"A hunchback?" repeated Olivier, greatly surprised.
"Yes, a hunchback, as quick-witted and determined as his satanic majesty himself,—stiff as an iron bar to those whom he dislikes and despises, but full of affection and devotion to those whom he honours—though such persons, I am forced to admit, are rare—and never making the slightest attempt to conceal from any individual the liking or aversion he or she inspires."
"It is fortunate for him that his infirmity gives him this privilege of plain speaking," remarked the commander. "But for that, your hunchback would be likely to have a hard time of it."
"His infirmity?" said Gerald, laughing. "Though a hunchback, the Marquis de Maillefort is, I assure you—"
"He is a marquis?" interrupted Olivier.
"Yes, a marquis, and an aristocrat of the old school. He is a scion of the ducal house of Haut-martel, the head of which has resided in Germany since 1830. But though he is a hunchback, M. de Maillefort, as I was about to remark before, is as alert and vigorous as any young man, in spite of his forty-five years. And, by the way, you and I consider ourselves pretty good swordsmen, do we not?"
"Well, yes."
"Very well; the marquis could touch us eight times out of twelve. He rivals the incomparable Bertrand. His movements are as light as a bird's, and as swift as lightning itself."
"This brave little hunchback interests me very much," said the veteran. "If he has fought any duels his adversaries must have cut strange figures."
"The marquis has fought several duels, in all of which he evinced the greatest coolness and courage, at least so my father, who was a personal friend of the marquis, once told me."