You do not give your heart away,
It will triumph over the devil.
He from whom this token comes.
If he but heed to the presage
And hold aloof from love—
[XXIII]
While the gypsy fled toward the north, the marquis, with D'Alvimar and Lucilio, rode in the opposite direction toward Briantes. He was most anxious to tell his faithful Adamas of what he regarded as a happy issue of his enterprise; and, although he thought that he owed it to his love to indulge in a few stifled sighs of anxiety or impatience, he was by no means ill-pleased, taking everything into consideration, to have seven years before him in which to adopt a new matrimonial resolution.
D'Alvimar was in a very bad humor, not only because of the predictions which had stirred his bile and disturbed his brain, but also because of the tranquil manner in which Madame de Beuvre had taken leave of him, while she had given both her little hands to the marquis, as she gayly promised him a visit on the second day following.
"Can it be possible," he thought, "that she has accepted that old man's gold pieces, and that I am supplanted by a rival of seventy?"
He was exceedingly desirous to question his host, to poke fun at him, to quarrel with him. But it was impossible to enter into conversation with Bois-Doré on that subject. The marquis bore himself with an air of discreet and modest triumph, which caused him to outdo himself in courteous attentions to his guest.
D'Alvimar was able to avenge himself for his discomfiture in no other way than by doing his best to splash Master Jovelin, who rode behind the marquis.