upon his wrist. The expression on Lagardere's face was cold
and grave and fatal as he studied this picture. If Gonzague could have
seen his face just then he would not have made so merry beyond the folded
doors.

Lagardere turned to the third Louis, the then solemn, the then pale,
Louis of France, and gave him a military salute. "Monseigneur," he
murmured, "you are an honest man and a fine gentleman, and I trust you
cheerfully for my judge to-night." Turning, he advanced to the doors that
shut him off from the noisy folk at supper, and listened for a moment,
with his head against the woodwork, to the revelry beyond, an ironical
smile on his face. Then, as one who recalls himself abruptly to work that
has to be done, he who had been standing straight when he contemplated
the images now stooped again into the crippled form of the hunchback and
shook his hair about his face. Raising his hand, he tapped thrice on a
panel of the doors, then moved slowly down to the centre of the hall. A
moment 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?" he
cried.

The hunchback made a gesture of reassurance. "Sleep in peace. I have
settled 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 you
soon."

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

"AEsop, there is no doubt that Lagardere's girl is Nevers's daughter. She
has his features, his eyes, his hair. Her mother would recognize her in a
moment 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's
daughter is not destined to live long."

We