The Duke's Motto: A Melodrama

by Justin H. McCarthy

  XXVI

  THE REWARD OF AESOP

  Paris lay quiet enough between the midnight and the dawn. All the noiseand brilliance and turbulence, all the gayety and folly and fancy of theroyal ball had died away and left the Palais Royal and the capital topeace. Little waves of frivolity had drifted this way and that from theebbing sea to the haven of this great house and that great house, wherecertain of those that had made merry in the king's gardens now mademerrier still at a supper as of the gods. The Palace of Gonzague was oneof those great houses. The hall where the Three Louis gazed at oneanother--one so brave, one so comely, one so royal--was indeed abrilliant solitude where the lights of many candles illuminated only thepainted canvases throned over emptiness. But from behind the great gildeddoors came the sound of many voices, men's voices and women's voices,full of mirth and the clatter of glasses. His Highness Prince Louis deGonzague was entertaining at supper a chosen company of friends--flowersfrom the king's garland carefully culled. There were the brilliant,insolent youths, who formed the party of Gonzague; there were the light,bright, desirable women whom the party of Gonzague especially favoredamong the many of their kind in Paris. Noce was there, and Oriol andTaranne and Navailles and the others, and the dainty, daring, impudentCidalise and her sisters of the opera, and Oriol's flame, who made gameof him--all very pretty, all very greedy, as greedy of food and wine asthey were greedy of gold and kisses, and all very merry. One face waswanting from the habitual familiars of Gonzague. The little, impertinentMarquis de Chavernay was not present. Gonzague had not thought fit toinclude him in the chosen of that night. Chavernay was getting to be toocritical of his kinsman's conduct. Chavernay was not as sympathetic withhis kinsman's ambitions and wishes as his kinsman would have had him be.

  At the head of the table sat the illustrious host, beaming with an air ofjoyousness that astonished even his friends. It was as though the sunthat had shone for so long upon all their lives, and in whose light andheat they had prospered, had suddenly taken upon himself a braverradiance, a fiercer effulgence, in the glow of which they all, men andwomen alike, seemed to feel their personal fortunes patently flourishing.No one knew why Louis de Gonzague was so gladsome that night; no one, ofcourse, ventured to ask the reason of his gayety. It was enough forthose, his satellites, who prospered by his favor and who battened on hisbounty that the prince, who was their leader, chose on this occasion toshow a spirit of careless mirth that made the thought of serving him, andof gaining by that service, more than ever attractive.

  Outside, in the deserted hall, the Three Louis stared at one another,heedless of the laughter behind the gilded doors, indifferent to thehilarity, regardless of the license characteristic of a supper-party insuch a house at such an hour. For long enough the Three Louis kept oneanother company, while the great wax candles dwindled slowly, and thenoise and laughter beyond seemed interminable. Then the door of theantechamber opened, and the hunchback entered the hall and paused for amoment, glancing at each of the Three Louis, with a look of love for one,a look of hate for the other, and a look of homage for the third. At thehunchback's heels came Cocardasse and Passepoil, waiting on events. Thehunchback stood for a moment listening to the noise and jollity beyondthe doors. Then he turned to his followers:

  "My enemy makes merry to-night. I think I shall take the edge off hismerriment by-and-by. But the trick has its risks, and we hazard ourlives. Would you like to leave the game? I can play it alone."

  Cocardasse answered with his favorite salute: "I am with you in this ifit ends in the gallows."

  Passepoil commented: "That's my mind."

  Lagardere looked at them as one looks at friends who act in accordancewith one's expectation of them.

  "Thanks, friends," he said. Then he sat at Gonzague's table, dipped penin ink, and wrote two hurried letters. One he handed to Cocardasse. "Thisletter to the king, instantly." The other he handed to Passepoil. "Thisto Gonzague's notary, instantly. Come back and wait in the anteroom. Whenyou hear me cry out, 'Lagardere, I am here,' into the room and out withyour swords for the last chance and the last fight."

  Cocardasse laid his hand on the sham hump of the sham AEsop. "Courage,comrade, the devil is dead."

  Lagardere laughed at him, something wistfully. "Not yet."

  Passepoil suggested, timidly: "We live in hopes."

  Then Cocardasse and Passepoil went out through the antechamber, andLagardere remained alone with the Three Louis. He rose again and lookedat them each in turn, and his mind was hived with memories as he gazed.Before Louis de Nevers he thought of those old days in Paris when thename of the fair and daring duke was on the lips of all men and of allwomen, and when he met him for the first time and got his lesson in thefamous thrust, and when he met him for the second and last time in themoat at Caylus and gave him the pledge of brotherhood. Looking now on thebeautiful, smiling face, Lagardere extended his hand to the paintedcloth, as if he almost hoped that the painted hand could emerge from itand clasp his again in fellowship, and so looking he renewed the pledgeof brotherhood and silently promised the murdered man a crown of revenge.

