"'Nay, nay,' she replied, 'you are deceiving me; if your Climante were as much in love with me as you represent him, he would have come with you to-day, whereas two whole weeks have passed since we saw him. Will you tell me that he starts when he hears my name, as in _Astrée_, and that he utters sighs which seem _to rend his stomach in twain_? I do not believe a word of it, and look upon him as an inconstant Hylas rather!' "You see that the charming Lauriane continues to make sport of _Astrée_, of you and of me. However, when I took leave of her at nightfall, she said to me: "'I insist upon your bringing the druid and his bag-pipe to us the day after to-morrow, or I will give you a cool reception, I promise you.'" The poor druid listened with a smile to Bois-Doré's story; he knew how to jest on occasion, that is to say to take others' jesting in good part. Lauriane was to him nothing more than a lovely child, whose father he might have been; but he was still young enough to remember that he had loved, and in the depths of his heart his sense of isolation was exceedingly bitter to him. As he thought of the past he stifled a sigh of regret, and began instinctively to play an Italian air which the marquis loved above all others. He played it with so much grace and passion that Bois-Doré said to him, resorting to his favorite oath, borrowed from Monsieur d'Urfé: "_Numes célestes_! you need no tongue to talk of love, my dear friend, and if the object of your passion were here, she must be deaf to avoid understanding that your heart is pouring itself forth to hers. But come, will you not let me read those pages of sublime learning?" Lucilio signified that his head was a little tired, and Bois-Doré at once sent him off to bed, after embracing him fraternally. Giovellino, in truth, often felt that he was more of an artist and a creature of sentiment, than a scholar and philosopher. His nature was at once enthusiastic and meditative. Meanwhile Monsieur de Bois-Doré had retired to his "night apartment," situated above the salon. He had spoken truly when he said to Lucilio that no woman ever entered that sanctuary of repose or the cabinets connected therewith; Bellinde herself was forbidden to cross the threshold under the severest penalties. Only old Mathias--dubbed Adamas, for the same reason that Guillette Carcat was obliged to call herself Bellinde, and Jean Fachot, Clindor--was privileged to assist in the mysteries of the marquis's toilet, so perfectly sincere was he in the belief that the secret of his rouge and his dyes could be revealed only by the arsenal of boxes, phials and jars spread out upon his tables. As usual, therefore, he found Adamas alone, preparing the curl-papers, powders and perfumed unguents which were to preserve the marquis's beauty even in his slumber. XII