man's attitude of menace, the man's violent words, clearly alarmed
Monsieur Peyrolles, who interrupted him nervously with a voice quavering
with protestation: "No, no, you need not. Of course, not too proud.
Delighted."

AEsop dropped into his seat again. "That's better. Your health." He lifted
the glass to his lips as he spoke and slowly drained it. There was no
sound of solicitation for his companion's welfare in his words, there was
no expression of pleasure on his face as he did so. He took the good wine
as he took all bright and kindly things, sourly.

Peyrolles hastened to follow the example of his pledge. "Your health," he
said, and sipped diffidently at the wine, and then, finding it agreeable,
finished it.

There was a little pause, and then AEsop spoke again.

"Seventeen years," he murmured, with a chuckle--"seventeen years since we
last met, on the morning, as I remember, after the little mishap in the
moat of Caylus."

Peyrolles shivered, and seemed uneasy. AEsop paid no heed to his evident
discomfort.

"What a wild-goose chase you sent us all on, I and Staupitz and the
others--flying into Spain to find Lagardere and the child. The others
hunted for him, as I suppose you know, with the results which, also, I
suppose you know."

Peyrolles nodded feebly. His yellow face was several tinges yellower, his
teeth seemed to threaten to chatter, and he looked very unhappy. His
voice was grave as he spoke: "Those who did find him were not fortunate."
AEsop laughed.

"They were fools," he asserted. "Well, for my part, I said to myself that
the wise course for me to follow was not to waste my strength, my energy,
and my breath in chasing Lagardere all over a peninsula, but to wait
quietly for Lagardere to come to me. Madrid, I reasoned, is the centre of
Spain; everyone in Spain comes to Madrid sooner or later; _ergo_, sooner
or later Lagardere will come to Madrid."

"Well, did he?" Peyrolles asked, forcing himself to give tongue, and
eying the hunchback dubiously. He found AEsop too humorous for his fancy.
AEsop grinned like a monkey whose nuts have been filched.

"No," he said--"no, not as yet, to my knowledge, or he would be dead. But
I have a conviction that our paths will cross one day, and when that day
comes you may be sorry for Lagardere if your heart is inclined to be
pitiful."

The unpleasant expression on Monsieur Peyrolles's face whenever the name
of Lagardere was mentioned now deepened sufficie