XIV
"I AM HERE!"
Pleased at the success of his mission, although disappointed at nothaving made further progress in the graces of the two girls whom he waspleased to regard as shepherdesses, he cast his eye first to the shutdoor of the caravan and then to the silent face of the tavern, and wasabout to rejoin his illustrious master with all speed when his attentionwas arrested by a singular figure advancing towards him from the Parisroad. This person was tall and thin and bony, with a weakly amiable facefringed with flaxen hair, and timid eyes that blinked under pink eyelids.He was dressed in black clothes of an extreme shabbiness, and the onlydistinguishing feature of his appearance was a particularly long andformidable sword that flapped against his calves. The fellow was at onceso fantastic and so ridiculous that Chavernay, whose sense of humor wasalways lively, regarded him with much curiosity and at the same time withaffected dismay.
"Is this ogre," he wondered to himself, "one of the protecting giants whoguard the fair nymphs of this place, or is he rather some cruel guardianappointed by the enchanter, who denies them intercourse with agreeablemankind?" Thus Chavernay mused, affecting the fancies of some fashionableromance; and then, finding that his attentions appeared strangely toembarrass the angular individual in black, he turned on his heels to makefor the bridge, and again came to a halt, for on the bridge appearedanother figure as grotesque as the first-comer, but grotesque in a whollydifferent manner.
This second stranger was as burly as the first was lean, and as gaudy inhis apparel as the first was simple. The petals of the iris, the plumesof the peacock seemed to have been pillaged by him for the colors thatmade up his variegated wardrobe. A purple pourpoint, crimson breeches, anamber-colored cloak, and a huge hat with a blue feather set off a figureof extravagantly martial presence. Where the face of the first-comer waspale, insignificant, and timid, that of the second-comer was ruddy,assertive, and bold. The only point in common with his predecessor wasthat he, too, swung at his side a monstrous rapier. The sight of thiswhimsical stranger was too much for Chavernay's self-restraint, and heburst into a hearty fit of laughter, which he made no effort to control.
"What a scarecrow!" he muttered, looking back at the individual in black."What a gorgon!" he continued, as his eyes travelled to the man inmotley. "Gog and Magog, by Heavens!" he commented, as he surveyed theastonishing pair.
Then, still laughing, he ran across the bridge and left the two objectsof his mirth glaring after him in indignation. Indeed, so indignant werethey, and so steadily did they keep their angry eyes fixed upon theretreating figure of the marquis, while each continued his originalcourse of progression, that the two men, heedless of each other, ran intoeach other with an awkward thump that recalled to each of them the factthat there were other persons in the world as well as an impertinentgentleman with nimble heels. The man in black and the man in many colorseach clapped a hand to a sword-hilt, only to withdraw it instantly andextend it in sign of amicable greeting.
"Passepoil!" cried the man in many colors.
"Cocardasse!" cried the man in black.
"To my arms, brother, to my arms!" cried Cocardasse, and in a moment theamazing pair were clasped in each other's embrace.
"Is it really you?" said Cocardasse, when he thought the embrace hadlasted long enough, holding Passepoil firmly by the shoulders and gazingfixedly into his pale, pathetic face.
Passepoil nodded. "Truly. What red star guides you to Paris?"
Cocardasse dropped his voice to a whisper. "I had a letter."
Passepoil whispered in reply: "So had I."
Cocardasse amplified: "My letter told me to be outside the Inn of theThree Graces, near Neuilly, on a certain day--this day--to serve thePrince of Gonzague."
Passepoil nodded again. "So did mine."
Cocardasse continued: "Mine enclosed a draft on the Bank of Marseilles topay expenses."
Passepoil noted a point of difference: "Mine was on the Bank of Calais."
"I suppose Gonzague wants all that are left of us," Cocardasse said,thoughtfully.
Passepoil sighed significantly. "There aren't many."
Cocardasse looked as gloomy as was possible for one of his rubicundcountenance and jolly bearing. "Lagardere has kept his word."
"Staupitz was killed at Seville," Passepoil murmured, as one who begins acatalogue of disasters.
Cocardasse continued: "Faenza was killed at Burgos."
Passepoil went on: "Saldagno at Toledo."
Cocardasse took up the tale: "Pinto at Valladolid."
