzague looked at him contemptuously. "No heroics, sir.
And he got the answer he expected from the girl: "A young French soldier." Perhaps, again, Gonzague's voice was keener with his next question: "Whose name was " In this case Flora, suddenly recalling her conversation with Gabrielle on the previous day, became as suddenly cautious. "I have forgotten his name," she said, and looked as if nothing could rekindle her memory.
While Master Griveau, with a very much offended air, edged himself into the circle of Gonzague's friends as one that had earned the right to move freely in such company, the hunchback began rapidly to fill in the blank spaces on the parchment before him. Master Griveau felt it his duty to say a few words of protest on behalf of the slightly offended majesty of the law.
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."
"Oh no. She was French." "Was she, too, an orphan?" Gonzague asked. "Yes," said Flora; "but she had a guardian who loved her like a father." The gypsy girl could not guess what raging passions were masked by the changeless serenity of Gonzague's face. "Who was that?" he asked, as he might have asked the name of some dog or some cat.
Then he turned and hurriedly left the gardens, his breast swelled with exultation. When he was out of sight, the hunchback whistled softly, and Cocardasse and Passepoil came out of the shadow of the trees. The lights were now rapidly dying out, and the gardens lay in darkness checkered by the moonlight. Lagardere turned to his friends. "She is in Gonzague's palace. We must rescue her at once."
"It was most unkind of you; but another makes good your neglect, whose invitation I really had not the strength of purpose to refuse." Gonzague's irritation was not altogether dissipated by the coolness of his kinsman, but he judged that any show of anger was unbefitting so felicitous an occasion, so he smiled slightly as he asked: "Who invites you?"
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