"Be brave, follow the example of that brave heart."

"Yes," cried Mario, throwing his arms about his tutor's neck, "I am doing all I possibly can, and I realize what she is doing. But don't you think that my father will find a way to set her free."

"If it can be done, do not doubt it, monsieur," said Adamas. "Thank God! Adamas will not leave you, and will think about it every moment. If monsieur le marquis is resigned, it is because there is still some hope."

The marquis took Adamas and Mercedes in his great carriage. Clindor took his seat on the box with Aristandre.

It was agreed that Lucilio, concerning whom the marquis did not feel altogether at ease, should go to Bourges secretly.

"I have it, monsieur," said Adamas to the marquis, when they had passed La Châtre.

"What, my good fellow? What have you?"

"My idea! When we reach Etalié, we will ask leave to rest a moment at Madame Pignoux's. She has a goddaughter of Madame Lauriane's age. We will have them change clothes, and we will take her with us in place of madame."

"But is this god-daughter certain to be there at this time?"

"If she isn't there," said Mario, whose spirits were revived by Adamas's project, "I will put on Lauriane's skirt and scarf and hood; then you can say that I have remained at the inn, whereas she will remain in my place, and she can easily escape from there to Guillaume's or Monsieur Robin's, when we have gone a little way."

"Do everything for the best, my children," said the marquis, "but say nothing to me about it; for it will be very embarrassing not to be able to deny on my word of honor all knowledge of the substitution, and they will certainly require me to do so when it is discovered. So try something else and speak low. I am not listening to you."

"You forget," said Lauriane, "that I will not assent to any plan for my escape. Do not try to invent one, Adamas; and do you yield to the inevitable, Mario. I have sworn to accept my fate."

Lauriane did, in fact, refuse to alight at the Geault-Rouge, where the projected substitution might have been effected with some chance of success.

Mario hoped that, when they had gone a little farther, she would change her mind and assent to some scheme; but to no purpose did they argue that the affair might be arranged without compromising the marquis. She was inflexible.

"No, no," she said, "no one will believe that the marquis did not close his eyes voluntarily. Who knows, my poor Mario, that they would not keep you as a hostage until they had recaptured me? And, as for Adamas, he would surely go to prison. That is what I will not have, and I will not consent to escape, willingly or unwillingly; for, if you persist, I will shriek and make an outcry to make sure that I am taken again."

Lauriane's resolution could not be shaken. It was necessary to abandon all hope of rescuing her from captivity, and they arrived at Bourges more discouraged and downcast than when they had left Briantes.

The result of this submissive conduct was most favorable. The lieutenant-general, Monsieur Biet, who had confidently expected that the marquis would ruin himself by rebelling against Lauriane's arrest, was greatly surprised when he appeared before him with her, and requested for her an honorable reclusion, and such consideration as her dignified conduct entitled her to expect.

Monsieur Biet had no choice but to adopt a mild tone, to express his great regret at the rigorous measures adopted, which he attributed to secret orders from the prince, and to consent that Lauriane should be taken to the Convent of the Annunciation, founded by Jeanne de France, aunt of her illustrious ancestress, Charlotte d'Albret. Lauriane had several friends there, and she was allowed to keep Mercedes to wait upon her.

This convent was one of those to which the fiery Jesuit propaganda had not penetrated. The nuns, vowed to a life of meditation, did not threaten Lauriane with a too severe proselytism.

The marquis had a conference with the superior, wherein he was able to predispose her in the young recluse's favor, and he secured permission to see her every day, with Mario, in the parlor, in presence of one of the sisters.

Despite this hopeful prospect, Mario's heart was broken when the heavy door of the convent closed between him and his dear companion. It seemed to him that she would, never come forth again, nor was he free from anxiety concerning Mercedes, who strove to smile when she left him, but who was like a madwoman for a moment when she no longer saw him, and realized that she was doomed, for the first time in her life, to sleep under a different roof.

The result was that she hardly slept at all, nor did Lauriane. They talked almost all night, and wept together, being no longer restrained by the fear of distressing Mario by their grief.

"My dear Mercedes," said Lauriane, as she kissed the Moor, "I know what a sacrifice you make for me by parting from your child for my consolation."

"My daughter," replied the Moor, "I confess that in consoling you I console Mario, since he loves you perhaps more than he loves me. Do not say no; I have seen it; but I am not jealous of you, for I feel that you will make his life happy."

It was impossible to shake the Moor's conviction that that improbable marriage would take place, and Lauriane dared not contradict her, especially at that moment.

Bois-Doré had some doubts concerning the orders said to have been given by the prince with regard to Lauriane. The prince was naturally treacherous, grasping and ungrateful; but he was not cruel, and his aversion to women did not go so far as persecution. Moreover, the marquis had fancied that he could detect some symptoms of confusion in the lieutenant-general's manner when he questioned him concerning the prince's alleged secret orders. He hoped to induce him, by gentle persuasion, to revoke his decree.

He sent a messenger to Poitou to try to find Monsieur de Beuvre and urge him to return at the earliest possible moment, and he took up his abode at Bourges, in order to follow up his plan with respect to Monsieur Biet, and also to keep his eye upon his dear ward.

The messenger was unable to find Monsieur de Beuvre; he had gone to sea again, no one knew where. At the end of two months they had not heard from him.

Lauriane wept for him as for the dead. She was not deceived by the tales the marquis told her to persuade her that he had been seen and that he was well. He pretended to be embarrassed by the presence of the sister, who slept all the time, and to be afraid to show her the letters which supported his statements.

Lauriane adopted the course of remaining calm, in order to tranquillize Mario, whose eyes were constantly fixed upon her with an anxious expression.

LXIV

The year 1622 passed in this way, and the marquis was unable, by prayers or threats, to obtain the prisoner's release on parole.

Monsieur Biet, fearing that he had made a mistake, had obtained authority to imprison Madame de Beuvre, after it was done.

