Gonzague answered: "Peyrolles is looking for him, with six of the best swords in Paris." Æsop spoke, contemptuously: "Peyrolles is a bungler. Leave it to me. I will find Lagardere for you and deal with him as he deserves before an hour has passed." Gonzague caught at his words eagerly. "You promise?" Æsop answered, proudly: "On the word of a hunchback. Before two o'clock I will bring you the news you wish for." Gonzague gave a cry of triumph. "Then ask and have your own reward." Then he turned and hurriedly left the gardens, his breast swelled with exultation. When he was out of sight, the hunchback whistled softly, and Cocardasse and Passepoil came out of the shadow of the trees. The lights were now rapidly dying out, and the gardens lay in darkness checkered by the moonlight. Lagardere turned to his friends. "She is in Gonzague's palace. We must rescue her at once." Passepoil appealed to him, pathetically: "Can you ever forgive us?" "Yes," Lagardere answered--"yes, on one condition. There is a snake in this garden. Kill him for me." Cocardasse gave a grin of appreciation. "Peyrolles it is." Even as he spoke there was a tramp of feet and a flare of light in a side alley, and Peyrolles came towards them followed by half a dozen men, each of whom carried a torch in his left hand and a naked sword in his right. Peyrolles came towards the hunchback. "Well, Æsop, we cannot find him anywhere." "That," the hunchback answered, coldly, "is because you don't know where to look." Peyrolles turned to his followers. "Seek in all directions," he said, and the men with the swords and torches dispersed in twos down the adjacent alleys. The hunchback laid his hand on Peyrolles's shoulder. "I know where to find him." Peyrolles turned in astonishment. "You do?" "I am here!" the hunchback said, sternly. He drew himself up erect and menacing, and flung back the long hair from his face. Peyrolles gave a gasp of horror as he recognized the man whom he had seen such a short while before in the presence of the king. "Lagardere!" he cried, and was about to scream for help when Cocardasse grasped him by the throat. There was a short struggle, and then Cocardasse flung the dead body of Peyrolles at the feet of Lagardere. Lagardere bent over him and spoke his epitaph: "The last of the lackeys. Now for the master." XXVI THE REWARD OF ÆSOP