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_.