The situation was made much worse by her father's prolonged absence and silence. It became quite useless to deny the reasons therefor. No one could retain any doubt as to what had happened; and Monsieur Biet replied, with a bitter smile, to the marquis's urgent entreaties and reproaches:

"But why does not the gentleman come and get his daughter? She will be restored to him instantly, and so will the management of her property."

Lucilio had settled at Bourges, in the suburb of Saint-Ambroise, under a false name. He saw no one but Mario, who came alone, simply dressed and without ostentation, to take his lessons.

Mercedes, who was allowed to go in and out, served his meals, to which the philosopher probably would not have given a thought, absorbed as he was by his work.

At this juncture it became evident that Monsieur Poulain had changed greatly for the better. He was still at Bourges, engaged in obtaining permission to become an abbot, when Lucilio found himself face to face with him one day in the little garden appurtenant to his humble apartment.

On accosting each other, he and the future abbé discovered that they lived under the same roof.

Lucilio expected to be denounced and harassed. Nothing of the sort happened. Monsieur Poulain took pleasure in his society, and displayed great interest in Mario when he came to take his lessons.

Monsieur Poulain was too shrewd a man not to have reflected profoundly on his past experience, and he realized how little dependence could be placed on the Prince de Condé, for the Archbishop of Bourges refused to make him abbot until monsieur le prince should authorize him, and monsieur le prince seemed in no haste to do so.

Thus our friends led a reasonably peaceful life during this species of exile at Bourges. Indeed, they enjoyed more real security than they had enjoyed at Briantes during their last weeks there.

But the marquis was sadly distressed to have broken up all his luxurious, comfortable and active habits. He lived very simply and quietly, in order not to attract attention to Lauriane in a city where the spirit of the League was by no means extinct, and where the brief but violent reign of the Reformers had left unpleasant memories.

Mario strove to be cheerful in order to divert him, but the poor child was far from cheerful himself; and when he read Astrée aloud to him in the evening, he was always thinking of something else, or sighing over those pictures of streams, gardens and bosky groves which intensified the tedium and confinement of his present situation.

So Mario's cheeks were pale, and he became pensive. He worked desperately to perfect his education, and it was a great pleasure to him to keep Lauriane informed concerning his studies, imparting to her his most recently acquired scraps of knowledge. It was an excellent way of killing time in their daily interviews; for there is no more painful restraint than that caused by the impossibility of talking freely before witnesses with the persons one loves.

The Jesuits, who were already to be found everywhere with their fingers in every pie, tried to persuade the marquis to entrust that charming child's education to them. He so contrived his reply as to give them some ground for hope, realizing that it would not be well to have an open rupture with them.

They were not deceived by his craft, and took alarm at Mario's mysterious visits to the faubourg. They followed him, and thereupon were much distressed concerning Master Jovelin. But Monsieur Poulain arranged everything, declaring that he knew Master Jovelin to be an orthodox Catholic, and that he, Poulain, was present at the young gentleman's lessons. The ex-rector feared them more than he loved them, but he was adroit enough to fool them.

Meanwhile the war drew rapidly to a close. The news of the peace of Montpellier arrived, and gave rise to magnificent projects for rejoicing in honor of Monsieur le Prince, on the part of his good city of Bourges. But the projects had to be abandoned; the prince arrived unexpectedly, in very bad humor, feeling that his rôle was at an end.

The king had cheated him: in the first place, he had refused to die; in the second place, he had negotiated the peace without his knowledge. And then the queen-mother had regained some measure of influence. Richelieu had obtained the cardinal's hat, and despite all monsieur le prince's endeavors, was insensibly drawing near to the centre of power.

Condé simply passed through the province and the city. He no longer believed in astrology; he was becoming pious from disappointment. He had made a vow to Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.

He started for Italy without giving the slightest attention to the affairs of the province. Monsieur Biet, feeling that the Huguenots were about to recover liberty of conscience, and that it would ill become him to require Lauriane's release to be extorted from him, went himself to the convent with the marquis, to set her free.

The nuns parted from her with regret, testifying freely to her gentleness and courtesy.

Lauriane had suffered much during those five months of mental constraint; she too had lost color and flesh; she had attended, without a murmur, all the religious services, maintaining a dignified and respectful demeanor, praying to God with all her soul before the Catholic altars, and abstaining from any reflection that might have wounded the saintlike maidens of the Annunciation. But when they urged her to renounce her faith, she bowed, as if to say: I understand, and met all the questions that were put to her with an obstinate silence. It was no time for her to assert her liberty of conscience when it might be that her father was prostrate under the headsman's axe. So she held her peace and submitted to their importunities with the stoicism of a sufferer who, with his hands bound, listens to the flies buzzing about his head, unable to brush them away, but unwilling even to wink.

On all other occasions she treated the sisters with the greatest respect, and won their hearts by the most delicate attentions. Luckily, a truly Christian spirit reigned among them. They prayed for her conversion, they prayed for her salvation, and they left her in peace. It was a miracle; elsewhere Lauriane, might, in desperation, have been accused of witchcraft and condemned to perish by earthly flames; that was the last resource when the persecuted heretics had the courage to refuse to be convicted of heresy by their own admissions.

At last, on November 30th, our friends, overflowing with joy and hope, returned to the château of Briantes.

They had received good news from Monsieur de Beuvre. He had written many times; but his messengers had been intercepted or had betrayed their trust. He was to return very soon, and he did, in fact, return. He was welcomed with much feasting and merrymaking; after which they talked of separating.

It was proper that Lauriane should return to her own château, and the bulky De Beuvre felt cramped in the small manor of Briantes. Lauriane could not manifest before her father the slightest reluctance to resume her life with him. Indeed she was conscious of no such reluctance, she was so happy to have him at home again. And yet she felt a sudden and involuntary chill of sadness when she entered the dismal château of La Motte.

The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré escorted her thither, and, at her father's request, were to remain two or three days with her. Mercedes and Jovelin were of the party. It was not therefore the sensation of solitude taking possession of her already; indeed, might they not, were they not certain to see one another almost every day?

