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, insinuatingly: "Could I help to carry off the lady?"
Lagardere’s frown deepened. "No, thank you. I do my own love-making. Clear out and leave me alone. That is all I want of you, my friends."
Cocardasse sighed. "I’d do anything in the world to oblige you, but—" He paused and looked helplessly at his former pupil, whom his faltering speech, his hesitating manner began to anger.