ulness of their presence
instantly changed. He looked up sharply, glancing right and left, and
AEsop and Staupitz fell back in confusion, while Lagardere spoke to them,
mocking them: "You will dub me eccentric; you will nickname me whimsical;
you will damn me for a finicking stickler, and all because I am such an
old-fashioned rascal as to wish to keep my correspondence to myself.
There, there, don't be crestfallen. This letter makes me so merry that
you shall share its treasure. But, first, fill and drink with me, a noble
toast."

To suggest drinking was to forge a link between the bravos and the man
who down-faced them so masterfully. The big jug seemed to jump from hand
to hand, every mug was full in a twinkling, and every face was fixed
steadfastly on Lagardere, waiting for his words. Lagardere lifted his
brimming beaker with a voice of joyous mockery that carried at once
defiance and respect to a distant man. "The health of Louis of Nevers!"
he said, and drained his green wine as cheerfully as if it had been the
elixir of the gods.

At his words blank astonishment spread over the faces of the Gascon and
the Norman. "He said 'Nevers,'" Cocardasse whispered to Passepoil, and
Passepoil whispered back, "He did." As for the other bravos, they had
been as much surprised as Cocardasse and Passepoil by Lagardere's
request, but they managed to conceal their surprise by lifting their
mugs, and now as they nodded and winked to one another, they tilted their
vessels and drank, shouting, "The health of Louis de Nevers!"

Cocardasse came nearer to Lagardere, and said in a voice that was almost
a whisper, "Why do you drink the health of Louis de Nevers?"

Lagardere looked for a moment annoyed at the presumption of Cocardasse in
questioning him, then the annoyance gave place to his familiar air of
tolerant amusement. "I don't love questions, but you have a kind of right
to query." He turned to the others. "You must know, sirs, that this pair
of rapiers were my fairy godfathers in the noble art of fence."

The Norman looked at Lagardere with a very loving expression. "You were a
sad little rag of humanity when first you came to our fencing-academy."

"You are right there," said Lagardere. "I was the poorest, hungriest
scrap of mankind in all Paris. I had neither kin nor friends nor pence,
nothing but a stout heart and a sense of humor. That is why I came to
your academy, old rogues."

Cocardasse was reminiscent. "Faith, you