This vague apprehension which disturbed Lauriane was a sort of disenchantment, which she did not fully understand. She had always insisted upon regarding her father as a hero; her anxieties at the convent, due to the thought of the perils he had incurred for his faith, had exalted to enthusiasm the conception she had formed of him. She had been forced to abandon her ideal since he had been at home. In the first place, although De Beuvre had complained that he grew stout in idleness, and they had expected that he would return emaciated and exhausted, he was ruddier and more portly than ever. His mind seemed to have grown dense in proportion. His blunt gayety had become a little vulgar. He posed as a sailor, smoked a pipe, swore beyond all reason, forgot to wrap his scepticism in Montaigne's ingenious aphorisms, and at times adopted an air of sly and mysterious satisfaction which was by no means courteous to his friends.

The solution of this last riddle was let fall by him on the day following his return to La Motte, during a conference which we are about to describe.

LXV

They had hunted during the day, then supped, and were sitting about the fire in the large salon, when Guillaume d'Ars, who had been very assiduous in his attentions to Lauriane since the news of the peace, asked leave, with some playful emotion, to make a speech.

They all ceased their games and conversation, and Guillaume, after appealing to Lauriane for special encouragement, which she accorded him without a suspicion of what it was all about, spoke as follows:

"Mesdames"—Mercedes was present,—"messieurs, friends, kinsmen and neighbors, all honored, respected and beloved, I beg you to listen to a story which is my own. In me you see a young man neither better nor worse made than many another; ignorant enough, Master Jovelin will agree; reasonably rich and well-born, but those are not virtues; brave, but that is no subject for boasting; lastly—I pause that some one may kindly eulogize me; for, as you see, I hardly understand praising myself."

"Assuredly," exclaimed the marquis with his customary good-humor, "you are more than you claim, cousin: the flower of the nobility of the province, the mirror of chivalry, and, like Alcidon, 'so much esteemed by those who know you, that there is naught to which your merit doth not entitle you to aspire.'"

"A truce to your insipid nonsense from Astrée!" said Monsieur de Beuvre. "What are you aiming at, Guillaume? and why do you come in quest of praise from us, when no one here has any thought of complaining of you?"

"Because, messire, having a momentous request to present to you, I wished to have for advocates all those in whom you place most confidence."

"We all bear witness to your loyalty, courage, courtesy and staunch friendship," said Lauriane. "Now, speak; for there are two women here, that is to say two curious mortals."

Lauriane had no sooner spoken thus than she blushed and regretted her words, for the enthusiastic and slightly fatuous air of the excellent Guillaume suddenly gave her a hint of what was coming.

In truth, it was an offer of marriage which Guillaume, more encouraged by her than she had intended or supposed, laid before her father and herself, invoking anew the support of all those who were present, and blending hyperbole, wit and sentiment in a way which might be considered agreeable and becoming in view of the spirit of the time.

The declaration was somewhat long and involved, as good breeding demanded, although it was none the less outspoken and sincere, and most cordial toward all present.

When his purpose had become manifest, very diverse sentiments were depicted on the faces of his audience. Monsieur de Bois-Doré manifested much embarrassment and extreme displeasure, held in check as much as possible. Lauriane lowered her eyes with an expression of melancholy rather than annoyance. Mercedes anxiously tried to read what was written in Mario's great eyes. Mario had turned toward the wall; nobody could see his face. Lucilio watched Lauriane closely.

Monsieur de Beuvre alone remained unmoved, with no other expression than one of reflection; one would have said that he was making a mental calculation that engrossed his whole attention.

No one spoke, and Guillaume was somewhat confused. But that silence might be considered a sign of encouragement as well as of disapproval, and he knelt at Lauriane's feet, as if to await her reply in an attitude of absolute submission.

LXVI

The Beaux Messieurs did not return to La Motte for a week. Mario had a slight attack of fever. Lauriane was anxious and wept. Her father refused to take her to Briantes, saying that it was useless to keep illusions alive. There was a slight quarrel between them.

"You will make them think me most ungrateful," she said. "After all the care and attention I received from them, it is my duty to go to nurse Mario. You should at least go there every day. They will say that you have forgotten them, now that we no longer need them. Ah! why am I not a boy? I would ride there every hour in the day; I would be that poor child's friend and companion, and I could show my friendship for him without putting a noose around my neck, or incurring blame!"

At last she induced her father to take her to Briantes. She found Mario almost recovered from his grief and cured of his fever. He seemed to have determined once more to be a child. The marquis was a little hurt by Monsieur de Beuvre's conduct. But they could not remain at odds. The parents gradually entered into conversation as if nothing had happened; Lauriane began to laugh and romp with her innocent lover.

"My dear neighbor," said De Beuvre to Bois-Doré, "you must not be offended with me. Your plan for these children was pure dreaming. See on what excellent terms they are in those innocent games! That is a sign that in the game of love they would be always at war. Remember that a too young husband is not long content with a single wife, and that a deserted wife is jealous and shrewish. Moreover there is another obstacle between the children, which we have not considered: one is a Catholic, the other a Protestant."

"That is not an obstacle," said the marquis. "They can be married at the same church, reserving the right to return to the one they prefer."

"Oh! yes, that is all very well for you, you old unbeliever, who belong to both churches, that is to say, to neither; but for us——"

"For you, neighbor? I don't know to what communion you belong; but I believe implicitly in God, and you don't believe in Him at all."

"Perhaps! Who can say?" as Montaigne says; "but my daughter is a believer, and you cannot induce her to give way."

"She would not have to give way. Here, she was always free to pray as she chose. Mario and she used to say their evening prayer together, and they never thought of disputing. Besides, Mario would be all ready to do as I did."

"Yes, to say as you did in the days of the good king: 'Long live Sully and long live the pope!'"

"Lauriane would be no more obstinate in her Calvinism, be sure of that!"

