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.