go, as if the affair were
settled.

But Cocardasse arrested him. "Who is the gentleman we accost politely?"
he asked, very blandly, but behind this blandness of Cocardasse's there
was something menacing to those that knew him well.

Peyrolles eyed the huge Gascon disdainfully. "That does not concern you,"
he said, sharply.

But the Gascon was not in the least abashed, and, while he grinned at the
would-be great man with an air of veiled insolence that was excessively
exasperating to Monsieur Peyrolles, he questioned again: "Who is our
employer?"

Again Peyrolles retorted: "That does not concern you."

And again Cocardasse persisted: "It might concern us very much if we
chanced to believe that our quarry is Louis de Nevers, and if we got it
somehow or other into our heads that our employer is Louis de Gonzague."

As Cocardasse spoke these words, Peyrolles, now thoroughly alarmed and
irritated, gave Cocardasse a glance that ought to have withered him, but
Cocardasse was not withered, and smiled banteringly at his employer.

"Fellow," Peyrolles said, "you are inquisitive." As he spoke he flapped
his kerchief reprovingly at the bravo, whose dilated nostrils greedily
drank the delicate odors it discharged, and he again made as if to
depart, and again Cocardasse delayed him, still with the same
exasperating show of exuberant politeness.

"When it is a matter of our skins," he said, "I think we have a right to
be inquisitive, and I think we had better have a little chat, Monsieur
Peyrolles."

As he spoke he made a noble flourish of his right arm that was distinctly
an invitation to Peyrolles to seat himself in their company, and
Passepoil, rising with an air of great urbanity, placed a stool before
Peyrolles.

"Pray be seated," he urged, suavely, blinking his pink eyelids and
manifesting a deferential fear of the great man that he was very far
indeed from feeling.

Peyrolles looked about him half angrily, half frightened. He would have
been glad to make his escape from that accursed chamber, but he had
astuteness enough to see that there was no escape for him. Cocardasse had
somehow or other managed to get between him and the door, and the other
ruffians seemed to be entirely in sympathy with the Gascon's conduct, and
to have no regard whatever for Peyrolles's dignity or feelings.

With a smile that he intended to be amiable, Peyrolles sat down.

"Well," he said, with an air of one that swallows sour wine, "wha