Bois-Doré was mistaken. The more frankly De Beuvre avowed his scepticism, the more earnest was Lauriane in her disinterested attachment to the Reformation. De Beuvre, who knew it well and who was seeking an opportunity to create obstacles, raised the question during dinner. Lauriane stated her views in mild language, but with remarkable firmness.

The marquis had never discussed religion with her or before her. In fact, he never discussed it with anyone, and found the half-Gallic, half-pagan divinities of Astrée quite reconcilable with his vague notions concerning the Deity. He was distressed to see Lauriane take up the cudgels in that way, and he could not resist the temptation to say to her:

"Ah! you bad girl, you would not be so obstinate in your opinions if you loved us a little more!"

Lauriane had not detected her father's purpose. The marquis's reproach made it clear to her. It was the first reproach he had ever addressed to her, and she was deeply grieved. But the fear of irritating her father prevented her from answering as her heart prompted. She looked down at her plate and held back a tear that trembled on her eyelid.

Mario, who seemed entirely engrossed in preparing little Fleurial's dainty dinner, spied that tear, and said abruptly, in a grave, almost manly tone, in striking contrast to the puerile occupation of his hands:

"We are making Lauriane sad, father; let us say no more about it. She has a brain of her own, and she is right. For my part, if I were in her place I would do as she does, and I would not abandon my party in misfortune."

"Well said, my little man!" said De Beuvre, impressed by Mario's intelligent air.

"And it suggests to me," said the marquis, "that we are above such profitless discussions. My son already has the free spirit of noble minds, and he would never be the one to dispute Lauriane's opinions."

"Dispute them, no indeed," said Mario; "but——"

"But what?" queried Lauriane eagerly; "you do not mean that you would share them, Mario, even through affection for me?"

"Ah! if that were the case," exclaimed De Beuvre, once more struck by a sudden thought, "if the child, with his name and his wealth, should decide to espouse our cause heartily, I do not say that I would not advise Lauriane to wear her black cap some time longer."

"Then it is all right!" said the marquis; "when the time comes——"

"No, no, father!" interposed Mario with extraordinary vehemence; "that time will never come for me. I was baptized a Catholic by Abbé Anjorrant; I was brought up in the idea that I ought never to change; and, although he did not ask me to take any oath to it when he was dying, it would seem to me as if I should disobey him by leaving the church in which he put me. Lauriane has set me the example and I will follow it; we will remain as we are, and it will be all right. That will not prevent me from loving her, and if she doesn't love me, she will do wrong and be a bad girl."

"What do you say to that, my child?" queried De Beuvre; "doesn't it strike you that he is the sort of little husband who, when he saw you burning, would say: 'I feel deeply grieved, but I can do nothing, because it is the pope's will?'"

Lauriane and Mario disputed like the children they were; that is to say, their cheeks grew red as fire. Lauriane sulked; Mario did not move an inch, and finally exclaimed with much heat:

"You say, Lauriane, that you would degrade yourself if you should change. Then you would despise me if I changed, would you not?"

Lauriane realized the justness of the retort, and said no more; but she was piqued, like a woman with whom her lover makes conditions, and her glance said to Mario: "I thought that you loved me more than you do."

When she was riding home with her father, he did not fail to say to her:

"Well, my child, do you not see now that Mario, that charming youth, is a Papist of the old stock, like his own father, who served the Spaniard against us? And some day, ashamed of his old uncle's inanity, he will make war on us! Then what will you say, when you see your husband in one camp and your father in the other, shooting bullets at each other, or fighting hand to hand?"

"Really, father," said Lauriane, "you speak as if I had evinced a desire to remain a widow; but I have never determined upon that. I cannot see, however, why Monsieur d'Ars is not equally exposed to the evil fate which you predict. Is not he a Catholic and a devoted partizan of the royal power?"

"Monsieur d'Ars has no will of his own," replied De Beuvre, "and I will answer for it that we shall be able to bend him to all our purposes, on every occasion. More bigoted men than he have changed sides when the prospects of the Reformation seemed bright."

"If Monsieur d'Ars has no will," rejoined Lauriane, "so much the worse for him; he is no man; and yet he is a man in years!"

Lauriane was not mistaken. Guillaume was a weak character; but he was a handsome fellow, a pleasant neighbor, brave as a lion, and very generous to his friends. He was mild and easy-going with the peasantry, and allowed himself to be robbed without paying the slightest heed; but he followed the example of the nobles of his time: he allowed the peasantry to wallow in ignorance and poverty. It seemed to him a very fine thing that Lauriane's vassals were neat and well-fed, and very amusing that Bois-Doré's were stout; but when he was told that, at Saint-Denis-de-Touhet, the peasants died like flies during the epidemics; that at Chassignoles and Magny they did not know the taste of wine and meat—hardly that of bread; and that, in the Brenne country, they ate grass, while in other even more unhappy provinces they ate one another, he would say:

"What do you expect to do about it? Everybody cannot be happy!"

And he did not exert his mind beyond its powers to find a remedy. It had never occurred to him to live on his estate, as Bois-Doré did, and to share his well-being with all those who were dependent upon him. He passed as much time as he could at Bourges and Paris, and aspired to a rich marriage, in order that he might lead a more joyous life than ever, with a woman whom he would probably make perfectly happy on condition that she had no more brain and sensitiveness than he.

He was the type of his caste and his epoch, and no one thought of blaming him.

On the other hand, Lauriane was considered a fanatical heretic and Bois-Doré an old imbecile. Lauriane herself did not judge Guillaume so severely as we do, but she felt that he lacked pith and substance, and she experienced unconquerable ennui when, she was in his company. At such times the days passed at Briantes would come back to her like a delightful dream. Well might she have said: Et in Arcadia ego!

