Gonzague shook his head. "Judge no man by his habit. Hearts of gold may
beat beneath those tatters."
Chavernay smiled. "I dare say they are no worse than most of your
friends."
Taranne, Nocé, Navailles, Oriol, Albret, Choisy, Gironne, and Montaubert
caught him up angrily. They seemed offended at the suggestion. Gonzague
placated them with a phrase: "Our dear Chavernay includes himself, no
doubt."
Chavernay accepted the suggestion. "Oh yes; there is devilishly little to
choose between any of us."
The impertinence of the answer and the impertinence of the speaker's
carriage were not calculated to smooth the ruffled feelings of the
gentlemen, but Chavernay was never one to bridle his speech in deference
to the susceptibility of his cousin's satellites. He now eyed them
mockingly, even provokingly, full of amusement, while they fumed and
fretted, and hands crept to hilts. Cheerfully courageous, Chavernay was
prepared at any moment to back his words with his sword. Gonzague,
studying the lowering faces of his adherents, and smiling compassionately
at the boyish insolence of Chavernay, interposed and stifled the
threatened brawl. "Come, gentlemen," he said, graciously, "let there be
no bickering. Chavernay has a sharp tongue, and spares no one, not even
me, yet I am always ready to forgive him his impudence."
A word of Gonzague was a command--a wish, a law--to his faithful
followers, and their countenances cleared as he spoke. Gonzague went on:
"His Gracious Majesty the King will be leaving the fair soon, though I am
glad to think that it seems to have diverted his majesty greatly. Let us
attend upon him, gentlemen." Gonzague emphasized his words by leading the
way across the bridge, and Chavernay and the others followed at his
heels, a laughing, chattering, many-colored company of pleasure-seekers.
Only Peyrolles remained behind.
When the last of them had crossed the bridge and was far away upon the
road to Neuilly, a man came to the door of the Inn and looked
thoughtfully after them.
The man was clad in black from head to foot, and his body was heavily
bowed. As he moved slowly across the grass, Peyrolles hastened towards
him, seeming to recognize him. "I was looking for you, Master Æsop," he
cried; "I have good news for you."
The hunchback answered, quietly: "Good news is always welcome." And to
the ears of Peyrolles the voice was the voice of Æsop, and to the eyes of
Peyrolles the form and the face of the speaker were the form and the face
of Æsop.
Peyrolles went on: "His highness the Prince de Gonzague is delighted with
the girl you have found; she will pass admirably for the girl of
Nevers."
The seeming Æsop nodded his head and said, quietly: "I am glad to hear
it."
"The Prince wishes to see you," Peyrolles continued. "The Prince wishes
you to enter his service. Master Æsop, Master Æsop, your fortune is made,
thanks to me."
"Thanks to me, I think," the hunchback commented, dryly.
Peyrolles shrugged his shoulders. "As you please," he said. "Come to the
Hôtel de Gonzague to-morrow, and ask for me."
"I will come," the hunchback promised. Then Peyrolles hastened over the
bridge, and made all speed to rejoin his master.
When he was well on his way the hunchback drew himself into a chair,
laughing heartily. "Oh, Æsop, Æsop," Lagardere murmured to himself, "how
vexed you would be if you knew how useful you prove to me!"