Again the applause broke forth. Oriol, his round eyes growing rounder, echoed the last words as a question: "A wedding?"

Gonzague nodded. "A wonderful wedding. The bride is a beauty, and the bridegroom is Æsop."

Navailles looked round over his companions and sighed for the absence of a choice spirit. "How Chavernay would have laughed!" he said. "I wish he were here."

"I did not invite Chavernay," Gonzague replied, coldly.

And even as he spoke the door of the antechamber opened and Chavernay made his appearance unannounced, as briskly impudent, as cheerfully self-confident as ever. He shook a finger in playful reproof at Gonzague as he advanced, wholly unimpressed by the slight frown which knitted the brows of his unexpected host. "It was most unkind of you; but another makes good your neglect, whose invitation I really had not the strength of purpose to refuse."

Gonzague’s irritation was not altogether dissipated by the coolness of his kinsman, but he judged that any show of anger was unbefitting so felicitous an occasion, so he smiled slightly as he asked: "Who invites you?"

Chavernay looked all around him, scanning the faces of the men in the brilliant group of Gonzague’s guests, as if seeking there a countenance he failed to find. Then he answered, in a tone of voice that was unusually grave for the light-hearted marquis: "Henri de Lagardere."

At the sound of that name a thrill ran through the guests, and all echoed with astonishment the name of Lagardere.

Gonzague looked at Chavernay with a pitying smile. "You come too late," he said, "if you come at the summons of such a host. Lagardere is dead."

Chavernay gave a little start of surprise, while the others, to whom the news had been good news some little while ago, but was no news at all now, laughed boisterously at his expected discomfiture. But Chavernay did not seem to be discomfited, and seemed inclined to doubt the tidings. "Dead?" he said. "Why, he wrote to me to meet him here at two o’clock."

As he spoke he drew from his breast a folded piece of paper and extended it to Gonzague, who took it with a reluctance, even with a repugnance, which he controlled because it was so clearly unreasonable. The paper contained a few words written in a bold, soldierly hand. They ran thus:

Gonzague returned the paper to Chavernay with an ironical smile. "Somebody has been hoaxing you," he said. "You will not meet Lagardere here."

Taranne consulted his watch. "It is now two o’clock," he said, and showed the dial to Chavernay, who looked puzzled, but also unconvinced.

"No one will come," said Navailles, mockingly.

At that moment Chavernay’s quick ear caught the sound of footsteps in the private passage outside, and called attention to the sound. "Some one is coming. Is it Lagardere?"

As he spoke all eyes were fixed upon the door. So firmly had the fear of Lagardere emanated from the consciousness of Gonzague to impress the hearts of his party that even then, when all present had the assurance from their leader that Lagardere was dead and done with, their conviction not unsettled, indeed, but somewhat disturbed by Chavernay’s words and Chavernay’s strange message, waited with uneasy expectation for what might happen. Then the door opened fully, and the hunchback came into the room, dressed now with a splendor of attire which seemed to contrast more grotesquely than his wonted sable with his twisted, withered figure. All present, including Gonzague, had for the moment forgotten the existence of the hunchback. All present, with the exception of Chavernay, burst into the loud laughter of relieved nerves as they beheld him.

"This is not Lagardere," said Oriol, holding his fat sides.

The hunchback laughed a mocking laugh in answer to the amusement of the company and the amazement of Chavernay. "Who speaks of Lagardere? Who remembers Lagardere? Æsop is the hero of this feast; Æsop is a gentleman to-night, with a silk coat on his back and a lace kerchief in his fingers. He woos a beauty, and the chivalry of France shall witness his triumph. Lagardere is dead! Long live Æsop, who killed him!"

The little marquis advanced towards the jesting hunchback with clinched hands and angry eyes. "Assassin!" he cried, and seemed as if he would take the hunchback by the throat, but Gonzague came between his kinsman and his servant, saying, coldly: "Whoever insults Æsop, insults me. Æsop marries the girl whom Lagardere called Gabrielle de Nevers."

Chavernay folded his arms and looked fiercely around him. "Now I know why Lagardere sent for me—to defend a helpless woman."

The hunchback drolled at him: "She will not need your championship. She will accept with joy the hunchback’s hand."

Chavernay shook his head scornfully. "That will never happen."

The hunchback answered him, coolly: "That will happen, Monsieur de Chavernay."

At that moment the door opposite to the antechamber opened, and the figure of a fair girl appeared.