However, she had no idea of becoming Mario's wife. In her inmost thoughts she remained his older sister, proud of him and striving to emulate him; but she found no suitor to her liking, although many a one came forward as soon as her father was seen to be purchasing additional estates. By dint of making involuntary comparisons between her father, who was so practical and selfish, who criticized her so often in regard to her charities, and the excellent Monsieur Sylvain, who always lived himself and caused everybody about him to live as in a fairy tale, she conceived a dislike for cold reason, and became in secret the most dreamy and romantic maiden on earth, according to Monsieur de Beuvre and her other relations of both religions. In private, they laughed at her and at what they called her ridiculous love for a baby in arms.

By dint of hearing it said that she was in love with Mario, Lauriane, being persecuted to some extent in her own home, was driven, as it were in spite of herself, to look upon that love as possible. So it was that she admitted the idea of it when Mario was fifteen.

But she speedily rejected that idea again, for Mario at fifteen did not seem as yet to distinguish between love and friendship. He was respectful in his manner toward her, and at the same time familiar in his speech after the fashion of a well-bred brother. He did not say a word which could lead her to think that passion had revealed itself to him. Sometimes, it is true, he flushed deeply when Lauriane suddenly appeared in some place where he did not expect her, and he turned pale when some new project of marriage for her was broached in his presence. At least, Adamas so informed his master, and Mercedes confided the same observations to Lucilio. But it may be that they were mistaken. The boy was growing rapidly and reading a great deal; perhaps he had pains in his head and limbs.

We will say but one word concerning this period, when Mario was fifteen years of age and Lauriane nineteen. Their placid existence and tranquil relations were so happily monotonous that we can find no traces thereof in our documents concerning Briantes and La Motte-Seuilly.

We find there, however, mention of the marriage of Guillaume d'Ars to a wealthy heiress of Dauphiné. The nuptials were celebrated in Berry, and it does not appear that Lauriane's rejection of his suit had displeased honest Guillaume, for she was of the party, as were the Bois-Dorés.

A year later, in 1626, the lives of our characters are more clearly outlined. That was the epoch of the baptism of Monseigneur le Duc d'Enghien—afterward the great Condé—which hastened the course of events for them.

This baptism took place at Bourges on the 5th of May. The young prince was then about five years of age. The splendid festivities in connection with the ceremony attracted all the nobility and all the bourgeoisie of the province.

The Marquis de Bois-Doré, who had at last secured the salutary indifference, if not the dangerous favor of Condé and the Jesuit faction, yielded to the wishes of Mario, who was curious to see a little of the world, and to his own inclinations, which led him to exhibit his heir under more favorable circumstances than in 1622, when he was in a very painful and disquieting situation.

LXVII

When his mind was once made up, Bois-Doré, who could do nothing by halves, employed Adamas's genius and industry for a whole month in superintending the preparation of the splendid costumes and sumptuous equipages which he proposed to exhibit before the court and the city.

The supply of horses and gorgeous accoutrements was replenished; they made investigations concerning the new styles. They exerted themselves to eclipse all rivals. The old nobleman, still erect on his legs and straight of back, still becurled and anointed, still in good health and young in fancy, chose to be dressed in the same fabrics cut in the same style as his grandson's. So Mario was called at court, because the prince, seeking to jest pleasantly with Bois-Doré, and forgetting the degree of kinship between the Beaux Messieurs, asked him if it was from economy that he dressed his grandson in the clippings of his own clothes. Mario understood the great vassal's contempt, and felt more of a royalist than ever.

Lauriane also had expressed a wish to see a very great fête for the first time in her life. As her father had taken no part in the new uprising of the Huguenots, and, moreover, as a new treaty of peace had been signed within three months, they could appear at Bourges without risk. It was agreed that they should all go together.

Magnificent banquets, banners with Latin distichs and anagrams in honor of the little prince, regiments of children, in brave array and exceedingly well drilled, for his escort, the singing of motets, speeches by the magistrates, presentation of the keys of the city, concerts, dances, a play given by the Jesuit college, angels descending from triumphal arches and presenting rich gifts to the young duke—that is to say, to monsieur his father, who would not have been content with sweetmeats,—manœuvres by the militia, ceremonial functions and merry-makings—all this lasted five days.

They saw many great personages there.

The comely and famous Montmorency—whom Richelieu afterward sent to the scaffold—and the Dowager Princesse de Condé—called the poisoner—represented the godfather and godmother, who were no others than the King and Queen of France. Monseigneur le Duc received baptism in the chrémeau—a little cap trimmed with precious stones—and a long dress of cloth of silver. The Prince de Condé wore a gray coat all stamped with gold and silver.

The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré were invited by Monsieur Biet to take their places on the platform reserved for the higher nobility, not because they were among the best friends of the little court, but because of their rich attire, which did honor to the spectacle.

Mario's beauty attracted even more notice than his costume.

Lauriane heard the ladies—notably the little prince's youthful and lovely mother—call attention to the beautiful boy's charms. She felt disturbed for the first time, as if she were jealous of the glances and smiles of which he was the recipient.

Mario paid no heed to them. He looked at the princely child with curiosity. He was ugly and of sickly aspect; but there was much intelligence in his eyes and resolution in his gestures.

On the 6th of May, as our friends were preparing to depart, De Beuvre led the marquis aside.

They had been sojourning at the house of a friend.

"Look you," said he, "we must have done with this, and come to some decision."

"Have a little patience. The horses will soon be ready," replied Bois-Doré, thinking that he was in haste to start for home.

"You do not understand me, neighbor; I say that we must make up our minds to marry our children, since that is their idea and our own. I must tell you that I am about to make another journey. I came here only to make arrangements with certain people who assure me of excellent opportunities in England, and if I must entrust my Lauriane to you once more, it will be quite as well that she should be married to your heir. It is an excellent chance for him; for my vessels are in a fair way to multiply, so I am told, and the peace will simply double the opportunities of Anglo-Protestant piracy. So that my daughter might have aspired to better men than you, as to name and wealth, but not as to heart; and as the trouble of taking care of her will interfere with my taking proper care of my business, I desire, on resuming my freedom of action, to place my Lauriane in good hands. So say yes and let us hasten matters."

