the Castle of Caylus where we might settle our
little difference. Oh, the words were solemnly couched, but I swear to
you that I laughed heartily when I wrote them."

Lagardere laughed again in memory of that former mirth as he made an end
of speaking. Cocardasse scratched an ear and glanced at Passepoil.
Passepoil scratched an ear and glanced at Cocardasse. The rest of the
bravos stared with a sullen curiosity at Lagardere, who paid no heed to
their gaze.

"Why did you laugh?" Cocardasse asked, after a short pause.

Lagardere answered him affably: "Because I knew that my allusion to
Caylus would fret my excellent enemy. There is, it seems, a beauty hidden
in that gloomy castle, Gabrielle de Caylus, whom my duke adores in spite
of the ancient feud between the two houses of Caylus and Nevers. It
should please him to fight under the eyes of his lady love, whom I can
console if I win."

The idea seemed to please Lagardere, for he again began to laugh softly
to himself after he had finished speaking. But Cocardasse did not seem to
think it was a laughing matter, for his voice was almost solemn as he
asked: "Did you speak of the lady in your letter to Nevers?"

Lagardere interrupted his mirth to reply: "Of course. The situation is so
humorous. I suggested playfully that there was a lovely princess
imprisoned in the castle of a wicked old ogre named Caylus, and I hinted
that if things turned out as I hoped, I might be fortunate enough to
carry solace and freedom to the captive damsel." He paused for a moment
and then asked in wonder: "Why do you pull such long faces?"

For, indeed, the faces of the swashbucklers were almost funereal in their
solemnity. Passepoil, relying upon his Norman cunning, took it upon
himself to explain a ticklish situation. "It is lucky we are here to
help you," he said, knowingly.

Lagardere's laughter became more pronounced. "To help me?" he cried, and
he shook with amusement at the absurdity of the words.

Passepoil insisted: "It's no laughing matter. Nevers is the lady's
husband."

He spoke with a portentous solemnity against which Lagardere protested,
laughing louder than before. "On the contrary, it is more laughable than
ever. A secret marriage. A romance. Perhaps I shall have to soothe a
widow when I hoped to woo a maid."

"Better have a sword or two to back you," Cocardasse suggested,
cunningly.

Lagardere frowned. "No, thank you. I do my own fighting."

Passepoil whispered, in