He turned to the picture of Louis de Gonzague, and he thought of his speech in the moat of Caylus with the masked shadow, and of the sudden murder of Nevers, and of his own assault upon the murderer, and how he set his mark 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 Æsop! 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. "Æsop, 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." Well at ease now, and more than ever in the mood for joyous company, Gonzague turned to re-enter the supper-room, but the hunchback clawed at him and brought him to a halt. Gonzague stared at his follower in a bewilderment which the hunchback proceeded partially to enlighten. "You have forgotten something."