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.
There was an awkward pause, and then Cocardasse suddenly spoke in a
decisive tone. "Captain, you have no right to kill us," he growled, and
Passepoil, nodding his long head, repeated his companion's phrase with
Norman emphasis.
Lagardere looked from one to the other of the pair, and there was a
twinkle in his eyes that reassured them. "Are you scared, old knaves? No
explanations; let me speak. 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. "In all the tumult of that
tragic night I thought I saw two figures standing apart--thought they
might be, must be, my old friends. That is why I have sent for you."
"Sent for us?" Cocardasse echoed in astonishment.
"Was it you who--" Passepoil questioned, equally surprised.
"Why, of course it was," Lagardere answered. "Sit down and listen."
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.
"Ever since that night I have lived in Spain, hunted for a while by
Gonzague's gang, until, gradually, Gonzague's gang ceased to exist."
"The thrust of Nevers," Cocardasse commented, quietly.
Lagardere smiled sadly. "Exactly. I had only one purpose in life--to
avenge Nevers and to protect Nevers's child. I abandoned my captaincy of
irregulars when the late cardinal quarrelled with Spain. I did not like
the late cardinal, but he was a Frenchman, and so was I. Since then I
have lived as best I could, from hand to mouth, but always the child was
safe, always the child was cared for, always the child was in some
obscure hands that were kind and mild. Well, the child grew up, the
beautiful child dawned into a beautiful girl, and still I kept her to
myself, for I knew it was not safe to let Gonzague know that she lived.
But the girl is a woman now; she is the age to inherit the territories of
Nevers. The law will shield her from the treason of Gonzague. The king
will protect the daughter of his friend."
The Norman shook his head, and the expression of his face was very
dubious. "Gonzague is a powerful personage."
Cocardasse did not appear to be so much impressed by the power of
Gonzague, but then it must be remembered that he came from Marseilles,
while Passepoil arrived from Calais, which is more impressed by Paris.
What the Gascon wanted to know was how his old friend and one-time enemy
had contrived to appear so opportunely.
"How did you get here?" he asked.
Lagardere explained. "There was a gypsy lass in Madrid of whom by chance
Gabrielle had made a friend. Poor girl, she could not have many friends.
One day this girl told us that she and her tribe were going to Paris on
some secret business of their own. Here was an opportunity for the exiles
to return, unseen, to France. As gypsies, we travelled with the gypsies.
I have been a strolling player, and as a strolling player I helped to pay
my way. Before we left Madrid I wrote you those letters. As a result of
all this delicate diplomacy, here I am, and here you are."
Cocardasse still was puzzled. "But our letters spoke of the service of
Gonzague?"
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. "I take you at your
words. Gonzague is at the fair yonder in attendance upon the king. You
may get a chance to approach him. He can hardly refuse you his favor."
"Hardly," said Cocardasse, grimly, and--"hardly," echoed Passepoil, with
a wry smile.
Lagardere rose to his feet. "Go now. I shall find means to let you know
of my whereabouts and my purposes later. Till then--"
"Devotion!" cried Cocardasse.
"Discretion!" cried Passepoil, and each of the men saluted Lagardere with
a military salute. Then the two bravos, linking arms, crossed the bridge
together and made for the fair, conversing as they went of the wonderful
chance that had brought Lagardere back to Paris and their own
good-fortune in having been able to prove themselves innocent of
complicity in the murder of Nevers.
When they were gone, Lagardere walked slowly up and down beneath the
trees, reflecting deeply. He had gained one point in the desperate game
he had set himself to play. He had found two adherents upon whose hands,
whose hearts, and whose swords he could count with confidence, and he
felt that he had succeeded, in a measure, in planting adherents of his
own in the enemy's camp. But he had another point in his desperate game
to win that morning. He had written a letter, he had requested a favor,
he had made an appointment. Immediately on arriving in the neighborhood
of Paris he had caused a letter to be despatched to the king's
majesty--not to the king direct, indeed, but to the king's private
secretary, whom Lagardere knew by repute to be an honorable and loyal
gentleman, who could be, as he believed, relied upon, if he credited the
letter, to keep it as a secret between himself and his royal master. It
was a bold hazard, although the letter was weighted with the talisman of
a name that must needs recall an ancient friendship. Would that letter be
answered? Would that favor be granted? Would that appointment be kept?
For some time Lagardere paced the grass thoughtfully; for some
time--perhaps for a quarter of an hour--his solitude was undisturbed. At
the end of that time he emerged from the shadow of the trees, and,
standing at the foot of the bridge, surveyed the road that led to
Neuilly. What he saw upon the road seemed to give him the greatest
satisfaction. Three gentlemen were walking together in the direction of
the Inn. One was a very dandy-like young gentleman, very foppishly
habited, who seemed to skip through existence upon twinkling heels.
Another was a stiff, soldierly looking man of more than middle age, whom
Lagardere knew to be Captain Bonnivet, of the Royal Guards. The third,
who was the first of the group, was a man who, though still in the early
prime of life, looked as if he were fretted with the cares of many more
years than were his lot. He was a slender personage, with a long, pale
face. He was clad entirely in black, in emphasis of a mourning mind, and
as he walked he coughed from time to time, and shivered and looked about
him wistfully. But at the same time he seemed to affect a gay manner with
his companions, as one that aired a determination to be entertained. It
was seventeen years since Lagardere had seen the king, and he was
saddened at the change that the years had made in him. He could only pray
that those changing years had wrought no alteration in the affection of
Louis of France for Louis of Nevers.