And, as he reflected thus, the child shed a few tears. Pilar was not a very amiable creature; but there was something of the Bois-Doré in dear Mario; he was particularly sensitive to pity, and the Abbé Anjorrant had brought him up to abhor violence and cruelty. But he concealed his tears, fearing to pain his uncle, whom he already loved passionately. D'Alvimar left his room at last. The rest that he had taken, a lovely sunset and the joyous song of the thrushes dispelled the black presentiments by which he had been besieged for several days. Having dressed and perfumed himself, he sought the marquis and thanked him for the interest he had shown and the care that had been taken of him. Bois-Doré could not make up his mind to accuse even inwardly a man, still so young, of a bearing so distinguished, and a countenance whose habitual melancholy seemed to him genuinely touching; but when they were seated at the supper table, Lucilio being there, as usual, to furnish music, Bois-Doré remembered their agreement, and collected what he called his siege-guns, to make a violent assault upon his guest's conscience. He had seen too much fighting and had had too many perilous adventures not to be able to arrange his bearing and his features, without having, like Adamas, to make preparatory studies before a mirror. Although his life had long been so placid that he had not been obliged to depart from his natural mildness of manner, he was too much the man of his time not to be able to make his glance say, twenty times a day if need be: "Vive le roi! Vive la Ligue!" The sweet notes of the bagpipe relieved him from the necessity of carrying on a commonplace conversation which would have seemed to him very tedious. The music which helped to produce the tranquillity that he needed, now caused a feverish excitement in D'Alvimar. He really hated Lucilio. He knew his baptismal name, which the marquis had let fall in his presence, and Monsieur Poulain, who was thoroughly posted in contemporary heresy, had divined from that circumstance that _Jovelin_ was a free translation of Giovellino. The fact of his mutilation confirmed him in that suspicion, and he was already deliberating upon the means of making perfectly sure, and of stirring up some new persecution against him. D'Alvimar would readily have assisted him, if he had not been forced to keep out of sight for some time, and the poor philosopher was the more antipathetic to him because he could take no steps against him at present. His beautiful music, by which he had been charmed at the first hearing, seemed to him now intolerable bravado, and the ill-humor which took possession of him did not dispose him to undergo patiently the examination that was being prepared for him. After the supper the marquis proposed a game of chess in the boudoir adjoining his salon. "I agree," the Spaniard replied, "on condition that we have no music there. I cannot play with that to distract my attention."