For a little longer the noise and revelry continued, until the moment came when the king’s hospitality, offering supper to his wearied guests, emptied the gardens of many of their frequenters. Inside his tent the sovereign was supping with his friends. By his side sat the Princess de Gonzague, who neither ate nor drank, but waited with an aching heart for midnight. At a quarter to twelve Bonnivet entered the tent and advanced towards the king.

"Sire," he said, "there is a gentleman here who insists on immediate speech with you. He says you have appointed this time and place to meet him."

Louis turned to the Princess de Gonzague, whose pale face had suddenly flushed. "It is he," he said; and then turned to Bonnivet. "Introduce the gentleman."

Bonnivet went to the entrance of the tent, and a moment later Lagardere entered. He was wearing his old white coat of the Royal Light-Horse, and he advanced composedly, with head erect, towards the king.

"I am here," he said, as he saluted the duke, and all present gazed on him with curiosity. Only three knew who he was or why he was there.

Gonzague muttered to himself: "Now for the death-struggle."

The king looked at his visitor. "Who are you?" he asked.

And Lagardere answered: "I am Henri de Lagardere."

At that moment Peyrolles, privileged as his master’s henchman, entered the tent and made his way to Gonzague’s side. "All is well," he whispered. "We have got the girl, and the papers are upon her."

The king was addressing Lagardere. "You are here at our pleasure—free to come, free to go, free to speak."

Lagardere answered, firmly: "I mean to speak."

The princess turned to him. "Will you give me back my daughter?"

Lagardere made her a bow. "In a few moments she will be in your arms."

At this moment Gonzague rose and interrupted. "Sire," he said, "I can tell you something of this man."

Lagardere glanced scornfully at Gonzague. "Sire," he said, "I can tell you something of this man." He advanced towards Gonzague and addressed him in a low tone: "On that September night I told you that if you did not come to Lagardere, Lagardere would come to you. You did not come. I am here." Then he turned to the princess. "Madame, here, as in the moat of Caylus Castle; here, as by the picture in your palace, I am wholly in your service."

Gonzague turned to the king with an appealing gesture. "I implore your majesty to let no one leave this place. If Monsieur de Lagardere is desirous of darkness and mystery, I ask only for light and truth."

The king spoke, decisively: "If the attack has been secret, the justification shall be public."

Gonzague addressed Lagardere: "Where is the woman who calls herself the daughter of Louis de Nevers?"

The king also questioned: "Why is she not with you?"

Lagardere answered, composedly: "Mademoiselle de Nevers will be here at midnight, and will herself present to your Royal Highness the papers that prove her birth."

"What papers?" asked the king.

And Lagardere answered: "The pages torn from the parish register by her mother, and confided to me in the moat of Caylus Castle."

The princess leaned forward. "What do you say?" she asked, eagerly, and the king echoed her question.

Lagardere replied: "The princess gave those papers to me when she placed her child in my arms, believing that I was her husband, Louis de Nevers."

Gonzague questioned, with a sneer: "Why should she think you were her husband?"

Lagardere looked him full in the face. "Because, thanks to you, I gave the signal agreed upon—her husband’s motto, ’I am here.’"

The princess clasped her hands. "My God, sire, it is true."

"And these papers are in your hands?" the king asked.

Lagardere answered, quietly: "They are in the hands of Mademoiselle de Nevers."

Gonzague looked triumphantly from Lagardere to the king. "Then why is this pretended Mademoiselle de Nevers not here?"

Lagardere replied, composedly: "She is to be here at midnight."

Gonzague looked at his watch. "It is midnight now—she is not here. Your majesty sees the worth of this man’s word."

Louis gazed curiously at Lagardere, whose bearing, in spite of the king’s prejudices as a friend of Gonzague, impressed him as that of an honest man. "Had you not better send for this lady?" he questioned.

On Lagardere’s face now some anxiety was depicted, and he answered, anxiously: "She will be here; she must be here. Ah!"

In the excitement consequent upon the extraordinary scene that was passing in the king’s presence, the attention of all the guests was riveted upon their host and upon the amazing altercation between Louis of Gonzague and the unknown adventurer, and the entrance of the tent was left unheeded and unguarded. At this moment the curtains were parted, and the figure of Cocardasse appeared for a moment in the opening. As Lagardere saw him, Cocardasse lifted his glove in the air and let it fall to the ground. Then, in a moment, he had vanished before any one had noticed the episode.

Lagardere gave a sharp cry of pain as he turned to the princess. "Madame, your child is not here; your child must be in danger!" he cried.

The princess clasped her hands as she cried: "My child! My child!"

Gonzague pointed mockingly at Lagardere. "The impostor is already exposed!" he cried, exultingly.

