"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.