Chapter X: Part 10

Lauriane arrived, riding a beautiful little white horse which her father had trained for her, and which she managed with remarkable grace.

Thanks to her mourning, which the fashion of that day permitted to be white, she, too, was dressed _à la paysanne_, with a habit of fine white broadcloth, a waist with stripes of silver lace, and a light lace handkerchief over the inevitable widow's cap.

"Well, well!" cried the downright De Beuvre, when he saw the marquis's costume, "so you have already assumed your lady's colors, my dear son-in-law?"

His daughter succeeded in making him hold his peace before the servants; but, when they were in the salon, despite the promise he had made her to refrain from all jesting on the subject, he could not contain himself, and asked with deep interest when the wedding was to be.

Instead of being annoyed or embarrassed, the marquis was exceedingly pleased at this opening, and requested a secret interview touching a matter of great gravity.

The valets were dismissed, the doors closed, and Bois-Doré, kneeling at dear little Lauriane's feet, addressed her in these terms:

"Queen of youth and beauty, you see at your feet a loyal servant whom a most momentous event has filled with pleasure and embarrassment, with joy and grief, with hope and fear. When, two days since, I offered my heart, my name and my fortune to the most amiable of nymphs, I deemed myself unfettered by any other duty or attachment. But----"

Here the marquis was interrupted.

"Gadzooks! monsieur my son-in-law," cried De Beuvre, affecting violent indignation and rolling his eyes fiercely, "you make sport of us, do you, and think that I am a man to allow you to retract your word after you have transfixed my poor child's heart with the deadly shaft of love?"

"Oh! hush, pray, my dear father!" said Lauriane, smilingly and sweetly; "you compromise me. Luckily I can be certain that the marquis will not believe me to be so capricious that, after I have asked him for seven years for reflection, I can be already so eager to summon him to keep his word."

"Allow me to speak," said the marquis, taking Lauriane's hand in his. "I know, my sovereign, that you have no love in your heart, and it is that which gives me the courage to crave your pardon. And do you, my dear neighbor, laugh with all your strength, for there is abundant occasion. And I will laugh with you to-day, although yesterday I shed many tears."

"Really, my good neighbor?" said honest De Beuvre, taking his other hand. "If you are speaking as seriously as you seem to be, I will laugh no more. Have you any trouble of which we can assist to relieve you?"

"Tell us, my dear Celadon," added Lauriane, affectionately, "tell us your sorrows!"

"My sorrows are dispelled, and, if you allow me to retain your friendship, I am the most fortunate of men. Listen, my friends," he said, rising with some effort. "The day before yesterday you heard a prophecy made by people who were not really sorcerers: 'Within three days, three weeks, or three months, you will be a father?'"

"Even so," said De Beuvre, recurring to his jesting humor; "do you believe that the prophecy will be fulfilled?"

"It is fulfilled, my good neighbor. I am a father, and it is no longer for myself that I ask, from you and the divine Lauriane, seven years of hope and sincere affection: but for my heir, my only son, for----"

At that moment the folding-doors were thrown open, and Adamas, arrayed in state, announced in a ringing voice and with an air of triumph:

"Monsieur le Comte Mario de Bois-Doré!"

Everybody was surprised; for the marquis did not expect his son to appear so soon, and he did not know what sort of costume they would succeed in arranging for him.

What was his joy when he saw that Mario also was dressed _à la paysanne_, that is to say in a costume exactly similar in material and cut to that which he himself wore; the satin doublet with innumerable little slashes on the arms; the _colletin sans ailerons_, or shoulder cape without flowing sleeves, of white velvet slashed with silver; the full trunk hose, four ells in width, gathered below the knee, fastened with pearl buttons, and open a little at the side to show the rose-shaped buckle of the garter; silk-stockings, and shoes _à pont-levis_, fastened with buckles in the shape of roses; the ruff _à confusion_, that is to say of several rows of unequal size, with tucks of varied patterns; the plumed hat, diamonds everywhere, a little baldric all studded with pearls, and a tiny rapier which was a veritable chef-d'œuvre!

Adamas had passed the night selecting, planning, cutting and fitting; the morning in trying on. The skilful Moor and four other women had risen before daylight and sewed for their lives. Clindor had ridden ten leagues to procure the hat and the shoes. Adamas had arranged feathers and decorations and ornaments; and the costume, which was in most excellent taste, well cut and substantial enough to last several days without being made over, was a wonderful success.

Mario, beribboned and perfumed like the marquis, with his naturally curly hair, and over his left ear a rosette of white ribbons with a huge diamond in the centre and silver lace below, came forward with much grace. He was no more awkward than if he had been brought up as a gentleman. He wore his rapier gracefully, and his appealing beauty was heightened by all that white, which gave him the aspect of an innocent maiden.

Lauriane and her father were so thunderstruck by his face and his bearing, that they rose spontaneously as if to receive a king's son.

But there was more to come. Adamas, while coaching his young lord, had tried to teach him a complimentary speech, taken from _Astrée_, for Lauriane. To learn a few sentences by heart was a small matter to the intelligent Mario.

"Madame," he said, with a fascinating smile, "it is impossible to see you without loving you, but even more impossible to love you without loving you beyond words. Allow me to kiss your lovely hands thousands of times, which number will fall far below the number of deaths which your denial of this petition will inflict upon me."

