rd the hunchback had spoken softly one
sentence to his bride. "Gabrielle," he said, "if I die here, I die as I
have lived--your lover."

And Gabrielle had answered him in the heart of her heart: "I love you, my
lover."

Now, when Navailles addressed him, the hunchback moved forward, and waved
away the little, glittering crowd of gentlemen that gathered about Master
Griveau at the table, ordering them to move. "Make space, sirs, for my
wife and me. I need elbow-room for my signature."

He advanced to the table, holding Gabrielle by the hand, and still,
though the humor of the situation had endured so long, even the
wine-flushed men and the wine-flushed women seemed almost as conscious as
Chavernay of the tragedy that underlay the humor of the play. All fell
back and left a free table for the hunchback and his bride. Master
Griveau settled himself comfortably in his seat and took up his pen.
Turning to the hunchback, he began: "Give me your names, your surnames,
your birthplaces--"

The hunchback interrupted him: "Have you signed?"

"Certainly," Master Griveau answered, something astonished at being thus
carelessly treated.

"Then, by your leave," said the hunchback, and dexterously edged the
indignant notary out of the chair. "Leave the rest to me. Back, friends,
till I finish." Pushing the chair aside, he restrained with a sweep of
his arm the advancing crowd of gentlemen eager to see the name that AEsop
would acknowledge.

While Master Griveau, with a very much offended air, edged himself into
the circle of Gonzague's friends as one that had earned the right to move
freely in such company, the hunchback began rapidly to fill in the blank
spaces on the parchment before him.

Master Griveau felt it his duty to say a few words of protest on behalf
of the slightly offended majesty of the law. "A very extraordinary
ceremony, highness."

Gonzague smiled ironically, but cared nothing for the offended majesty of
the law, so long as his own purposes were being served. "AEsop is an
extraordinary man," he said.

The hunchback, who had overheard this conversation, pointed with the
feather of the pen he had just been using to Gonzague. "You are right,
prince," he said. Then he gave the pen to Gabrielle and whispered to her,
so low that no one heard him: "Sign Gabrielle de Nevers."

The girl took the pen from his hand and signed boldly, though she signed
that signature for the first time in her young life.

The hunch