The fire among the farm buildings was extinguished. The damage was great, doubtless; but the marquis paid little heed to it; he wiped away the perspiration and the powder which obscured his sight, and looked about with much emotion in search of the objects of his affection: first of all, Mario, who was not thereto congratulate him, which fact made him fear that the Moor was in a bad way; then Lauriane, who made haste to encourage him concerning Mercedes's condition; then Adamas, who was kissing his feet in a frenzy of joy; then Jovelin and Aristandre, who had not yet appeared, and his worthy farmer, whose death they concealed from him; and lastly all his loyal retainers and vassals, whose number had diminished during that fatal night. But, while he was asking for them all in turn, he interrupted himself to inquire anew for Mario with sudden anxiety. Two or three times during his desperate combat with the _reitres_, he had fancied that he saw his child's face hovering about him in the twilight. "Ah! at last, Aristandre!" he exclaimed, as he spied the coachman on horseback by his side; "have you seen my son? Answer me quickly!" Aristandre stammered some incoherent words. His great face was drawn by fatigue and confused by inexplicable embarrassment. The marquis turned as pale as death. Adamas, who was gazing at him ecstatically, soon perceived his suffering. "No, no, monsieur!" he said, as Mario jumped into his arms from Squilindre's back, where he had been hiding behind the coachman's bulky figure. "Here he is as fresh and sound as a rose from the Lignon!" "What were you doing there behind the coachman, monsieur le comte?" said the marquis after embracing his heir.