Mario paused. He had learned very rapidly, without reflecting or understanding. The meaning of the words he was repeating suddenly struck him as very comical; for he was in no wise inclined to suffer so terribly if Lauriane refused to receive the thousands of kisses which he was not particularly desirous to give her. He was sorely tempted to laugh, and he glanced at the young lady, who had a similar desire, and who offered him both hands with a playful and sympathetic air.

He cast etiquette to the winds, and following the impulse of his natural trustfulness, threw his arms around her neck and kissed her on both cheeks, saying out of his own head:

"Bonjour, madame; I beg you to like me, for I think you are a lovely lady, and I love you dearly already."

"Forgive him," said the marquis, "he is a child of nature."

"That is why he attracts me," Lauriane replied, "and I waive all ceremony."

"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed De Beuvre, "what does this mean, neighbor, this pretty boy? If he is yours, I congratulate you: but I would not have believed----"

Guillaume d'Ars was here announced, with Louis de Villemort and one of the young Chabannes, who had called upon him in the morning, and to whom he had told the tale of the miraculous recovery of Florimond's son.

"Is this he?" cried D'Ars, as he entered the room and gazed at Mario. "Yes, it is my little gypsy. But how pretty he is now, mon Dieu! and how happy you should be, my cousin! _Tudieu_, my gentleman," he said to the child, "what a fine sword you have there, and what a gallant costume! You wish to put your friends and neighbors to the blush! You outdo us entirely, that is clear, and we cut no figure at all beside you. Come, tell us your pet name, and let us become acquainted; for we are kinsmen, by your leave, and it may be that I can serve you in some thing, were it only to teach you to ride!"

"Oh! I know how," said Mario. "I have ridden _Squilindre_!"

"The big carriage horse? Tell me, my boy, did you find his trot comfortable?"

"Not very," said Mario, laughing.

And he began to play and chatter with Guillaume and his friends.

"Come," said De Beuvre, leading Bois-Doré aside, "let me into the secret, for I am wholly in the dark. You are gulling us, my dear neighbor! you did not engender that noble boy! He is too young for that. Is he an adopted child?"

"He is my own nephew," Bois-Doré replied; "he is the son of my dear Florimond, whom you also loved, my neighbor!"

And he told Mario's story before them all, producing the evidence in support of its truth, but without mentioning the name of D'Alvimar or Villareal, and without hinting that he had discovered his brother's assassins.

XXXVI

In face of the letters, the ring and the seal, it was impossible to treat this romantic adventure as a fable.

Everybody showered attentions on pretty Mario, who, by his ingenuous nature, his affectionate manner and his fearless glance, won every heart spontaneously and irresistibly.

"So you are no longer betrothed to our old neighbor," said De Beuvre to his daughter, leading her apart, "but to his brat; for that seems to be the scheme he has in mind now."

"God grant it, father!" replied Lauriane, "and if he recurs to the subject, I beg you to do as I shall,--pretend to assent to that arrangement, which the dear man is quite capable of taking seriously."

"He took it seriously enough when he sued in his own behalf!" rejoined De Beuvre. "The difference in age between you and this little fellow is reckoned by years, whereas, between the marquis and you, it can properly be reckoned by fourths of a century. No matter! I see that the dear man has lost all idea of time with respect to other people as well as himself; but here he comes; I am going to stir him up a little."

Bois-Doré, being called upon by De Beuvre to explain, declared most solemnly that he had but one word, and that, having pledged his liberty and his faith to Lauriane, he considered himself her slave, unless she gave him back his promise.

"I give it back to you, dear Celadon!" cried Lauriane.

But her father interposed. He chose to tease her also.

"No, no, my child; this concerns the honor of the family, and your father is not in the habit of allowing himself to be hoodwinked! I see plainly enough that your whimsical and imaginative Celadon has conceived a paternal affection for this handsome nephew, and that he is quite content to be a father without having to take the trouble to be a husband. Moreover, I see that he has taken it into his head to bequeath his property to him, without regard to his future children; that is something which I will not permit, and which it is your duty to prevent by calling upon him to redeem his plighted word."

Monsieur de Beuvre spoke with such a serious face that the marquis was deceived for an instant.

"I can but believe," he thought, "that my good fortune rejuvenates me much, and that my neighbor, who used to gird at me so, does not deem me so venerable now. Where the devil did Adamas get the idea of suggesting that step to me?"

Lauriane read his perplexity on his face and generously came to his assistance.

"My honored father," she said, "this does not concern you, since our dear marquis did not ask for my hand without my heart; so that, inasmuch as my heart has not spoken, the marquis is free."

"Ta! ta! ta!" cried De Beuvre, "your heart speaks very loud, my child, and it is easy to see, by your indulgence to the marquis, that it is of him that it speaks!"

"Can it be true?" said Bois-Doré, faltering in his resolution; "if I had that good fortune, nephew or no nephew, by my faith!----"

"No, marquis, no!" said Lauriane, determined to have done with her old Celadon's dreamy projects. "My heart has spoken, it is true, but only a moment ago, since I first saw your charming nephew. Destiny so willed, because of my very great affection for you, which made it impossible for me to have eyes except for someone of your family and someone who resembles you. Therefore I am the one to break the bond between us and declare myself unfaithful; but I do it without remorse, since he whom I prefer to you is as dear to you as to myself. Let us say no more about it then until Mario is old enough to entertain affection for me, if that blessed day is destined to arrive. Meanwhile, I will try to be patient, and we will remain friends."