The marquis was staggered by this proposition, which. Monsieur de Beuvre had seemed little inclined to receive favorably during the past four years, if it had been made to him. But it did not require much reflection to convince him of the impropriety of this plan, and of Lauriane's father's selfish heedlessness. Bois-Doré was often heedless himself, often injudicious; but he was a father in the truest sense, and Mario in love and married at sixteen seemed to him to be in a more perilous situation than Mario romantically and conjugally inclined at eleven.

"You cannot mean it," he replied; "let our children be betrothed, if you please; but as to marrying them, it is altogether too soon."

"That is what I meant," said De Beuvre. "Let them be betrothed, and do you take my daughter with you once more. You can watch over the lovers, and in two or three years I will return for the wedding."

Bois-Doré was romantic enough to yield; and yet he hesitated. He had forgotten all about love, about its tempests at all events. But a glance from Adamas, who pretended to be arranging the luggage, and who was listening intently with both ears, reminded him of the flushes and pallors he had noticed on Mario's face, which might be the manifestation of suffering carefully concealed.

"No, no," he said. "I will not put my child beside the fire; I will not expose him to the risk of burning up or disobeying the laws of honor. Abide in your château, neighbor, and let us be prudent. You are rich enough. Let us exchange oaths, without the knowledge of our children. Why deprive either of them of sleep? Three years hence we will make them happy without perplexity or self-reproach."

De Beuvre realized that ambition and greed had led him to make an absurd suggestion. But he had become obstinate and choleric. He lost his temper, refused to give his word, and decided to take his daughter to Poitou, to her kinswoman the Duchesse de la Trémouille.

Mario nearly swooned when, as they were about entering the carriage, he was informed that Lauriane would not return with them and was going away for an indefinite period. His father had tried to lighten the blow; but De Beuvre insisted upon dealing it, either to test the boy's sentiments, or to have his revenge for the lesson in prudence he had received with a bad grace from the least prudent of men. Lauriane, who knew nothing as yet—her father having told her simply that they were to remain a few days longer at Bourges,—rushed downstairs when she heard the marquis's pained exclamation at the sight of Mario pale and swooning. But Mario soon recovered, declared that he had had an attack of cramp, and jumped into the great carriage with his eyes closed. He did not wish to see Lauriane, whose tranquillity, down to that moment, wounded him to the lowest depths of his heart. He supposed that she knew everything, and had decided, without regret, to part from him forever.

The marquis longed to remain, to have an explanation with De Beuvre. He had the courage to refrain, when he saw how brave Mario was: whatever the result, the young man had reached an age when separation for a few years had become necessary.

Mario, expansive as he was on all other subjects, opened his heart to no one, and affected the most perfect serenity during the journey.

At Briantes the marquis questioned him adroitly, Mercedes imprudently. He held his ground, saying that he loved Lauriane much, but that his grief would affect neither his reason nor his work.

He kept his word. His health suffered a little; but he assented to all the measures that he was urged to adopt in that regard, and he soon recovered.

"I hope," the marquis would say sometimes to Adamas, "that he will not be too sentimental, and will forget that wicked girl who does not love him."

"For my part," said the sage Adamas, "I hope that she loves him more than she seems to do; for if our Mario should lose the hope that keeps him alive, we should have cause for anxiety!"

In 1627, that is to say the next year, the château of Briantes was threatened anew with disaster. It was proposed to raze its stout walls, its little bastions and its fortified towers.

Richelieu, being definitely established in supreme authority, had decreed and ordered the destruction of the fortifications of cities and citadels throughout the kingdom. This excellent measure, construed most broadly, extended to "all fortifications constructed within thirty years, about the houses and châteaux of private individuals, without the express permission of the king."

Briantes was not in that category; its defences dated from feudal days and were useless against cannon. The sheriffs and magistrates of La Châtre, displeased at having to shave themselves, as Adamas the ex-barber said, would have been glad to shave all the noble lords, their neighbors. But Bois-Doré, feeling the necessity of protection against bands of adventurers and highwaymen, maintained his rights and forced them to be respected. He was too much beloved by his vassals to fear that they would act like those of many other nobles, who voluntarily posed as executors of the great cardinal's orders.

The measure was very popular and at the same time very sweeping. It was hunting down the spirit of the League in its feudal lairs. But the orders were carried out only in Protestant neighborhoods, and that bold decree remained upon paper, like many of Richelieu's bold conceptions.

Berry escaped by showing its claws, as always. Monsieur le Prince did not allow a stone to be removed from his fortress of Montrond; the châteaux of the great and petty nobility remained standing, and the great tower of Bourges did not fall until the reign of Louis XIV.

Bois-Doré had hardly recovered from this excitement when he was assailed by another, more serious yet less alarming.

"Monsieur," said Adamas to him one evening, "I must needs regale you with a story which Monsieur d'Urfé would have put in the form of a romance, for it is most pleasant."

"Let us have your story, my friend!" said the marquis, pulling his lace cap over his bald skull.

"It relates, monsieur to your virtuous druid and the fair Moor."

"Adamas, you are becoming a joker and a satirist, my good man. No calumny, I beg you, concerning my excellent friend and the chaste Mercedes!"

"Why, monsieur, where would be the harm if those two worthy persons should be united by the bonds of matrimony? Do you know, monsieur, that this morning, as I was arranging the learned man's library—he will allow nobody but me to touch his books, and, in truth, it requires a man with some little learning—I saw the Moor stealthily kiss a bouquet of roses which she places on his table every morning while he is breakfasting with you. Then she suddenly saw me, and, turning as pale as the scarf she wears on her head, she fled as if she had committed some great crime. I have suspected something, monsieur, for a long time, a very long time. All this friendship, all these little attentions of hers—I was sure that they would lead them both to love."

"To be sure," said the marquis. "But go on, Adamas!"

