Staupitz and his companions seemed to place implicit confidence in the
superior diplomatic powers of their Gascon comrade, and to have been
seriously impressed by the gravity of his statement concerning the thrust
of Nevers, so death-dealing, so unwardable, so almost magically fatal,
for they readily agreed to his proposition. Places were rapidly found for
Cocardasse and Passepoil at the table. Æsop returned to his seat and his
little sinful book. It was deepening dusk by now, but the hunchback knew
his Aretino by heart, and the open page was a pretence. So he mused by
the window, and sat nursing his knee moodily. Those at the table seemed
busy drinking, and heedless of all things save drink, when the side-door
of the room, that led through the kitchen to the yard, opened, and the
man they were expecting entered. It was characteristic of the man to make
his appearance so slyly, surreptitiously, sidling, and roundabout, where
another would have stepped in direct. At the heels of the new-comer
tiptoed Martine, swinging, for precaution against the thickening dusk, a
dingy lantern whose provision of fish-oil emitted a pitiful light that
scarcely bettered the growing blackness. This lantern the girl set upon
the head of an empty barrel that stood in a corner, and its fitful,
shivering rays, faintly illuminating the murkiness around, was at least
strong enough to allow any philosopher among the bravos--and Æsop was in
his way a philosopher--to observe and moralize upon the contrast between
the appearance of this Monsieur Peyrolles who employed bravos and the
bravos that this Monsieur Peyrolles employed.
Monsieur Peyrolles was a tall, thin, middle-aged man of pale complexion.
Like Æsop and like Passepoil, he was dressed in black, as became the
confidential servant of a master with many confidences; but, unlike the
amorous Æsop and unlike the amorous Passepoil--though the two men were
amorous after a very different fashion--his garments were of fine quality
and fine cut, with much costly lace at his yellow neck, and much costly
lace about the wrists of yellow hands that to a casual glance might, in
their affected ease, have passed for patrician. Like Passepoil, he
carried a sword, and, like Passepoil, he knew how to use it, although,
unlike Passepoil, he was really of a timid disposition, and never engaged
in any encounter in which he was not certain that his skill was far
superior to that of his opponent.
He affected the manners of a fine gentleman, and modelled himself as much
as he dared upon the carriage of his master, when his master was not by,
and, like the most of such copying apes, he overdid the part. His face
was curiously unpleasant, long and yellowish white and inexpressive, with
drooping eyelids masking pale, shifty eyes, with a drooping, ungainly
nose, and a mouth that seemed like a mistake of nature.
When Martine had placed her lantern to her satisfaction upon its Bacchic
pedestal, she slipped from the room as quietly as she had entered it,
answering as she went, with a glance of disdain, the passion of
admiration that glowed in the eyes and twitched in the fingers of Norman
Passepoil. The people that kept that evil Inn, the people that served
that evil Inn, always left their sinister customers to themselves to kiss
or kill, as best pleased them.
On the entrance of Monsieur Peyrolles the bravos rose and saluted him
ceremoniously. If there was any hidden mockery, any latent contempt, any
unconscious hate felt by the brave scoundrels for the cowardly scoundrel
in their reverence, it was not evident to the new-comer, who took the
greetings with offensive condescension, eying the bandits over the lace
edges of his kerchief.
Staupitz advanced some few feet to greet him. "Welcome, Monsieur
Peyrolles," he said. Then, pointing with an air of introduction to the
fantastic, many-colored, huge-hatted, big-booted gang of ruffians ranged
about the table, he added, "My children."
In the dim light Peyrolles peered derisively at the different members of
the party. "They seem a choice set of ruffians," he observed, with the
labored impertinence that seemed to him a copy of his master's
nonchalance.
Staupitz laughed thickly. "No better blades between here and world's
end." He pointed first at his comrades, as if to imply that he spoke
allegorically; then he pointed to the row of rapiers dangling against the
wall, to prove that he also spoke practically and by the card.
"After all," said Peyrolles, "that is the important matter. I come to
tell you how to earn your pay."
By this time Staupitz and the others had resumed their seats and were
staring fixedly at Peyrolles, something to that worthy personage's
embarrassment. Staupitz having said his say, dropped into silence, and
Cocardasse leaned forward, asserting himself. "We are all attention," he
declared; and Passepoil, faithful echo by his side, murmured, "We are all
attention," and allowed himself to wonder what had become of Martine, and
to regret that business did not permit him to go to look for her.