Bois-Doré, enchanted by this conclusion, warmly kissed the amiable Lauriane's hand; but at that moment a terrific fusillade made the windows rattle and brought all the guests to their feet. They ran to the windows. It was Adamas, making a terrific uproar with all the falconets, arquebuses and pistols that his little arsenal contained.

At the same time they saw the marquis's vassals and all the people of the village thronging into the courtyard, shouting as if they would split their throats, in concert with all the retainers and servants of the château:

"Vive monsieur le marquis! Vive monsieur le comte!"

The good people were acting in implicit obedience to an order issued by Aristandre, having no idea what it was all about; but what they did know was that they were never summoned to the château without receiving a banquet or some form of bounty, and they came without urging.

The windows of the salon were thrown open that the guests might listen to the harangue, in the form of a proclamation, which Adamas declaimed to that numerous audience.

Standing on the well, which had been covered by his orders so that he might indulge without peril in animated pantomime, the radiant Adamas improvised the most dazzling bit of eloquence that his Gascon ingenuity had ever produced, that his ringing voice, with its soft southern inflection, had ever thrown to the echoes. His gesticulation was no less extraordinary than his diction.

It is to be regretted that history has not preserved the exact language of this masterpiece; it had the fate of all products of inspiration: it flew away with the breath that had given birth to it.

However, it produced a great effect. The result of poor Monsieur Florimond's tragic death caused many tears to flow; and, as Adamas wept easily and was ingenuously moved by his own eloquence, he was listened to with the closest attention, even from the windows of the salon.

The guests were amused by the pathetic outburst of joy with which he proclaimed the recovery of Mario, but the rustic auditory did not consider it overdone. The peasant understands gestures, not words, which he does not take the trouble to listen to; that would be labor, and labor of the mind seems to him contrary to nature. He listens with his eyes. So they were enchanted with the peroration, and good judges declared that Monsieur Adamas preached better than the rector of the parish.

The discourse at an end, the marquis went down with his heir and his guests, and Mario fascinated and won the hearts of the peasants by his affable manners and his sweet speech.

Being instructed by his father to bid the whole village to a grand festival on the following Sunday, he did it so naturally and in terms indicating such perfect equality, that Guillaume and his friends, and even the republican Monsieur de Beuvre, had to remember that the child himself was fresh from the sheepfold, to avoid being shocked.

The marquis, detecting their feeling, deliberated whether he should not recall Mario, who was going from group to group, allowing himself to be kissed, and returning the caresses with great heartiness.

But an old woman, the patriarch of the village, hobbled to him on her crutches, and said in a a quavering voice:

"Monseigneur, you are blessed by the good Lord for being gentle and kind to the poor and infirm. You have made us forget your father who was a harsh man--harsh to you as well as to others. Here is a child who will be like you and will keep us from forgetting you!"

The marquis pressed the old woman's hands and allowed Mario to do the same by everybody. He asked them to drink his son's health, and himself toasted the parish, while Adamas continued to wake the echoes with his artillery.

As the multitude departed, the marquis spied Monsieur Poulain, who was watching the proceedings from a small shed, where he had taken up his position as in a box at the play. He cut off his retreat by going to him and inviting him to supper, at the same time reproaching him for the infrequency of his visits.

The rector thanked him with equivocal courtesy, saying with feigned embarrassment that his principles did not permit him to break bread with _pretenders_.

In those days men were called _reformers_ or _pretended reformers_, according to the supposed earnestness of their religious opinions. When a person said _pretenders_ simply, he thereby proclaimed for himself an orthodoxy which refused to admit the bare idea of a possible reformation.

This contemptuous expression wounded the marquis, and, playing upon the word, he replied that he had no fiancés in his house.[23]

"I thought that Monsieur and Madame de Beuvre were affianced to the errors of Geneva," retorted the rector, with a sneering smile. "Have they procured a divorce from them, following the example of monsieur le marquis?"

"Monsieur le recteur," said Bois-Doré, "this is no time to talk theology, and I admit that I understand nothing about it. Once, twice, will you join us, with or without heretics?"

"As I have told you, monsieur le marquis, with them, it is impossible."

"Very well, monsieur," retorted Bois-Doré, with a display of temper which he could not control, "that is as you choose; but, on those days when you do not deem me worthy to receive you in my house, you will, perhaps, do well not to come to my house to tell me so; for, as you are unwilling to enter, I am wondering why you came here, unless it was to insult those who do me the honor of being my guests."

The rector was seeking what he called persecution; that is to say, he wished to irritate the marquis so as to put him in the wrong as between themselves.

"As monsieur le marquis admitted all the people of my family to a merry-making," he replied, "I supposed that I was bidden like the rest. Indeed, I had imagined that this charming child, whose recovery you are celebrating, would need my ministry to be received into the bosom of the Church--a ceremony whereby the rejoicings should have been inaugurated perhaps."

"My child has been brought up by a true Christian and a true priest, monsieur! He needs no reconciliation with God; and as to the Moorish woman, concerning whom you esteem yourself so fully informed, let me tell you that she is a better Christian than many people who pride themselves on their piety. Let your mind be at rest, therefore, and come to my house, I beg you, with an open countenance and no mental reservations, or do not come at all. That is my advice to you."

