"No, no!" laughed De Beuvre; "my daughter is neither betrothed nor promised to anyone, unless it be to our _youthful_ neighbor, the Marquis de Bois-Doré, or to this solemn personage, the other Monsieur de Bois-Doré, who slumbers yonder while another seeks the hand of his future bride!" Mario, bewildered and wounded, did not turn. It seemed as if he were asleep; the Moor alone saw that he was weeping; but the marquis rose and retorted with more animation than he usually displayed: "I will wager, my dear neighbor, that your raillery is intended as a rebuke for our silence, so we will break it. You will forgive me, Guillaume; for, as surely as heaven is above us, I esteem you the best and most loyal man in the world, worthy in every respect to be our Lauriane's happy husband. But, with no desire to injure you in her eyes, I hereby declare that my suit preceded yours, and that I was encouraged by her and her father when I urged my suit." "You, cousin?" exclaimed Guillaume in amazement. "Yes, I," replied Bois-Doré, "as uncle, guardian and father by adoption of Mario de Bois-Doré here present." "Here present? Nay," said Monsieur de Beuvre, still laughing, "for he is sleeping the sleep of innocence." "As a child should do!" added Guillaume gently. "I am not asleep!" cried Mario, rushing into his father's arms, and revealing his face all discolored with the sobs he had stifled in his hands. "Hoity-toity!" said Monsieur de Beuvre, "he says that with his eyes half-closed with sleep!" "Nay," rejoined the marquis, scrutinizing his child's face, "with his eyes inflamed with tears!" Lauriane started; Mario's grief reminded her of the scene in the labyrinth, and brought before her mind once more the apprehensions she had forgotten. The child's tears pained her deeply, and Mercedes's glance disturbed her like a reproach. Lucilio seemed to share her anxiety. Lauriane felt that she held in her hands for a long while, perhaps forever, the happiness of that family which had bestowed so much happiness on herself. She became altogether depressed, and, seeing that the marquis too was weeping, she gave the old man and the young man each an equally affectionate kiss, entreating them to be reasonable and not to borrow trouble concerning a future which she had not yet faced. De Beuvre shrugged his shoulders. "You are all very foolish," he said; "and as to you, Bois-Doré, I consider you thrice mad to have fed this poor schoolboy's brain on your absurd romances. You see the result of spoiling a child. He deems himself a man, and wishes to marry, forsooth! at an age when all he needs is the birch." These harsh words put the finishing touch to Mario's despair; they made the marquis seriously angry.