"Your bride approaches," said Gonzague, and moved towards the new-comer, suddenly pausing with an angry frown as he perceived that she was not alone, for Gabrielle, very pale, but with courage in her eyes and determination on her lips, entered the room accompanied by the gypsy girl Flora. To Flora Gonzague spoke, angrily: "Why are you here? This is no place for you."

The gypsy looked at him defiantly. "This is my place," she said, "for I have found my friend, and I think she needs my friendship."

Gonzague spoke, imperiously: "Retire, Mademoiselle de Nevers!"

The gypsy girl gave him no answer, but held her ground mutinously. Gabrielle moved a little away from her friend’s side. She asserted her right firmly. "I am Gabrielle de Nevers."

Again Gonzague addressed Flora: "Mademoiselle de Nevers," he said, "have you not undeceived this unfortunate, this misguided girl?"

Flora answered him, steadily: "No, highness, for I believe her."

Gonzague began to lose his patience. He was bound, in the presence of his friends, to keep up the assumption of belief in the gentility of Flora, in her heirship to Nevers. He addressed her, harshly: "Mademoiselle de Nevers, if you are mad enough to wish to abandon your rights to an impostor, I am here to protect you, and I order you at once to retire."

Flora gave no sign of obedience, and Gabrielle spoke again: "I am Gabrielle de Nevers. Why have I been brought here?"

Gonzague turned to her, and his manner was that of a judge coolly courteous to one whom he professed to believe possibly innocent of complicity in sin: "You have been brought here because I did not wish to deliver you to the stern justice of the law. Your offence is grave, but the fault lies with your accomplice, and his alone the penalty."

Gabrielle looked all about her, sustaining bravely the bold stares of the dancing-women and the evil admiration of the men. "Where is Henri de Lagardere?" she asked; and then, as only silence followed upon her question, she cried: "Ah, he must be dead, since he is not here to defend me."

Gonzague confirmed her fears: "He is dead."

Chavernay, who had kept resolutely apart from the rest of the guests, now advanced to the beautiful girl who stood there alone and friendless, save for Flora, and made her a respectful bow. "I will defend you in his name," he said, simply.

Flora clapped her hands. "Bravo, little man!" she cried.

Gonzague, with a stern gesture, motioned to Chavernay to stand back. "You presume," he said. "I offer this deluded girl protection. It is for me to see that she is properly provided for."

Gabrielle gave him a glance that pierced through his specious protestations. "You wish the daughter of Nevers to die. If you have killed Lagardere, I have no wish to live."

Gonzague answered her, urbanely: "You take the matter too seriously. You have shared an imposture. I propose to shield you from punishment. You shall tramp the highways no longer. Here is an honest gentleman ready to marry you, to forgive and to forget. Advance, Æsop."

At that command the hunchback, who had been leaning against a chair an apparently amused spectator of the not untragic scene, shambled slowly forward more ungainly than ever in his finery, his long sword swinging grotesquely against his legs.

Flora gave a cry of indignation. "Are you mad? That monster!"

The hunchback’s answer to her words was a comic bow, which made Gonzague’s friends laugh. Gabrielle looked at the laughing gentlemen, and there was something so brave, so stately in her gaze that the laughter died away.

"Gentlemen," she said, "you bear honorable names, you wear honorable swords. Gentlemen, the daughter of Nevers appeals to you to protect her from insult."

Even Gonzague’s band, hardened by the influence of long association with their master, could not hear that appeal unmoved, though no man among them made any motion of responding to it.

Chavernay, however, rested his hand lightly upon his sword-hilt. "Rely on me," he said, boldly.

Gonzague looked at him contemptuously. "No heroics, sir. The lady is free to choose between the husband I offer and the law that chastises impostors." He turned to the hunchback, who stood near him. "I fear your love affair goes ill, Æsop."

The hunchback did not seem at all disheartened. "It will go better when I take it in hand myself. Let me speak to the lady alone."

Flora fiercely protested: "No, no, no!"

But Gonzague turned to her with a look so menacing that even her courage quailed before it. "For your friend’s sake, be quiet, Mademoiselle de Nevers," he said. Taking Flora by the hand, he drew her, partly by main force and partly by strength of his dominating influence, away from Gabrielle. Then he turned to his friends. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "our good Æsop desires to speak to the lady of his love in private. We are all, I am sure, too sympathetic with his amorous ambition to interfere with his wishes. Let him ply his wooing untroubled. Stand apart, please, and give Æsop a fair field."

Wondering, laughing, whispering, Gonzague’s guests drew back and ranged themselves against the golden doors, and Gabrielle was left standing alone in the middle of the room. The hunchback caught up a chair and carried it to where she stood, making a gesture which requested her to be seated.