"I propose to deal frankly with you, monsieur le marquis," replied the rector, raising his voice. "Witness the fact that I ask you plainly where Monsieur de Villareal is, and how it happens that I do not see him among your guests."

This insidious and abrupt attack nearly unhorsed Bois-Doré.

Luckily Guillaume d'Ars, who approached him at that moment, heard the question and took it upon himself to answer it.

"You ask for Monsieur de Villareal," he said, bowing to Monsieur Poulain. "He left the château with me last evening."

"Pardon me," replied the rector, saluting Guillaume with more courtesy than he displayed toward Bois-Doré. "Then I can address a letter to him at your residence, monsieur le comte?"

"No, monsieur," replied Guillaume, annoyed by this persistence. "He is not at my house to-day."

"But if he has gone temporarily only, you expect him to return this evening, or to-morrow at latest, I presume?"

"I do not know what day he will return, monsieur; I am not accustomed to question my guests. But come, marquis; they are calling for you in the salon."

He led Bois-Doré away toward the De Beuvres, to cut short the interrogatories of the rector, who withdrew with a strange smile and threatening humility.

"You were speaking of Monsieur de Villareal," said De Beuvre to the marquis; "I heard you mention his name. How does it happen that we do not see him here? Is he ill?"

"He has gone," said Guillaume, who was much embarrassed and disturbed by all these questions before numerous witnesses.

"Gone not to return?" inquired Lauriane.

"Not to return," replied Bois-Doré firmly.

"Well," said she, after a brief pause, "I am very glad of it."

"Did you not like him?" said the marquis, offering her his arm, while Guillaume walked by her side.

"You will think me very foolish," replied the young woman, "but I will make my confession none the less. I ask your pardon, Monsieur d'Ars, but your friend frightened me."

"Frightened you?--That is strange; other people have said the same thing to me about him! How was it that he frightened you, madame?"

"He bears a striking resemblance to a portrait at our house, which you probably have never seen--in our little chapel! Have you seen it?"

"Yes!" cried Guillaume, as if struck by a sudden thought; "I know what you mean. He did resemble it, on my word!"

"He _did_ resemble it! You speak of your friend as if he were dead!"

Mario interrupted the conversation. Lauriane, who had already conceived a warm affection for him, chose to take his arm to return in doors.

Guillaume and Bois-Doré were left alone for an instant, behind the others.

"Ah! cousin," said the young man, "what an extremely unpleasant thing it is to have to conceal a man's death, as if one had reason to blush for some dastardly deed, when, on the contrary----"

"For my own part, I should prefer to have no concealment whatsoever," the marquis replied. "It was you who urged me to this deception; but if it is burdensome to you----"

"No, no! Your rector seems to have some suspicions. My D'Alvimar made a great show of piety. The cassock would be on his side, and it is too dangerous a game to play in this neighborhood. Let us continue to hold our peace until the story of your brother's cowardly murder has circulated thoroughly, and do you show the proofs of it to everybody, without naming the culprits. Then, when you do name them, everybody will be disposed to condemn them. But tell me, marquis, do you know whether the wretched man's body----"

"Yes, Aristandre has inquired. The lay brother did his duty."

"But there was something about this D'Alvimar that I cannot understand, cousin. A man so well-born, and whose manners were so refined!"

"The ambition of a courtier and Spanish poverty!" replied Bois-Doré. "And furthermore, cousin, there is a philosophical paradox that has often come to my mind: that we are all equal before God, and that he sets no more store by a nobleman's soul than by a serf's. On that point, it may be that the Calvinist doctrine is not far out of the way."

"By the way," rejoined Guillaume, "speaking of Calvinists, cousin, do you know that the king's affairs are going badly over yonder, and that he is having no success at all in taking Montauban? I learned at Bourges, from some very well-informed persons, that on the first pretext the siege would be raised, and that may change the whole political status once more. Perhaps you were a little too hasty about abjuring!"

"Abjuring! abjuring!" echoed Bois-Doré, shaking his head; "I never abjured anything. I reflect, I discuss matters with myself, and I take one side or the other, according to the arguments that come to my mind. In reality----"

"In reality, you are like me," laughed Guillaume; "you think of nothing except being an honest man."

The supper, although the party was small, was served with extraordinary magnificence. The hall was decorated with flowers and foliage entwined with gold and silver ribbons; the most beautiful pieces of silverware and porcelain were brought forth; the dishes and wines were most exquisite.

Five or six of the most intimate friends and neighbors had arrived at the last stroke of the bell; their coming was another surprise for the marquis. Adamas had sent messengers all over the neighborhood.

There was no music during the banquet; they preferred to talk, for they had so much to say to one another! Adamas contented himself with a flourish of trumpets in the courtyard to announce each course.

Lauriane was seated opposite the marquis, with Mario at her right.

Lucilio was of the party; they had no reason to fear the evil intentions of any guest.

[Footnote 23: The play upon words consisted in the fact that _prétendus_, the word used by Monsieur Poulain, also, means _suitors_. (Cf. the colloquial English phrase: his _intended_.)]

XXXVII

Half an hour after they left the table, Adamas requested his master to ascend with his guests to the Salle des Verdures, where a fresh surprise was prepared.

It was an entertainment after the fashion then in vogue, carried out as well as it was possible to do it on such brief notice and in so confined a space.

