Gabrielle looked all about her, sustaining bravely the bold stares of the dancing-women and the evil admiration of the men. "Where is Henri de Lagardere?" she asked; and then, as only silence followed upon her question, she cried: "Ah, he must be dead, since he is not here to defend me."
Gonzague confirmed her fears: "He is dead."
Chavernay, who had kept resolutely apart from the rest of the guests, now advanced to the beautiful girl who stood there alone and friendless, save for Flora, and made her a respectful bow. "I will defend you in his name," he said, simply.
Flora clapped her hands. "Bravo, little man!" she cried.
Gonzague, with a stern gesture, motioned to Chavernay to stand back. "You presume," he said. "I offer this deluded girl protection. It is for me to see that she is properly provided for."
Gabrielle gave him a glance that pierced through his specious protestations. "You wish the daughter of Nevers to die. If you have killed Lagardere, I have no wish to live."
Gonzague answered her, urbanely: "You take the matter too seriously. You have shared an imposture. I propose to shield you from punishment. You shall tramp the highways no longer. Here is an honest gentleman ready to marry you, to forgive and to forget. Advance, Æsop."
At that command the hunchback, who had been leaning against a chair an apparently amused spectator of the not untragic scene, shambled slowly forward more ungainly than ever in his finery, his long sword swinging grotesquely against his legs.
Flora gave a cry of indignation. "Are you mad? That monster!"
The hunchback’s answer to her words was a comic bow, which made Gonzague’s friends laugh. Gabrielle looked at the laughing gentlemen, and there was something so brave, so stately in her gaze that the laughter died away.