"Well, monsieur, the discovery made me laugh loud and long, not in mockery, but with satisfaction, for one is always pleased to guess or surprise a secret, and when you are pleased, you laugh. And so Master Jovelin, returning to his room, asked me mildly, with his eyes, why I was laughing so heartily, and I told him, innocently enough, to make him laugh too—and also, I confess, to see how he would take it."

"And how did he take it?"

"His face shone like a sunbeam, exactly like a pretty girl's; and one cannot but believe that happiness remakes a man; for his face, with its great mouth and great black moustache, lighted up like a star, and he seemed to me as beautiful as he is sometimes when he is playing his sweet-toned bagpipe."

"Very good, Adamas, you are training yourself to be a fine speaker. And then?"

"Then I went out, or rather I pretended to go out; and, on looking back through the partly open door, I saw dear Lucilio take up the flowers, kiss them passionately, and put them in his doublet, flowers, thorns and all, as if he took pleasure in being pricked and feeling the soft petals at the same time. And he paced the floor, pressing that love-token to his breast with both hands."

"Better and better, Adamas! What next?"

"Then the Moor entered by another door and said to him:

"'Is it time to call Mario for his lesson?'"

"What was his reply?"

"He said no with his eyes and his head; so that I could see that he wished to detain her. She started to go away, thinking that he was busy with some of his monkey-tricks; for she acts with him, monsieur, like a servant who has no hope of pleasing her master. But he knocked on the table to recall her. She went back. They looked at each other; not long, for she soon lowered her lovely black eyes and said to him in Arabic, at least I judged so from her manner:

"What is your wish, master?"

He pointed to the goblet in which she had placed the roses; and she, seeing that they were not there, said:

"'It must be that sly creature Adamas who took them away, for I never forget them.'"

"She said that?"

"Yes, monsieur, in Arabic. I could guess at every word! Then she ran to fetch more flowers, and he followed her to the door like a man fighting against himself. He went back to his table, put his head in his hands, and, my word for it, monsieur, he found the noblest sentiments imaginable in his heart to reconcile his love with his virtue."

"But why should he fight so against it?" cried the marquis; "does he not know that I should be overjoyed to have him marry that beautiful, good woman? Go, bring him to me, Adamas; he retires late and will still be at work. Mario is asleep, and this is the most propitious moment for discussing so delicate a subject."

LXVIII

The good marquis had no difficulty in confessing Lucilio.

He frankly admitted that he had adored the Moor for a long while and that for some time he had fancied that his love was returned. But he summed up the situation with his concise pen.

In the first place he was afraid of attracting persecution which he had thus far escaped in France only by a miracle. Then, when it had seemed to him beyond question that Richelieu, despite all his warfare against the Reformed religion, had adopted as an inflexible policy the maintenance of the Edict of Nantes in favor of liberty of conscience in every form, he had decided to await Mario's marriage to Lauriane or to some other woman who had won his heart. Whatever his dear pupil's frame of mind might be, whatever hope or regret, placid expectation or secret excitement, he did not choose to set before him the selfish and perilous spectacle of a marriage for love.

The marquis approved his friend's generous forethought; but he found an expedient.

"My excellent friend," he said to him, "the Moor is close upon thirty, and you have passed your fortieth year. You are still young enough to attract each other, and your ages are well balanced; but, without offence, you are no longer boy and girl, to leave blank pages in the book of your felicity! Make the most of the happy years that still remain. Marry. I will travel with Mario for a few months, and while we are absent I will tell him that I alone conceived the idea of a marriage of reason between Mercedes and you. I will invent some pretext to explain why you could not wait until our return, and when he sees you again, his mind will be accustomed to the new condition of affairs. Marriage always has a sobering effect, and then I trust to you to conceal the joys of the honeymoon behind the thick clouds of prudence and self-restraint."

So it was that the marquis took Mario to Paris. He showed him the king and his court, but at a distance; for society had changed greatly in the fifteen years that worthy Sylvain had been living on his estates. The friends of his youth were dead, or had withdrawn, as he had, from the hurly-burly of the new society. The few great personages still on the stage with whom he had formerly had some acquaintance, hardly remembered him, and, except for his antiquated attire, would not have recognized him.

Mario's attractive and modest manners were observed however: the Beaux Messieurs were warmly welcomed in some houses of distinction, but no one suggested taking them any higher; and indeed neither of them desired very earnestly to approach the pale sun of Louis XIII.

Mario was terribly disappointed when he saw the fainthearted son of Henri IV. ride by, and the marquis had discovered in that face no encouragement to pursue his design of obtaining the royal confirmation of his title of marquis.

New edicts appeared every day against the usurpation of titles; edicts little respected, for the nobles, old and new, continued to assume names of domains of very doubtful authenticity. Their obscurity protected them. Bois-Doré was forced to recognize that he had no better refuge than that.

Furthermore, he could not avoid the discovery that in Paris nobody was a beau monsieur who was not of the court. To be sure, in their daily drives and on Place Royale, more or less people turned to gaze at the strange contrast between his painted face and Mario's deliciously fresh complexion; and for some time the goodman, thinking that he was recognized, smiled at the passers-by, and put his hand to his hat, ready to welcome overtures which no one thought of making. That gave him an air of dazed hesitancy and vulgar affability which aroused laughter. The ladies who sat under the young trees in the Cours-la-Reine, or walked back and forth fan in hand, said to one another:

"Who is that tall old fool, pray?"

And if those ladies were of the society in which Bois-Doré had reappeared, or bourgeoises of the quarter where he lodged, sometimes there would be one who would reply:

"He is a nobleman from the provinces, who prides himself on having been a friend of the late king."

"Some Gascon, I suppose? They all saved France! Or some Béarnais? They were all foster-brothers of our dear Henri!"

"No, an old ass from Berry or Champagne. There are Gascons everywhere."