The end of the room was fitted up as a stage, with rich carpets laid upon trestles, bearing hangings for a frame, and natural foliage for wings.

When they had taken their places, Lucilio played a beautiful piece by way of overture, and Clindor the page appeared on the scene, in the costume of a shepherd of romance. He sang divers pretty rustic couplets, of Master Jovelin's composition; then he set about watching his flocks, consisting of real lambs, well-washed and decked in ribbons, who behaved exceedingly well on the stage. Fleurial the shepherd dog, also played his part becomingly.

Soft, soporific music was played on the _sourdeline_ to which the shepherd fell asleep.

Thereupon a venerable old man came forward and searched the sleeper's pockets and even the fleeces of the sheep with agonizing suspense. His beard was so luxuriant, his white hair and eyebrows so bushy, that nobody recognized him at first; but when he declaimed some lines of his own composition to set forth the cause of his sorrow, they laughed heartily as they recognized Adamas's Gascon accent.

That despairing old man was in pursuit of Destiny, which had stolen his young master, his lord's beloved child.

The shepherd, suddenly awakened, asked him what he wanted. There was an animated dialogue between them, wherein they repeated the same thing many times, which, according to Adamas, had the advantage of forcing the spectators to grasp what he called the _knot of the play_.

The shepherd assisted the old man in his search, and they were going forward to attack a small fort among the branches at the back of the stage, supposed to be in the distance, which was no other than that formerly brought by the marquis _en croupe_ from the château of Sarzay, when a terrible giant, dressed in fantastic fashion, opposed their progress.

This giant, enacted by Aristandre, expressed himself at first in an unknown tongue. As he had declared that he was incapable of remembering three words, Lucilio, who had consented to assist Adamas in staging his work, had instructed the charioteer, in his rôle of giant, to use, at random, any meaningless, incoherent syllables; it was enough that he should have an awe-inspiring manner and an appalling voice.

Aristandre followed these instructions very well, but when Adamas insulted and irritated him in the most stinging way, calling him monster, ogre and wizard, the honest giant, not choosing to be outdone, emitted such horrifying oaths in good Berrichon that they had to make haste to kill him, to prevent him from shocking the audience.

This scene offended Fleurial, who was not brave, and who leaped over the candle footlights to take refuge between his master's legs.

When the monstrous coachman was laid low by Adamas's trusty blade, the little fort crumbled away as if by magic, and in its place a sibyl appeared.

It was the Moor, to whom they had given some beautiful Oriental fabrics in which she had arrayed herself with much taste and poetic beauty.

She was very lovely so, and was received with loud applause.

Poor woman! brought up in bondage and her spirit broken by persecution, and thereafter happy with a thatched roof and the humblest employment, under the protection of a poor priest, this was the first time in her life that she had ever been richly clad, greeted affectionately by wealthy people, and applauded for her grace and beauty without any insulting hidden motive.

At first she did not understand; she was afraid and would have fled. But Adamas opportunely made use of the five or six Spanish words he knew, to encourage her under his breath and make her understand that she gave pleasure to the audience.

Mercedes looked about for the one person who interested her most deeply, and saw close beside her, in the wings, Lucilio the manager, also applauding.

A flame darted from his black eyes; then, terrified by that gleam of happiness, which she did not fully appreciate, she lowered her long lashes until their velvety shadow fell upon her burning cheeks. She seemed even more beautiful--why, no one could say--and the applause burst forth anew.

When she had recovered her courage, she sang in Arabic; after which she replied to Adamas's questions in a way that seemed not to satisfy him.

After a discussion in pantomime, accompanied by music, she promised the child he sought, on condition that he should submit to the test of fighting a horrible monster made of gilt paper, who came upon the stage, bounding and vomiting flames.

The intrepid Adamas, determined to dare anything to bring back his master's child to the fold, rushed to meet the dragon, and was on the point of running him through with his invincible blade, when the creature was rent in twain like an old glove, and the comely Mario stepped forth, dressed as Cupid, that is to say, in pink and gold satin embroidered with flowers, with a wreath of roses and feathers on his head, bow in hand and quiver slung over his shoulder.

The transformation of a child into Cupid in a dragon's belly is not readily discovered in Adamas's manuscript stage-directions; but it seems that it was accepted as very pleasing, for that episode won the greatest success.

Mario recited some complimentary lines in praise of his uncle and his friends, and the sibyl predicted the loftiest destiny for him. She produced from the bushes divers marvellous things: a horn of plenty filled with flowers and bonbons, which the child tossed to the spectators; then the portrait of the marquis, which the child kissed with pious veneration; and, finally, two escutcheons of colored glass, one with the arms of the Bourons de Noyer, the other with those of Bois-Doré, united under a coronet from which ascended fireworks on a small scale, in the shape of a sun.

Let us say a word in passing concerning this coat-of-arms of the marquis. It was very interesting, because it was invented by Henry IV. himself.

In heraldic language, it was thus described: "_Gules, a naked arm or, coming from a cloud, holding a sword uppointed, accompanied, in chief, by three hens diademed argent_;" that is to say, a deep red shield, in the centre of which a right arm, coming forth from a cloud, held a sword with the point in the air, pointed toward three hens wearing silver crowns, placed above the said arm.

Around the crest was this motto: _All men are thus before me_.

