Gonzague thought he understood now. "True. What is your price?"
The hunchback, more bowed than ever, with his hair more than ever huddled about his face, swayed his crippled body whimsically, and when he spoke he spoke, apologetically: "I am a man of strange fancies, highness."
Gonzague was annoyed at these preliminaries to a demand, this beating about the bush for payment. "Don’t plague me with your fancies. Your price?"
The hunchback spoke, slowly, like a man who measures his words and enjoys the process of measurement: "If I killed Lagardere, it was not solely to please you. It was partly to please myself. I was jealous."
Gonzague smiled slightly. "Of his swordsmanship?"
The hunchback protested, vehemently. "No, I was his equal there. I was jealous of his luck in love."
Gonzague laughed. "Æsop in love!"
The hunchback seemed to take the laugh in good part. "Æsop is in love, and you can give him his heart’s desire. She was in Lagardere’s keeping. She is now in yours. Give her to me."
Gonzague almost reeled under the amazing impudence of the suggestion. "Gabrielle de Nevers! Madman!"
He laughed as he spoke, but the hunchback interrupted his laugh. "Wait. You have to walk over two dead women to touch the wealth of Nevers. I offer to take one woman out of your way. Do not kill Gabrielle; give her to me."