The situation was made much worse by her father's prolonged absence and silence. It became quite useless to deny the reasons therefor. No one could retain any doubt as to what had happened; and Monsieur Biet replied, with a bitter smile, to the marquis's urgent entreaties and reproaches: "But why does not the gentleman come and get his daughter? She will be restored to him instantly, and so will the management of her property." Lucilio had settled at Bourges, in the suburb of Saint-Ambroise, under a false name. He saw no one but Mario, who came alone, simply dressed and without ostentation, to take his lessons. Mercedes, who was allowed to go in and out, served his meals, to which the philosopher probably would not have given a thought, absorbed as he was by his work. At this juncture it became evident that Monsieur Poulain had changed greatly for the better. He was still at Bourges, engaged in obtaining permission to become an abbot, when Lucilio found himself face to face with him one day in the little garden appurtenant to his humble apartment. On accosting each other, he and the future abbé discovered that they lived under the same roof. Lucilio expected to be denounced and harassed. Nothing of the sort happened. Monsieur Poulain took pleasure in his society, and displayed great interest in Mario when he came to take his lessons. Monsieur Poulain was too shrewd a man not to have reflected profoundly on his past experience, and he realized how little dependence could be placed on the Prince de Condé, for the Archbishop of Bourges refused to make him abbot until monsieur le prince should authorize him, and monsieur le prince seemed in no haste to do so. Thus our friends led a reasonably peaceful life during this species of exile at Bourges. Indeed, they enjoyed more real security than they had enjoyed at Briantes during their last weeks there. But the marquis was sadly distressed to have broken up all his luxurious, comfortable and active habits. He lived very simply and quietly, in order not to attract attention to Lauriane in a city where the spirit of the League was by no means extinct, and where the brief but violent reign of the Reformers had left unpleasant memories. Mario strove to be cheerful in order to divert him, but the poor child was far from cheerful himself; and when he read _Astrée_ aloud to him in the evening, he was always thinking of something else, or sighing over those pictures of streams, gardens and bosky groves which intensified the tedium and confinement of his present situation.