If we remember how our good Sylvain was created a marquis, we shall readily understand this emblem, which might have been considered derisory, except for the corrective afforded by the motto, which might be thus translated: "Before this arm there is no foe who does not display the heart of a chicken."

The play was enthusiastically applauded.

The marquis wept tears of joy to see the charming manners of his son and the zeal of old Adamas.

They ate sweetmeats, they fought for Mario's kisses, and they separated at eleven o'clock, which was very late, according to the provincial ideas in those days.

The next day there was a bird-hunt. Lauriane insisted that Mario should be of the party. She lent him her white horse, which was gentle and docile, while she courageously mounted Rosidor. The marquis did not lack spare mounts. The sport was mild, as befitted those who were the heroes of the day. Mario took so much pleasure in it that Lucilio feared that the sudden excitement would be too much for that youthful brain, and that it would make him ill or delirious. But the child proved that he had an excellent mental organization: he was intensely amused by all those novel experiences, and still he did not become over-excited; at the slightest appeal to his reason he recovered his composure and obeyed with angelic sweetness. His nerves were not overwrought, and he entered into happiness as into a paradise of love and liberty of which he felt that he was worthy.

The supper on this second day of rejoicing gathered other friends at Briantes; on the following day occurred the fête given to the vassals, a Pantagruelian banquet and dancing under the old walnut trees in the enclosure.

A competition in arquebus shooting was organized by Guillaume d'Ars.

Mario suggested to the village urchins trials of skill in running and sling-throwing, and obtained permission to resume, for the purposes of that contest, his mountaineer's costume, in which he felt much more at ease.

He displayed an agility and skill which filled his competitors with admiration. No one could dream for an instant of disputing the prize with him; so he modestly withdrew from the competition, in order that the prize might be awarded equitably to some other.

The festivities were brought to a close by a ceremony at once artless and ostentatious, and at bottom really touching.

In the centre of the labyrinth in the garden rose a little thatch-covered structure in imitation of a cottage.

The marquis called it the _Palace of Astrée_.

They carried thither the coarse patched clothes which Mario wore when he first entered the domain of his ancestors. They fashioned them into a sort of rustic trophy, with the poor guitar which had been his breadwinner on his journey, and hung the whole inside the cottage, with garlands of foliage and a card, whereon were written, under date of that memorable day, these simple words, selected and executed in his finest script by Lucilio: "_Remember that thou wast poor once on a time_."

At the same time Mario was presented with a great basket containing twelve new suits, which he had the pleasure of distributing to twelve poor little boys grouped on the tiny stoop of the cottage.

Lastly, the marquis ordered placed in the chapel of the parish church a small mausoleum in marble, dedicated to the memory of the kindly and saintly Abbé Anjorrant. Lucilio made the drawing and composed the inscription.

The guests separated and quiet reigned once more at the château of Briantes.

The marquis thereupon began to think seriously of his son's education. But if he had been left to himself, amid the preoccupations concerning dress which filled so much space in his life, his heir might very well have forgotten what Abbé Anjorrant had taught him, to acquire valuable notions concerning the art of the tailor, bootmaker, armorer and decorator. Luckily, Lucilio was there, and he was able to steal a few hours every day from those trivial pursuits.

He too, the loving heart, grew to be ardently attached to his friend's child, not only because of the friend, but also because of the child himself, who, by virtue of his affectionate docility and the keenness of his intellect, made the task of tutor, ordinarily so unpleasant and wearing, most pleasurable.

And yet Lucilio's task was not an easy one. He felt that he had charge of a soul, and of an infinitely pure and precious soul. He strove, first of all, to protect that youthful conscience with a fortress of beliefs and convictions against all the tempests of the future. The times they lived in were so unsettled!

Certainly there was no lack of enlightenment or of most excellent progressive ideas. It was the age of novelties, people said: detestable novelties according to some, providential according to others. Discussion was rife everywhere and among all classes; and then, just as to-day and yesterday and always, vulgar minds believed that they had discovered infallible truths.

But the world of intellect had lost its unity. Calm and impartial minds sought justice, sometimes in one camp, sometimes in the other; and as in both camps intolerance, error and cruelty were of common occurrence, scepticism found its profit in folding its arms and asserting the incurable blindness and weakness of the human race.

It was a period just subsequent to the bloody conflicts between the Gomarists and Arminians. Arminius was no more; but Barneveldt had just mounted the scaffold. Hugo Grotius had been sentenced to imprisonment for life, and was meditating in prison his noble _Theory of the Law of Nations_. The Reformers were widely at variance on the question of predestination. Calvinism, with its appalling fatalistic doctrine, was doomed in the consciences of right-minded men. The French Lutherans, imitating Melancthon's return to the truth, and abandoning Luther's deplorable doctrines concerning _free will_, now upheld divine justice and human liberty.

But right-minded men are scarce at all periods. The Calvinist sect and its fervent ministers protested in a large part of France against what they called a return to the heresy of Rome.

The events that took place in our Southern provinces, the frenzied meetings determining upon a resistance that had become anti-French, the republican spirit, ill understood, seconding by obstinacy and ignorance the deplorable projects of the Austro-Spanish policy, which aimed at kindling civil war in France; the glorious but regrettable resistance at Montauban; so much blood shed, so much heroism expended to perpetuate the struggle which Rome and Austria found to their advantage, proved plainly enough that the light of intelligence was behind a cloud, and that no liberal mind could say to itself: "I will go into this church, I will go into this army, and there I shall find unadulterated the best social truths of my time."