Passepoil concluded the catalogue: "Joel at Grenada, Pepe at Cordova."
"All with the same wound," Cocardasse commented, with a curious solemnityin his habitually jovial voice.
Passepoil added, lugubriously: "The thrust between the eyes."
Cocardasse summed up, significantly: "The thrust of Nevers."
The pair were silent for an instant, looking at each other with somethinglike dismay upon their faces, and their minds were evidently busy withold days and old dangers.
Passepoil broke the silence. "They didn't make much by theirblood-money."
"Yes," said Cocardasse; "but we, who refused to hunt Lagardere, we arealive."
Passepoil cast a melancholy glance over his own dingy habiliments andthen over the garments of Cocardasse, garments which, although glowingenough in color, were over-darned and over-patched to suggest opulence."In a manner," he said, dryly.
Cocardasse drew himself up proudly and slapped his chest. "Poor buthonest."
Passepoil allowed a faint smile, expressive of satisfaction, to stealover his melancholy countenance. "Thank Heaven, in Paris we can't meetLagardere."
Cocardasse appeared plainly to share the pleasure of his old friend. "Anexile dare not return," he said, emphatically, with the air of a man whofeels sure of himself and of his words. But it is the way of destiny veryoften, even when a man is surest of himself and surest of his words, tointerpose some disturbing factor in his confident calculations, to makesome unexpected move upon the chess-board of existence, which altogetherbaffles his plans and ruins his hopes. So many people had crossed thebridge that morning that it really seemed little less than probable thatthe appearance of a fresh pedestrian upon its arch could have any seriouseffect upon the satisfactory reflections of the two bravos. Yet at thatmoment a man did appear upon the bridge, who paused and surveyedCocardasse and Passepoil, whose backs were towards him, with asignificant smile.
The new-comer was humbly clad, very much in the fashion of one of thosegypsies who had pitched their camp so close to the wayside tavern; but ifthe man's clothes were something of the gypsy habit, he carried a swordunder his ragged mantle, and it was plain from the man's face that he wasnot a gypsy. His handsome, daring, humorous face, bronzed by many sunsand lined a little by many experiences--a face that in its workingmobility and calm inscrutability might possibly have been the countenanceof a strolling player--was the face of a man still in the prime of life,and carrying his years as lightly as if he were still little more than alad. He moved noiselessly from the bridge to the high-road, and camecautiously upon the swashbucklers at the very moment when Passepoil wassaying, with a shiver: "I'm always afraid to hear Lagardere's voice cryout Nevers's motto."
Even on the instant the man in the gypsy habit pushed his way between thetwo bandits, laying a hand on each of their shoulders and saying threewords: "I am here!"
Cocardasse and Passepoil fell apart, each with the same cry in the sameamazed voice.
"Lagardere!" said Cocardasse, and his ruddy face paled.
"Lagardere!" said Passepoil, and his pale face flushed.
As for Lagardere, he laughed heartily at their confusion. "You are likescared children whose nurse hears bogey in the chimney."
Cocardasse strove to seem amused. "Children!" he said, with a forcedlaugh, and it was with a forced laugh that Passepoil repeated the word"Bogey."
For a moment the good-humor faded from the face of Lagardere, and hespoke griml
y enough: "There were nine assassins in the moat at Caylus.How many are left now?"
"Only three," Cocardasse answered.
Passepoil was more precise. "Cocardasse and myself and AEsop."
Lagardere looked at them mockingly. "Doesn't it strike you that AEsop willsoon be alone?"
Cocardasse shuddered. "It's no laughing matter."
Lagardere still continued to smile. "Vengeance sometimes wears asprightly 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 adecisive tone. "Captain, you have no right to kill us," he growled, andPassepoil, nodding his long head, repeated his companion's phrase withNorman emphasis.
Lagardere looked from one to the other of the pair, and there was atwinkle in his eyes that reassured them. "Are you scared, old knaves? Noexplanations; 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 thescuffle."
"Nor did we join in hunting you later," Passepoil added, hurriedly.
Lagardere's face wore a look of satisfaction. "In all the tumult of thattragic night I thought I saw two figures standing apart--thought theymight 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, AEsophad sat with Peyrolles. Now he and Cocardasse and Passepoil seatedthemselves, the two bravos side by side and still seemingly not a littleperturbed, Lagardere opposite to them and studying them closely, restinghis chin upon his hands.
