"She is my daughter as well," replied Coursegol, "but you may take her, sir. Though I relinquish her to you, I do not lose her since I shall live near her, and we can both love her."
The Marquis de Chamondrin offered his hand to Coursegol, thus consenting to the compact that gave Dolores two protectors; and so the daughter of the gypsy, though she had lost her parents, was not an orphan.
CHAPTER III.
THE CHILDHOOD OF DOLORES.
Dolores passed a happy childhood in the Château de Chamondrin, where she was loved, petted and caressed as if she had been the little Martha whose loss had deprived the Marquise of reason for many dreary months. Nothing was left undone to render the illusion complete in the eyes of the members of the household and in her own. The first companion of her childish play was Philip, who called her sister; and she pillowed her fair head on the bosom of the Marquise without a shadow of fear and fondly called her mother. The Marquise loved her as devotedly as she had loved her own daughter; Coursegol regarded her with an affection whose fervor was mingled with the deference he owed to the children of his master. As for the servants, they treated Philip and Dolores with equal respect; and there were no relatives or friends of the family who did not take pleasure in exhibiting their fondness for the little creature whose presence had cured the Marquise of the most terrible of maladies.
It is true that Dolores was such a lovely child no one could help loving her. She promised to resemble her mother. She had the same luxuriant golden hair, the same large, dark eyes, the same energy, the same sweetness of disposition and of voice. The Marquis and Coursegol, who had seen the gypsy, and who still remembered her, were often struck by the strong resemblance that seemed to make Tiepoletta live again in Dolores. The child also possessed the same tender heart, vivid imagination and honorable instincts. Her mind absorbed with marvellous facility the instruction which she received from the Marquis and which she shared with his son. She had a wonderful memory, and what she learned seemed to be indelibly imprinted upon her mind. She was loving in disposition, docile and sweet-tempered, and had already won the love of all who came in contact with her.
Philip actually worshipped his little sister. He was five years her senior, a large, noisy, almost coarse boy, rather vain of his birth and of the authority which enabled him to lord it over the little peasants who sometimes played with him. But these faults, which were destined to be greatly modified by time, concealed a thoroughly good heart and disappeared entirely when he was with Dolores.
It was amusing to see the tenderness and care with which he surrounded her. If they were walking together in the park, he removed all the stones which might hurt her tiny feet or cause her to stumble. If a dainty morsel fell to his share at the table, he transferred it from his plate to that of Dolores. If they dressed her in any new garment, he was never weary of admiring her, of telling her how beautiful she was, and of fondling her luxuriant golden curls. If it was necessary to punish Philip, they had only to deprive him of the society of Dolores. But unfortunately this punishment, the most severe that could be inflicted upon him, grieved his sister as much as it did him, so it was used rarely and only in grave cases. One of the favorite amusements of the two children was to walk with Coursegol, and this was not a delight to them alone, for that faithful fellow was never so happy as when roving about the fields with them.