"Offer, offer, neighbor! I accept, nor do I see wherein the indelicacy consists. There is no impropriety in a woman's being in any place where her virtue or her good name are not in danger, and I am entirely unable to see that my daughter runs the risk of losing her heart or her reason, with you who might be her grandfather, your little one who is only a school-boy, your philosopher whose tongue cannot offend, and your page who looks like a monkey. So I will bring her to you to-morrow, and leave her with you until my return, well-assured that she will be happy and safe under your roof, and that you will be to her, as to me, the best of friends and neighbors." "You can rely upon it," replied Bois-Doré. "I will go to fetch her myself. My chariot is large enough; she can put her most valuable property in it, without letting the neighbors know too soon that she is doing anything more than taking one of her ordinary excursions." XXXIX On the following morning Lauriane was installed at Briantes, in the Salle des Verdures, which the ingenious Adamas soon converted into a luxurious and comfortable apartment. The Moor asked leave to wait upon the young lady, who inspired confidence and sympathy in her, and Lauriane, who on her side had much regard and liking for her, asked her to sleep in the closet adjoining her enormous room. Lauriane parted from her father most courageously. The noble-hearted child, living herself on faith and enthusiasm, suspected no selfish calculation on his part. She would have found it difficult to understand what it meant to be guided in one's reasoning, doubts and decisions by personal interest. She knew that her father was as brave as a lion and that his quick temper and the pride of gentle birth made him frank and outspoken; that was enough for her to make a hero of him. He was conscious of the innocence and the noble instincts of that young mind, and he would not have dared to lower himself in her esteem by allowing her to discover how much more truly than she supposed he was the _honest man_ of his time; that is to say, the man who did as little harm as possible, while taking care to keep his neck out of the collar. The day of ideal virtues had passed: the world had entered "the brambles of that shocking 17th century; an imposing desert, wherein moral and material subsistence becomes more and more inadequate, wherein nature at last ceases to support man; wherein the exhausted earth fails under him."[24] Men who had grown old in the struggles of the preceding century were not the men to rejuvenate the new century. But the children had courage; they always have when they are left to themselves!