The marquis, having received from the hands of Adamas a cordial to refresh him after the exertions of the evening, went to bed and slept soundly, the happiest of men.
At a time when, in default of regular legal processes, people were accustomed to take the law into their own hands, and when a suggestion of pardon would have been considered blameworthy and cowardly weakness, the marquis, although far more disposed than most of his contemporaries to display great gentleness in all his dealings, thought that he had performed the most sacred of duties, and therein he followed the ideas and usages in vogue when chivalry was in its prime.
Certainly in those days it would have been impossible to find one gentleman in a thousand who would not have deemed himself possessed of the right to put to death by torture, or at least to order hanged before his eyes, a guilty wretch like D'Alvimar, and who would not have censured or ridiculed the excessively romantic sense of honor which Bois-Doré had displayed in his duel.
Bois-Doré was well aware of it and was not disturbed by the knowledge. He had three reasons for being what he was: first of all his instinct, next the example of humanity set by Henri IV, who was one of the first men of his time to express disgust at the shedding of blood without peril to him who shed it. Henri III, when mortally wounded by Jacques Clement, was so upborne by rage and thirst for vengeance that he was able himself to strike his assassin, and to look on with joy when he was thrown from the window; when Henri IV was wounded in the face by Chastel, his first impulse was to say: "Let that man go!"—And thirdly, Bois-Doré's religious code was found in the acts and exploits of the heroes of Astrée.
In that ideal romance, it was without example that an honorable knight should avenge love, honor or friendship without exposing himself to the greatest dangers. We must not laugh too much at Astrée; indeed the popularity of the book is most interesting to observe. Amid the sanguinary villainies of civil discords, it is a cry of humanity, a song of innocence, a dream of virtue ascending heavenward.
[XXXIV]
The marquis's first thought on waking was for his heir, whom, to conform to the title which was finally adopted, we will call his son.
He recalled somewhat confusedly the events of that agitated night, but he recalled perfectly the great questions of dress that had been raised the day before in connection with his dear Mario. He called him in order to resume the interview they had begun in the treasure-room. But he received no reply and was beginning to be anxious, when the child, who had waked and risen before dawn, came in and threw his arms about his neck, all redolent with the fresh fragrance of the morning.
"Where have you been so early, my young friend?" inquired the old man.
"Father," replied Mario, gayly, "I have been to see Adamas, who has forbidden me to tell you a secret that we have between us. Don't ask me what it is; we are going to give you a surprise."