It was not advisable therefore to pay too much heed to facts, and when one was well-informed and intelligent, to believe in any special truth above all those which were preached throughout the world, since the sword, the halter, the stake, murder, rape and pillage were the methods of conversion used by the opposing parties in dealing with one another.

Lucilio Giovellino reflected upon all these things and resolved to proceed according to the Gospel as expounded by his own heart; for he saw too clearly that that divine Book, in the hands of certain Catholics and certain Protestants, might become and was becoming every day a code of fatalism, a body of doctrine leading to brutalization and frenzy.

So he began to instruct Mario in philosophy, history, languages and the natural sciences all at the same time, trying to deduce from them all the logic and kindness of God. His method was clear and his explanations concise.

Poor Lucilio had once been eloquent and had detested written speech; and sometimes even now he suffered from being obliged to compress his thought in a few words; but misfortune is always of some profit to the elect. It happened that his disinclination to write long, and his impatience to disclose his thought, compelled him and accustomed him to summarize his ideas with marvellous clearness and force, and that the child was nourished upon facts, without useless details and fatiguing repetitions.

The lessons were surprisingly short, and carried with them to that young mind a certainty of insight which was exceedingly rare at that time, and for good reason.

Bois-Doré, for his part, albeit he directed his child's attention to trivial and foolish things, kept him pure and good, by virtue of that mysterious insufflation which takes place between one noble nature and another, without volition or knowledge.

All children are naturally disposed to resist too precise instruction; they follow more readily an instinct which leads them, having itself no knowledge where it is going.

When the marquis was disturbed in his puerile occupations, to render a service or give alms, he never displayed either vexation or weariness. He would rise, listen, ask questions, encourage and act.

Although naturally indolent and easy-going, he was never bored by any complaint, never lost patience with any poor old woman's loquacity. Thus, while apparently devoting his life to trifles, he passed very few moments in that placid, benevolent life without doing good or affording pleasure to somebody.

Thus his day, always begun with fine projects of work for his son--he gave the name of work to attention to the toilet and instruction in good manners,--was passed without deciding upon anything, without undertaking anything, and leaving everything to the wise decisions of Adamas and the captivating caprices of the child.

XXXVIII

Meanwhile, after the lapse of a few weeks, they had succeeded in equipping Mario as a gentleman of quality, thanks to Adamas's untiring zeal and the Moorish woman's clever wit, and the marquis had succeeded in giving him some notions of horsemanship and fencing.

Moreover the old man and the child held mutually agreeable sessions every morning for lessons in manners. The marquis would make his pupil go in and out of the room ten times, to teach him how to enter gracefully and courteously and how to retire modestly.

"You see, my dear count," he would say--that was the hour at which they were supposed to address each other with graceful formality,--"when a gentleman has crossed the threshold and advanced three steps into an apartment, judgment has already been passed upon him by such persons of merit or of quality as happen to be present. It is most essential therefore that all of his own merit and quality must appear in the carriage of his body and the expression of his face. Until this day, you have been received with caresses and affectionate familiarity, and have been relieved from the necessity of conforming to social conventionalities of which you could know nothing; but this indulgence will speedily cease, and if people see that you retain rustic manners under such garments as these, they will blame your own disposition or my indifference. So let us work, my dear count; let us work seriously: let us repeat that last courtesy, which lacks brilliancy, and try once more entering the room, which you did languidly and without dignity."

Mario was entertained by this sort of instruction, which gave him an opportunity to array himself in his finest clothes, look at himself in the mirrors and stalk proudly across the room. He was so clever and so graceful, that it cost him little trouble to learn that species of majestic ballet, in the most minute details of which he was carefully drilled, and his old father, who was much more of a child than he, knew how to make the lesson amusing. It was a complete course in pantomime, wherein the marquis, despite his years, was still an excellent performer.

"Look you, my son," he would say, arranging his hair and his clothes in a certain way, "this is the _matamora_ style; look carefully at what I do, in order that you may avoid doing it, unless in sport, and always abstain from it in good society."

Thereupon he would represent a swaggering captain to the life, and Mario would laugh until he rolled on the floor. For his own amusement he would be permitted to enact the captain in his turn, and then it was the marquis's turn to laugh until he fell back upon his chair exhausted; the little fellow was such a clever, fascinating imp!

But we must return to the lesson.

Next the marquis would portray a loutish, dull, obtrusive boor, or a sour, disagreeable pedant, or a sheepish simpleton; and as other actors were needed to make the scene impressive, he would send for some members of the household. They were fortunate when they could enlist Adamas and Mercedes, who entered into the spirit of the thing with much zest and cleverness. But Adamas was active and the Moor hardworking; they always asked leave to go back to their work for Mario.

Then they would fall back upon Clindor, who was most willing, but was built like a jumping-jack, and Bellinde, who was delighted to represent a lady of quality, but who played that part in the most absurd and laughable way. The marquis rallied her good-humoredly and called attention to her absurdities, to enforce his precepts upon Mario, who was much given to mockery and who made merry over the housekeeper's foibles in a way to mortify her exceedingly.