  He turned to the picture of Louis de Gonzague, and he thought of hisspeech in the moat of Caylus with the masked shadow, and of the suddenmurder of Nevers, and of his own assault upon the murderer, and how heset his mark upon his wrist. The expression on Lagardere's face was coldand grave and fatal as he studied this picture. If Gonzague could haveseen his face just then he would not have made so merry beyond the foldeddoors.

  Lagardere turned to the third Louis, the then solemn, the then pale,Louis of France, and gave him a military salute. "Monseigneur," hemurmured, "you are an honest man and a fine gentleman, and I trust youcheerfully for my judge to-night." Turning, he advanced to the doors thatshut him off from the noisy folk at supper, and listened for a moment,with his head against the woodwork, to the revelry beyond, an ironicalsmile on his face. Then, as one who recalls himself abruptly to work thathas to be done, he who had been standing straight when he contemplatedthe images now stooped again into the crippled form of the hunchback andshook his hair about his face. Raising his hand, he tapped thrice on apanel of the doors, then moved slowly down to the centre of the hall. Amoment later the doors parted a little, and Gonzague entered the room,closing the doors behind him.

  He advanced at once to where the hunchback awaited him. "Your news?" hecried.

  The hunchback made a gesture of reassurance. "Sleep in peace. I havesettled Lagardere's business."

  Gonzague gave a great sigh of satisfaction. "He is dead?" he questioned.

  The hunchback spoke, warmly. "As dead as my hate could wish him."

  "And his body?" Gonzague questioned.

  The hunchback answered: "I have concealed his body very effectively."

  Gonzague brought his palms together silently in silent applause."Excellent AEsop! Where is Peyrolles?" he asked.

  The hunchback paused for a moment before replying. "He sends his excuses.The events of the night have upset him. But I think he will be with yousoon."

  The indisposition of Peyrolles did not seem to affect his master veryprofoundly. What, indeed, did it matter at such a moment to a man whoknew that his great enemy was harmless at last and that his own plans andambitions were safe? Gonzague came nearer to the hunchback.

  "AEsop, there is no doubt that Lagardere's girl is Nevers's daughter. Shehas his features, his eyes, his hair. Her mother would recognize her in amoment if she saw her, but--"

  He paused, and the hunchback repeated his last word interrogatively:"But--?"

  Gonzague smiled, not enigmatically. "She never will see her. Nevers'sdaughter is not destined to live long."

  Well at ease now, and more than ever in the mood for joyous company,Gonzague turned to re-enter the supper-room, but the hunchback clawed athim and brought him to a halt. Gonzague stared at his follower in abewilderment which the hunchback proceeded partially to enlighten. "Youhave forgotten something."

  "What?" asked Gonzague, in amazemen
t.

  The hunchback made a little, appealing gesture. "Little AEsop wants hisreward."

  Gonzague thought he understood now. "True. What is your price?"

  The hunchback, more bowed than ever, with his hair more than ever huddledabout his face, swayed his crippled body whimsically, and when he spokehe spoke, apologetically: "I am a man of strange fancies, highness."

  Gonzague was annoyed at these preliminaries to a demand, this beatingabout the bush for payment. "Don't plague me with your fancies. Yourprice?"

  The hunchback spoke, slowly, like a man who measures his words and enjoysthe process of measurement: "If I killed Lagardere, it was not solely toplease you. It was partly to please myself. I was jealous."

  Gonzague smiled slightly. "Of his swordsmanship?"

  The hunchback protested, vehemently. "No, I was his equal there. I wasjealous of his luck in love."

  Gonzague laughed. "AEsop in love!"

  The hunchback seemed to take the laugh in good part. "AEsop is in love,and you can give him his heart's desire. She was in Lagardere's keeping.She is now in yours. Give her to me."

  Gonzague almost reeled under the amazing impudence of the suggestion."Gabrielle de Nevers! Madman!"

  He laughed as he spoke, but the hunchback interrupted his laugh. "Wait.You have to walk over two dead women to touch the wealth of Nevers. Ioffer to take one woman out of your way. Do not kill Gabrielle; give herto me."

  Gonzague stared for a while at the hunchback in silence. "I believe therogue is serious," he said, more as a reflection addressed to himselfthan as a remark addressed to the hunchback.