So it was that honest Sylvain was quite effaced in that forgetful, ostentatious crowd, strive as he would to appear to advantage there. He said to himself with some vexation that it was better to be first in one's village than last at court. It is certain however that, with a little impudence and scheming, he could have pushed Mario ahead as so many others were pushed; but he dreaded some affront on the score of his problematical marquisate.

He resigned himself therefore to play the part of the provincial boor, and would have suffered terribly from ennui, had not Mario, who was always studious and intelligently artistic in his tastes, taken him to see the monuments of art and science which were the principal attractions of the capital of the kingdom in his eyes.

The pleasure and profit which the young man derived from them consoled the old man in some measure for what he called in his secret thoughts an abortive journey.

He did not tell Mario of all his disappointments. He still cherished the hope of discovering his mother's family and acquiring thereby a fine Spanish title, an inheritance of some sort. He had written many times to Spain to make inquiries and to furnish information concerning Mario, in case the said family should display any interest. He had never received any but vague, perhaps evasive replies.

At Paris he determined to go in person to the Embassy. He was received there by a sort of private secretary, who informed him, in substance, that, in compliance with his frequent requests they had at last elucidated a mysterious affair. The young woman who had eloped and disappeared did in fact belong to the noble family of Merida, and Mario was the issue of a secret marriage, the validity of which might be contested.

The young woman had left no claim to any fortune, and her family were by no means anxious to recognize a young man reared by an old heretic, only partially purged of his heresy.

The marquis, deeply incensed, determined to stop there and to repay the contempt of those haughty Spaniards with oblivion. It had cost his pride dearly enough to besiege the doors of an embassy which he, as a former Protestant and a good Frenchman, bitterly detested.

And yet he was sad, and confided his distress to his inseparable Adamas.

"Of a surety," he said to him, "the pleasantest and most honorable life is that of the provincial nobility. But, while it is suited to those who have fought and suffered, it may become burdensome and even shameful in the case of a young heart like Mario's. Have I reared him with the greatest care, have we made of him, thanks to his precocious talents, an accomplished gentleman, fit for any station, only to bury him in a country manor, on the pretext that he has no need to make his fortune, and that he is tender-hearted and humane? Should he not have a little taste of war and adventure, and by some brilliant deed win that marquisate which the great cardinal's ideas of universal levelling may take from him any day? I know that the child is very young, and that we have lost no time as yet; but his inclinations seem to tend in the direction of study, and I ransack my wits to determine how he will find a way to distinguish himself in that direction."

"Monsieur," replied Adamas, "if you think that your son will be more of a cripple than you in battle, you hardly know him."

"I do not know my son?"

"Well, no, monsieur, you do not know him: he is a mysterious creature who loves you so dearly that he never dares to have an idea to perplex you or a trouble for you to share. But I know what is in the bag: Mario dreams of war as much as of love, and the time is near at hand when, if you do not divine his ambition, you will have him either sick or melancholy on your hands."

"God forbid!" cried the marquis. "I will question him on this subject to-morrow!"

In such a matter, when a man says to-morrow, it means that he is inclined to shirk, and the marquis did in fact shirk. Paternal weakness fought a great battle with paternal pride, and won the day. Mario was not yet strong enough to endure the fatigues of war; and, furthermore, the war with England or Spain to which all indications pointed, seemed to be postponed for a brief space by Richelieu's mighty efforts to create a French navy. There was no need of haste; there was plenty of time; the opportunity would come soon enough!

So they returned to Briantes late in the autumn and found Lucilio married to Mercedes.

Mario, on being informed of this event in Paris, manifested more satisfaction than surprise. He had felt for a long while, in the burning air which his Moor involuntarily breathed upon him, as well as in Lucilio's gentle melancholy and in the adroit and affectionate language of his bagpipes, the waves of passion which sometimes set his own blood on fire. His heart felt as if it were caught in a vise at the thought of happy love; but he had extraordinary control over himself. As his father lived only in his life, he had at an early age accustomed himself to conceal his emotions from him; and, when Adamas reproved him for keeping his thoughts too much to himself, he would reply:

"My father is old; he is wrapped up in me as a mother is in her child. It is my duty not to shorten his days by causing him anxiety, and heaven has entrusted to me the mission of making him live a long while."

Lauriane was living in Poitou, and they rarely heard from her. She wrote in an affectionate and respectful tone to the marquis, but she hardly mentioned Mario's name, as if she dreaded to remind him of herself.

By way of compensation she wrote in the most affectionate terms of the Moor, Lucilio, and the faithful retainers of the family. It seemed that her affection, held in check with those who had the first claim upon it, instinctively took its revenge with the others. She announced several times, with a sort of affectation, that there were divers projects of marriage under consideration, and that she would soon inform them of her decision, desiring, she said, to make a choice that would be agreeable to the marquis, whom she looked upon as a second father.

The strange feature of these alleged marriage projects was that she recurred to them year after year, as if they were constantly abandoned and revived, without imparting anything of interest to her friends as to her choice; as if her real purpose were to say to them: "I do not marry because I am not so inclined; but do not for one moment think that I am reserving myself for you."

Such was, in fact, her purpose in writing these letters, and her state of mind may be thus described:

When he took her away from Berry, intending soon to part from her, Monsieur de Beuvre had inflicted a cruel wound upon her heart by inventing a fable to the effect that the marquis and his heir, when consulted by him at Bourges, had met his advances very coldly. Mario had shown himself a very fervent Catholic on that occasion; he had sworn that he would never enter into a mixed marriage.

Lauriane should have distrusted a father in whom the thirst for gold had penetrated to the very entrails, and who, being in haste to go away, was determined at any price to persuade her to marry promptly. She refused to marry in anger and without due consideration; but she promised to reflect upon it, and in her heart proudly abandoned the ungrateful Mario. She had loved him at Bourges—really loved him for the first time after years of placid friendship. And that first love of her life, almost before it was admitted, hardly revealed to herself, she had had to blush for in very shame, and to crush it without a sign of weakening!