She would go away in a rage, and Mario, laughing uproariously, and forgetting that it was the hour for stately demeanor, would leap on the marquis's knees, and kiss and fondle him; nor would the old man have the courage to forbid him; for he too enjoyed it, nor was anything sweeter to him than to have his child play with him as with a playmate of his own age.

After dinner, they rode together. The marquis had procured for his heir several of the prettiest jennets in the world, and he was an excellent teacher. And so with fencing; but these exercises fatigued the old man exceedingly, and he substituted other teachers, limiting his efforts to directing them.

There was also a master in heraldry, who came twice each week. He bored Mario considerably; but he made up his mind, with a resolution very rare in a child, to object to nothing that his father imposed upon him so gently.

He consoled himself for his studies in heraldry with his beautiful little horses, his pretty little arquebuses, and Lucilio's lessons, which attracted and interested him deeply.

He entertained for the mute a profound instinctive respect, whether because his noble mind felt the superiority of so grand an intellect, or because Mercedes's fervent veneration for Lucilio exerted a magnetic influence upon him; for he remained in his heart the Moorish woman's son, and, feeling that there existed a gentle jealousy between the marquis and her on his account, he had the delicacy and the art to devote himself equally to both, without arousing the apprehension of those two childish hearts, at once generous and sensitive.

He had already served an apprenticeship in this matter of consideration for his adopted mother, when they were living with Abbé Anjorrant; it was not difficult for him to continue.

The study in which he took the most pleasure was that of music.

In that too, Lucilio was an admirable teacher. His delightful talent charmed the child and plunged him into blissful reveries. But this task, which would have absorbed all the rest, was thwarted to some extent by the marquis, who considered that a gentleman should not study an art to the point of becoming an artist, but should learn first what was called the profession of arms, then a little of everything; "the best possible subjects," he would say, "but not too much of anything; for a man who is very learned in one subject disdains all others, and ceases to be attractive."

Amid all these employments and amusements Mario grew to be the prettiest boy imaginable. His complexion, naturally white, assumed a soft tone like that of the inner petals of a flower, beneath the warm sun of autumn in our provinces. His little hands, once rough and covered with scratches, now gloved and cared for, became as soft as Lauriane's. His magnificent chestnut hair was the pride and admiration of the ex-wigmaker Adamas.

The marquis had wasted his efforts to teach him grace and charm of manner by rules; he had retained his natural charm, and, as for the graceful manners of a gentleman, he had acquired them instinctively on the first day, when he put on the satin doublet.

So that the lessons in dancing which he received served only to develop his physical organization, which was one of those which cannot be destroyed.

As soon as his wardrobe was supplied, the marquis took him to pay visits to all the neighbors within ten leagues.

The actual appearance of the child was a great event in the province, for the jealous folk and the gossips had sneered about him at first as a chimera and a shadow; but he assumed substance and reality every day.

When people saw him riding rapidly through the streets of La Châtre on his little horse, escorted by Clindor and Aristandre, they began to screw up their eyes and say to one another:

"So it was really true?"

They asked what his name was and what his name was to be. Would the marquis, a man of quality, be content to have for his heir a petty country squire? But had he the right to bequeath his title and his _three hens diademed argent_ to a Bouron? Would the present king permit it? Was it not contrary to the laws and customs of the nobility?

A momentous question!

It was discussed for a fortnight, and then people ceased to discuss it; for one soon wearies of subjects that require deep thought, and when they saw the old marquis and the little count go out to dine with some neighbor, both dressed exactly alike, whether in white _à la paysanne_, or in sky blue trimmed with silver purl, or in apricot satin with white feathers, or in _light green_, or in _peach pink_, with ribbons interwoven with gold and silver, and both reposing gracefully on the crimson cushions of the stately chariot, drawn by their beautiful great horses as beplumed as themselves, and followed by an escort of servants whom one might have taken for noblemen, so well mounted and well armed they were, and resplendent with gold lace, there was not a noble, bourgeois or villein, in town or village, who did not jump to his feet, crying:

"Up! up! I hear the marquis's carriage coming! Come quickly and let us see the beaux messieurs de Bois-Doré ride by!"

While these things were taking place in the fortunate province of Berry, the effervescence in the South of France was increasing in intensity.

About the 15th of November, there came reliable intelligence that the king had been obliged to raise the siege of Montauban.

The young king was brave; he wept when he withdrew his forces.

Luynes, who had declared that he would subdue the party by corrupting its leaders, had failed to seduce Rohan, the commanding-general in the province and defender of the city. It was proved, unfortunately, that that high-spirited nobleman was one of the rare exceptions, and that Luynes's system was successful with the majority of the rebellious nobles; but that system of _purchase_ ruined France and debased the nobility.

Louis XIII. was conscious of it at times, and found his efforts neutralized by the incapacity and unworthiness of his favorite.

The army was inadequately supplied and poorly paid. The confusion was scandalous; the king paid the wages of thirty thousand combatants, and there was not an effective force of twelve thousand to take the field. The officers were disheartened. Mayenne had been killed. The Spanish Carmelite Domingo de Jesu-Maria, to whose sanctity and enthusiasm the German fanatics attributed the victory of Prague, had prophesied in vain under the walls of Montauban.

False miracles find fewer believers in France than elsewhere. The Calvinists raised their heads, and in the early days of December Monsieur de Bois-Doré received a visit from Monsieur de Beuvre, who was in a state of intense excitement and said to him in confidence: