The hunchback, more bowed than ever, with his hair more than ever huddled
about his face, swayed his crippled body whimsically, and when he spoke
he spoke, apologetically: "I am a man of strange fancies, highness."
Gonzague was annoyed at these preliminaries to a demand, this beating
about the bush for payment. "Don't plague me with your fancies. Your
price?"
The hunchback spoke, slowly, like a man who measures his words and enjoys
the process of measurement: "If I killed Lagardere, it was not solely to
please you. It was partly to please myself. I was jealous."