were frothing within
him when he realized that the earthquake, the whirlwind, the cataclysm
that had tumbled him and his companions about like so many nine-pins was
no other and no more than the slim and pleasant young gentleman who
stood there so composedly. While the bewildered ruffians were picking
themselves up, and with some little difficulty recovering their breath,
the young gentleman addressed them mockingly: "Are there quite enough of
you to manage this adversary?" And as he spoke he pointed to the little
page who was huddled at his feet.

AEsop was the first of the bravos to recover his troubled senses and to
seek to retaliate upon his assailant. He whipped his long rapier from its
sheath, and was making for the intruder when Cocardasse flung his strong
arms around the hunchback and restrained him. "Be easy," he cried; "it is
the little Parisian!" And at the same moment Passepoil, with the gesture
of one who salutes in a fencing-school, exclaimed the name "Lagardere."

As for the other ruffians, they gathered together sulkily enough about
the table, staring at the stranger. His face was familiar to all of them,
and there was not one among them bold enough to follow the example of
AEsop. Lagardere, who had taken no notice of the threatened attack of the
hunchback, surveyed the group, and, glancing from them, addressed himself
to Cocardasse and Passepoil.

"Why, my old masters," he asked, drolling them, "what are you doing in
this desperate adventure? You ought to be careful. The boy might have
hurt you." His eyes turned from the Gascon and the Norman back again to
the fellows at the table. "Some of these scarecrows seem familiar." His
glance rested on Staupitz, and he questioned him: "Where have we met?"

Staupitz saluted Lagardere very respectfully as he answered: "At Lyons."

Lagardere seemed to search his memory and to find what he sought. "True.
You touched me once."

Staupitz made an apologetic gesture. "Only once in twelve times."

Lagardere turned to Saldagno, Pepe, and Pinto. "Ah, my bandits of Madrid,
who tried me, three to one."

Saldagno was more apologetic than Staupitz, with a Latin profusion of
gesture, as he explained: "That was for a wager, captain."

Lagardere shrugged his shoulders. "Which you did not win." He turned to
Joel de Jurgan. "Does your head still carry my cut?"

The Breton lifted a large hand to his bullet head and fumbled through the
thick hair for a familiar spot. "There