Adamas was a pure-blooded Gascon: stout of heart, keen of wit, untiring of tongue. Bois-Doré artlessly called him his old servant, although he himself was at least ten years his senior. This Adamas, who had accompanied him in his last campaigns, was his _âme damnée_, and filled his nostrils with the incense of perpetual admiration, the more injurious to his mental equilibrium in that it was the result of a sincere infatuation. It was he who persuaded him that he was still young, that he could not grow old, and that, when he went forth from his hands, glistening and high-colored like a page from a missal, he was certain to supplant all the coxcombs and deceive all the fair. No man is great in the eyes of his valet de chambre, witness Sancho Panza who told his master such sound truths. But Bois-Doré, who was simply an excellent man, enjoyed the privilege of being a demi-god in the eyes of his servant; and, while some heroes have been the laughing-stock of their retainers, this laughable old man was taken quite seriously by the majority of his. So things go in this world. Everyone must have noticed, as I have, that they sometimes go entirely contrary to logic and common-sense. The old nobleman's extraordinary kindliness was responsible for this state of affairs. Great characters make people too exacting. At the slightest weakness on their part, people are astonished; at the slightest impatience they are scandalized. He who has no character at all never irritates anybody and reaps the advantages of his never-failing good nature. "Monsieur le marquis," said Adamas, kneeling on the floor to remove his old idol's boots, "I must tell you a very strange occurrence that happened to-day on your domain." "Speak, my friend, speak, since you desire to speak," replied Bois-Doré, who allowed his dresser to chatter familiarly with him, and furthermore, when he was half asleep, loved to be soothed by some bit of harmless gossip. "You must know, then, my dear and well-beloved master," said Adamas, with his Gascon accent, which we will not attempt to reproduce, "that, about five o'clock this evening, a very extraordinary woman came here, one of those poor creatures of whom we saw so many on the shores of the Mediterranean and the Southern provinces; you know, monsieur, not very dark women, with heavy lips, fine eyes, and black hair--like yours!" As he made this comparison, in perfect good faith, Adamas respectfully placed his master's wig on an ivory block. "Do you mean those Egyptian women, who play all kinds of tricks?" said Bois-Doré, paying no heed to the subject of the comparison. "No, monsieur, no! This one is a Spaniard, who swears by Mahomet, I am sure, when she is all alone." "Then you mean that she is a Moor?" "That's it exactly, monsieur le marquis; she's a Moor, and she doesn't know a word of French." "But you know a little Spanish?"