"Ever since that night I have lived in Spain, hunted for a while byGonzague'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--toavenge Nevers and to protect Nevers's child. I abandoned my captaincy ofirregulars when the late cardinal quarrelled with Spain. I did not likethe late cardinal, but he was a Frenchman, and so was I. Since then Ihave lived as best I could, from hand to mouth, but always the child wassafe, always the child was cared for, always the child was in someobscure hands that were kind and mild. Well, the child grew up, thebeautiful child dawned into a beautiful girl, and still I kept her tomyself, 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 ofNevers. The law will shield her from the treason of Gonzague. The kingwill protect the daughter of his friend."
The Norman shook his head, and the expression of his face was verydubious. "Gonzague is a powerful personage."
Cocardasse did not appear to be so much impressed by the power ofGonzague, 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 enemyhad contrived to appear so opportunely.
"How did you get here?" he asked.
Lagardere explained. "There was a gypsy lass in Madrid of whom by chanceGabrielle 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 onsome secret business of their own. Here was an opportunity for the exilesto 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 paymy way. Before we left Madrid I wrote you those letters. As a result ofall this delicate diplomacy, here I am, and here you are."
Cocardasse still was puzzled. "But our letters spoke of the service ofGonzague?"
Lagardere laughed as he answered the riddle. "Because, dear dullards, Iwant you to enter the service of Gonzague. If I return to France to righta wrong, I know the risk I run and the blessing of you two devils to helpme."
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 yourwords. Gonzague is at the fair yonder in attendance upon the king. Youmay get a chance to approach him. He can hardly refuse you his favor."
"Hardly," said Cocardasse, grimly, and--"hardly," echoed Passepoil, witha wry smile.
Lagardere rose to his feet. "Go now. I shall find means to let you knowof my whereabouts and my purposes later. Till then--"
"Devotion!" cried Cocardasse.
"Discretion!" cried Passepoil, and each of the men saluted Lagardere witha military salute. Then the two bravos, linking arms, crossed the bridgetogether and made for the fair, conversing as they went of the wonderfulchance that had brought Lagardere back to Paris and their owngood-fortune in having been able to prove themselves innocent ofcomplicity in the murder of Nevers.
When they were gone, Lagardere walked slowly up and down beneath thetrees, reflecting deeply. He had gained one point in the desperate gamehe had set himself to play. He had found two adherents upon whose hands,whose hearts, and whose swords he could count with confidence, and hefelt that he had succeeded, in a measure, in planting adherents of hisown in the enemy's camp. But he had another point in his desperate gameto win that morning. He had written a letter, he had requested a favor,he had made an appointment. Immediately on arriving in the neighborhoodof Paris he had caused a letter to be despatched to the king'smajesty--not to the king direct, indeed, but to the king's privatesecretary, whom Lagardere knew by repute to be an honorable and loyalgentleman, who could be, as he believed, relied upon, if he credited theletter, to keep it as a secret between himself and his royal master. Itwas a bold hazard, although the letter was weighted with the talisman ofa name that must needs recall an ancient friendship. Would that letter beanswered? Would that favor be granted? Would that appointment be kept?
For some time Lagardere paced the grass thoughtfully; for sometime--perhaps for a quarter of an hour--his solitude was undisturbed. Atthe 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 toNeuilly. What he saw upon the road seemed to give him the greatestsatisfaction. Three gentlemen were walking together in the direction ofthe Inn. One was a very dandy-like young gentleman, very foppishlyhabited, who seemed to skip through existence upon twinkling heels.Another was a stiff, soldierly looking man of more than middle age, whomLagardere 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 earlyprime of life, looked as if he were fretted with the cares of many moreyears than were his lot. He was a slender personage, with a long, paleface. He was clad entirely in black, in emphasis of a mourning mind, andas he walked he coughed from time to time, and shivered and looked abouthim wistfully. But at the same time he seemed to affect a gay manner withhis companions, as one that aired a determination to be entertained. Itwas seventeen years since Lagardere had seen the king, and he wassaddened at the change that the years had made in him. He could only praythat those changing years had wrought no alteration in the affection ofLouis of France for Louis of Nevers.
The Duke's Motto: A Melodrama Page 15