eased him, even in this
form, to handle and control costly things. Precious laces extravagantly
lapped his unattractive hands. A sword with a jewelled hilt hung from his
side. The moment the new-comer saw the hunchback he hastened towards him,
but the hunchback, for his part, for all his plain habit, showed no
deference to the splendidly dressed gentleman who saluted him. He
remained in his easy, sprawling attitude, his chair still tilted back,
his thin legs still lolling on the table. The magnificent gentleman
addressed him with a certain air of condescension in his voice:

"Good-morning, AEsop. You are punctual. A merit."

AEsop, without rising or showing any deference in his manner, answered
with a scarcely veiled note of insolence in his voice: "Good-morning,
Monsieur Peyrolles. You are not punctual. A defect. Sit down."

Peyrolles, apparently somewhat dashed by the coolness of his reception,
obeyed the injunction of the hunchback and seated himself, but he still
forced the show of condescension into his manner and strove to maintain
it in his voice as he continued the conversation. "Though it's--let me
see--why, it's seventeen years since we met--I knew you at once."

AEsop grunted: "Well, I knew you at once, if it comes to that, though the
time was no shorter."

Peyrolles smiled awkwardly. "You haven't changed," he observed.

AEsop's eyes travelled with a careful and contemptuous scrutiny over the
person of his old employer. "You have. You didn't wear quite such fine
clothes when I saw you last, my friend. What luck it is to have a master
who makes a rich marriage!"

As he said these words the landlord emerged from the Inn with a tray in
his hands that bore a bottle and glasses. As he approached, AEsop swung
his legs off the table and resumed the ordinary attitude of a feaster.
The landlord placed the tray on the table, thankfully accepted AEsop's
money, and with many salutations returned to the shelter of the Inn. AEsop
filled two glasses with a shining white wine and pushed one to Peyrolles.
"Drink!" he said, gruffly.

Peyrolles waved his yellow fingers in polite refusal. "I thank you. No."

In a second AEsop had sprung to his feet angrily, and, leaning over the
table, thrust his own twisted visage close to the yellow mask in front
of him. "Damn you!" he screamed--"damn you! are you too proud to drink
with a man who has travelled all the way from Madrid on your dirty
business? Let me tell you--"

The