Lagardere turned towards him, fiercely. "Liar! assassin!" he cried, and advanced towards Gonzague, but was stopped by Bonnivet.

The king looked at him sternly. "Sir, you have made charges you could not prove, promises you could not keep. You shall answer for this before your judges."

Bonnivet made as if to arrest Lagardere, but Lagardere held up his hand. "Stop!" he cried; "let no man dare to touch me. I have here your majesty’s safe-conduct, signed and sealed—’free to come, free to go’—that was your promise, sire."

Gonzague protested. "A promise won by a trick does not count."

The king shook his head. "I have given my word. The man has forty-eight hours to cross the frontier."

Lagardere bowed to the king. "I thank you, sire. You are a true and honorable gentleman. But, sire, I give you back your word." As he spoke he tore the safe-conduct in two and flung it at his feet. "I ask but four-and-twenty hours to unmask the villain who now triumphs over truth and justice, and to give back a daughter to her mother. Nevers shall be avenged! Make way for me!"

As he spoke he turned upon his heel and passed rapidly from the king’s presence, the amazed and bewildered guests giving ground before him as he passed. Instantly Gonzague turned and whispered to Peyrolles: "He must not leave this place alive."

And Peyrolles answered, confidently: "He shall not. Every gate is guarded by my spies."

The king rose gravely and addressed the assembly. "Let us disperse, friends. What we have seen and heard leaves us in little mood for merrymaking." Then he gave his hand to the now weeping princess, and, followed by his immediate escort, quitted the tent. It was soon deserted; it was soon empty. The king departed in the direction of his palace. News that the ball was ended spread rapidly, and in a short while the gardens that had been so thronged and brilliant became deserted and desolate. The departing guests found that every exit was guarded by soldiers, and that their faces were carefully scanned before they were suffered to leave the precincts of the Palais Royal.

Gonzague remained alone in the solitude by the Fountain of Diana, waiting for Peyrolles, who presently joined him.

"Well?" Gonzague asked, anxiously.

Peyrolles looked disappointed. "He has not left by any of the gates. He must be hiding in the gardens."

Gonzague commanded, sharply: "Bid your men seek till they find, and kill when they find."

Peyrolles bowed. "Yes, your excellency," he said, and disappeared down one of the silent alleys. As he departed, the hunchback emerged from the shadow of a tree and approached Gonzague noiselessly. Gonzague started a little as he suddenly became aware of the hunchback’s presence.

The hunchback bowed. "Is your highness content with the night’s work?"

"So far, yes," Gonzague replied. "We have got the girl and got the papers safe in my palace."

"Ah! And Lagardere?" the hunchback asked.

Gonzague answered: "Peyrolles is looking for him, with six of the best swords in Paris."

Æsop spoke, contemptuously: "Peyrolles is a bungler. Leave it to me. I will find Lagardere for you and deal with him as he deserves before an hour has passed."

Gonzague caught at his words eagerly. "You promise?"

Æsop answered, proudly: "On the word of a hunchback. Before two o’clock I will bring you the news you wish for."

Gonzague gave a cry of triumph. "Then ask and have your own reward." Then he turned and hurriedly left the gardens, his breast swelled with exultation. When he was out of sight, the hunchback whistled softly, and Cocardasse and Passepoil came out of the shadow of the trees. The lights were now rapidly dying out, and the gardens lay in darkness checkered by the moonlight.

Lagardere turned to his friends. "She is in Gonzague’s palace. We must rescue her at once."

Passepoil appealed to him, pathetically: "Can you ever forgive us?"

"Yes," Lagardere answered—"yes, on one condition. There is a snake in this garden. Kill him for me."

Cocardasse gave a grin of appreciation. "Peyrolles it is."

Even as he spoke there was a tramp of feet and a flare of light in a side alley, and Peyrolles came towards them followed by half a dozen men, each of whom carried a torch in his left hand and a naked sword in his right. Peyrolles came towards the hunchback.

"Well, Æsop, we cannot find him anywhere."

"That," the hunchback answered, coldly, "is because you don’t know where to look."

Peyrolles turned to his followers. "Seek in all directions," he said, and the men with the swords and torches dispersed in twos down the adjacent alleys.

The hunchback laid his hand on Peyrolles’s shoulder. "I know where to find him."

Peyrolles turned in astonishment. "You do?"

"I am here!" the hunchback said, sternly. He drew himself up erect and menacing, and flung back the long hair from his face. Peyrolles gave a gasp of horror as he recognized the man whom he had seen such a short while before in the presence of the king.

"Lagardere!" he cried, and was about to scream for help when Cocardasse grasped him by the throat. There was a short struggle, and then Cocardasse flung the dead body of Peyrolles at the feet of Lagardere.

Lagardere bent over him and spoke his epitaph: "The last of the lackeys. Now for the master."