Régis did not answer at once. He had long been in the habit of treating Marguerite as a very precious companion and counselor; moreover, she was right in saying that she was no longer a little girl, for in her country and in her world girls not yet married at eighteen, even, are supposed to be determined to remain old maids. Still, it was utterly impossible to so much as hint at the truth, and he decided to seek an acceptable alternative. “What makes you so sure that Basil has really ceased to care for his son?” he asked, throwing away his cigarette end to light a fresh one. “What he himself told me,” she replied, unhesitatingly. “Also, his impossible attitude toward Piotr. Now, Papa, you and I realize that he is not doing this idly--_pour se donner des airs_.” “No, certainly not!” admitted Régis, still looking at the marvelous procession of hooded and unhooded monks mirrored in the limpid water of the fountain. “But you must not forget that Basil had a terrible shock, that--” Marguerite here firmly interrupted him. “If you are going to tergiversate, my dear Papa,” she said, quietly, “we may as well drop the subject once and for all. I’d a great deal sooner you’d tell me to mind my own business, or, in other words, that I am poaching on land where I have no right to intrude. At least it would show me a straight road out.” “_Mon Chevalier_,” Régis retorted, “you and I have managed to be far more than father and daughter to each other, as this closest of relationships is generally understood. We have been friends and equals right through. You are--I don’t want to throw bouquets at you--but you really are the most perfect gentleman I have ever had the fortune to encounter, and in all questions of honor there is no one I would rather consult than you. But you are at the same time my beloved little daughter and a pearl of extreme purity; therefore I do tell you, in all amity, not to ask me that question again. As far as I know, moreover, Basil’s only reason for the coldness he displays toward Piotr--and that undeniably exists--is that the child reminds him of Laurence, and of the sorrows Laurence brought into his life. He is one of those persons who, owing to a singularly uncompromising nature, are apt to burn fiercely what they once adored, and _vice versa_. I am convinced, however, that, were the proper influence exerted, he could be won over to saner and fairer sentiments. Hadn’t you better try to do that yourself?” Marguerite flushed, but her eyes did not waver from her father’s. “You are the only person who can,” he emphasized. “Frankly, Papa, if you don’t mind my saying it, I have no more influence on Basil than Garrassime has.”