  But the hunchback answered it: "Yes, for I love her. Give her to me, andI will take her far away from Paris, and you shall never hear of heragain. She will no longer be the daughter of Nevers; she will be the wifeof AEsop the hunchback."

  The proposition was not unpleasing to Louis of Gonzague. It certainlyseemed to offer a way of getting rid of the girl without the necessity ofkilling her, and Gonzague was too fastidious to desire to commit murderwhere murder was wholly unnecessary, but the thing seemed impossible."She would never consent," he protested.

  The hunchback laughed softly, a low laugh of self-confidence. "Look atme, monseigneur," he said, "AEsop the hunchback, but do not laugh whileyou look and damn me for an impossible gallant. Crooked and withered as Iam, I have power to make women love me. Let me try. If I fail to win thegirl, do what you please with her, and I will ask no more."

  Gonzague looked keenly at the bowed, supplicating figure. "Are youthinking of playing me false?" he murmured. "Do you dream of taking thegirl to give her to her mother?"

  The hunchback laughed--a dry, strident laugh. "Would AEsop be a welcomeson-in-law to the Princess de Gonzague?"

  Gonzague seemed to feel the force of the hunchback's reasoning. To marrythe girl to this malformed assassin was to destroy her more utterly, shestill living, than to destroy her by taking her life. "Well," hesaid--"well, you shall try your luck. If she marries you, she is out ofmy way. If she refuses you, you shall be avenged for her disdain. We canalways revert to my first intention."

  A slight shudder seemed to pass over the distorted form of the hunchback,but he responded with familiar confidence: "She will not disdain me."

  Gonzague laughed. "Confident wooer. When do you mean to woo?"

  The hunchback came a little nearer to him and spoke, eagerly: "No timelike the present, highness. I thought that on this night of triumph foryou I could provide for you and your friends such an entertainment as noother man in all Paris could command. I have ventured to summon yournotary. Let your supper be my wedding-feast, your guests my witnesses.Bring the girl and I will win her. I am sure of it--sure."

  Gonzague was too well-bred, too scholarly a man not to have a well-bred,scholarly sense of humor. His nimble Italian fancy saw at once thecontrasts between his noisy company of light men and loose women and thewithered hunchback who was a murderer and the beautiful girl whom he hadrobbed of her birthright and was now ready to rob of her honor. "It willbe a good jest," he murmured.

  The hunchback indorsed his words: "The best jest in the world. You willlaugh and laugh and laugh to watch the hunchback's courtship."

  Gonzague turned again towards the doors. "I must rejoin my guests," hesaid; "but you look something glum and dull for a suitor. You should havefine clothes, fellow; they will stimulate your tongue when you come tothe wooing. Go to my steward for a wedding-garment. Your bride will behere when you return."

  The hunchback's bowed head came nearer still to earth in his profoundinclination. "You overwhelm me with kindness."

  Gonzague paused, with his hand on the door, to look at him again. "Youkill Lagardere; you marry Gabrielle. Do I owe you most as bravo orbridegroom?"

  Again the hunchback abased himself. "Your highness shall decideby-and-by." Then he turned and went out through the antechamber and leftGonzague alone.

  Gonzague rubbed his hands. "AEsop is my good genius." Then he touched abell and a servant entered, to whom he gave instructions. "Tell MadameBerthe to come with the girl who was placed in her charge to-night."

  The servant bowed and disappeared. Gonzague went to the golden doors andthrew them open. Standing in the aperture, he summoned his friends tojoin him. Instantly there was a great noise of rising revellers, ofchairs set back, of glasses set down, of fans caught up, of flutteredskirts and lifted rapiers. Men and women, the guests of Gonzague, floodedfrom the supper-room into the great hall, and under the gaze of the ThreeLouis, Oriol with his fancy, Navailles with Cidalise, Taranne, Noce, andthe others, each with his raddled Egeria of the opera-house and theballet. As they fluttered and flirted and laughed and chattered into thegreat hall, Gonzague held up his hand for a moment, as one that calls forsilence, and in a moment the revellers were silent.

  Gonzague spoke: "Friends, I have good news. Lagardere is dead."

  A wild burst of applause greeted these words. The pretty women clappedtheir hands as they would have clapped them in the theatre for some danceor song that took their fancy. The men were not less enthusiastic. Thedifference between the men and the women was that the men applaudedbecause they knew why their master was pleased; the women applaudedbecause their master was pleased without asking the reason why. The nameof Lagardere meant little or nothing to them.

  Noce spoke a short funeral oration: "The scamp has cheated the gallows."

  When the applause had died down, Gonzague spoke again: "Also I have goodsport for you. To-night you shall witness a wedding."