Gabrielle looked at him scornfully. "I have nothing to say to you. I trust to the justice of France."

The hunchback spoke to her in a low voice, so evenly calculated that every syllable of what he said was clear to the girl’s ears, though no syllable reached the others: "Do not start; do not show surprise."

Gabrielle had the strength of spirit to control the wonder, the joy, the hope at the sound of the loved voice thus brought her so suddenly; but she trembled, and her strength seemed to fail her. She sank into the chair which the hunchback had offered her. "My God!" she murmured, and then said no more, but sat with clasped hands and rigid face.

The hunchback spoke again, in the same low, measured tones: "Seem to listen against your will. A sign may betray us both."

"Henri!" Gabrielle murmured.

The hunchback went on: "Seem as if you were enchanted at my words, by my gestures. They are watching us."

Now the hunchback walked slowly in a circle round the chair on which Gabrielle was seated, making as he did so fantastic gestures with his hands over her head—gestures which suggested to the amazed spectators some wizard busy with his horrid incantations.

Taranne nudged Oriol. "She listens."

"She seems pleased," Oriol answered.

Chavernay muttered, angrily: "This must be witch-craft."

NocÉ, leaning forward a little, called to the hunchback: "How speeds your suit?"

The hunchback paused for a moment in his round to make a motion for silence. "Famously, gentlemen, famously. But you must not disturb my incantations."

Navailles touched NocÉ on the shoulder. "Let the dog have his day."

The hunchback was again at the side of Gabrielle, still indulging in extravagant antics of gesticulation, speaking softly the while. "Gabrielle, they think me dead, but I live and hope to save you. But we face danger, dear, but we face death, and must be wary. Will you do whatever I tell you to do?"

"Yes," Gabrielle answered.

The hunchback went on: "God knows how this night will end. I have told them that I can make you love me."

Almost Gabrielle smiled. "You have told them the truth."

The hunchback continued: "I have told them that I can persuade you to marry me."

Gabrielle said again: "You have told them the truth."

The hunchback sighed. He was still cutting his strange capers, waving his extended fingers over the girl’s head and making grotesque genuflections, but he spoke, and his voice was full of passion and his voice was full of pain as he whispered: "Gabrielle, Gabrielle, I have always loved you, shall always love you. But you must not love me, that would never do. Nevers’s daughter cannot, may not, love the soldier of fortune."

"Yet you ask me to marry you?" Gabrielle said.

The hunchback answered: "To save you from Gonzague. You would have died to-night but for this mad plan of mine. Once you are safe, you can easily be set free from me."

There was that in Gabrielle’s eyes which the hunchback could not see. There was that in Gabrielle’s heart which the hunchback could not read. Gabrielle appreciated the nobility of the man who was trying to save her, but Gabrielle also understood the strength of her own love and her own determination, but she showed nothing of this in her words. All she said was: "Well, I am not safe yet. What do you want me to do?"

The hunchback instructed her. "Just say yes to the questions I shall ask you now aloud. Speak as if you were in a dream."

He drew back now a little from the girl, and turned triumphantly to the others, with the air of one who has accomplished a very difficult task. Then he approached Gabrielle again.

"Do you love me?" he asked, in a clear voice which carried to all parts of the room.

And the girl, looking straight before her like one that spoke in a trance, answered, clearly: "I love you with all my heart, for ever and ever and ever."

Gonzague, who had been watching the proceedings with cynical curiosity, was the most amazed of the amazed spectators. "Here is a miracle."

"I’ll not believe it," Chavernay protested.

The hunchback made an angry gesture to command silence. "Hush!" he said, and then again addressed the girl: "Will you be my wife?"

Gabrielle answered as clearly as before: "I will be your wife gladly. In joy and in sorrow, I will be your wife so long as I live."

The hunchback turned triumphantly to the company. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, you see that my suit prospers. The poor hunchback was no boaster."

Flora, seated near to Gonzague, and conquered by his domination and by the horror of the scene, covered her face with her hands and shuddered. "It’s too horrible," she moaned.

The hunchback nodded to her ironically. "You are severe," he said, dryly. Then he turned to Gonzague. "There is a friend of mine at the door," he said. "May I introduce him?"

Gonzague nodded, and the hunchback advanced to the door of the antechamber.

Chavernay looked after him with haggard eyes. "What spell has the devil got?" he muttered.

Gonzague shrugged his shoulders. "I am amazed; but the knave has my faith, and, if the lady’s taste limps, shall we say her nay?"