"Oh! I know how," said Mario. "I have ridden Squilindre!"
"The big carriage horse? Tell me, my boy, did you find his trot comfortable?"
"Not very," said Mario, laughing.
And he began to play and chatter with Guillaume and his friends.
"Come," said De Beuvre, leading Bois-Doré aside, "let me into the secret, for I am wholly in the dark. You are gulling us, my dear neighbor! you did not engender that noble boy! He is too young for that. Is he an adopted child?"
"He is my own nephew," Bois-Doré replied; "he is the son of my dear Florimond, whom you also loved, my neighbor!"
And he told Mario's story before them all, producing the evidence in support of its truth, but without mentioning the name of D'Alvimar or Villareal, and without hinting that he had discovered his brother's assassins.
[XXXVI]
In face of the letters, the ring and the seal, it was impossible to treat this romantic adventure as a fable.
Everybody showered attentions on pretty Mario, who, by his ingenuous nature, his affectionate manner and his fearless glance, won every heart spontaneously and irresistibly.