When alone, she often wept in spite of herself, involuntarily yearning for companionship, affection, a mother, a sister, a brother, a smile, a pleasant word which would assist her to breathe and bloom in a softer air than that of the chilling gloom of her old manor-house, the depressing memory of the Borgias, and the political harangues of her satirical and discontented father. Thus a rapid transformation took place in her at Briantes. She became what she longed to be, what she could not have ceased to be except for a painful straining of her will, and what nature willed that she should be once more: a child. The marquis, having joyously cast aside the thought of making her his wife, resolutely treated her as his daughter, taking pleasure in the idea that she was so young that he could readily, without making himself out too old, look upon her as Mario's older sister. Moreover it happened that his extraordinary coquetry was even better served by two children than by a single one. Those youthful companions, whose delicate colors he loved to wear, and whose innocent amusements he loved to partake, made him younger in his own opinion, to such a degree that he sometimes persuaded himself that he was a mere boy. "There are people who grow old, you see," he would say to Adamas; "I am not one of that sort, for I enjoy myself only with innocent youth. I tell you, my friend, I have returned to my golden age, and my ideas are as pure and joyous as those of the little sweetheart and cherub yonder." Thus Lauriane, Mario and the marquis became inseparable, and their days passed in a constant succession of amusements interspersed with earnest study and good deeds. Lauriane had had no education at all. She knew nothing. She desired to attend the lessons Jovelin gave Mario in the large salon. She would listen, embroidering the marquis's crest upon a piece of tapestry; and when Mario had read or recited his lesson, he would place Lucilio's written demonstrations on her lap and read them over with her. Lauriane was amazed to find how readily she understood things that she had believed to be beyond a woman's intelligence. She enjoyed the music lesson exceedingly, and sometimes played the theorbo prettily while the Moor sang her sweet laments. The marquis would lie stretched out in his long chair throughout these little concerts, gazing at the characters on the _Astrée_ tapestry, and would doze beatifically, fancying that he saw them move or heard them sing. Lucilio too had his share in this family happiness, which caused him to forget to some extent the solitude of his heart and his ghastly future.