[XXXIX]
On the following morning Lauriane was installed at Briantes, in the Salle des Verdures, which the ingenious Adamas soon converted into a luxurious and comfortable apartment.
The Moor asked leave to wait upon the young lady, who inspired confidence and sympathy in her, and Lauriane, who on her side had much regard and liking for her, asked her to sleep in the closet adjoining her enormous room.
Lauriane parted from her father most courageously. The noble-hearted child, living herself on faith and enthusiasm, suspected no selfish calculation on his part. She would have found it difficult to understand what it meant to be guided in one's reasoning, doubts and decisions by personal interest. She knew that her father was as brave as a lion and that his quick temper and the pride of gentle birth made him frank and outspoken; that was enough for her to make a hero of him.
He was conscious of the innocence and the noble instincts of that young mind, and he would not have dared to lower himself in her esteem by allowing her to discover how much more truly than she supposed he was the honest man of his time; that is to say, the man who did as little harm as possible, while taking care to keep his neck out of the collar.
The day of ideal virtues had passed: the world had entered "the brambles of that shocking 17th century; an imposing desert, wherein moral and material subsistence becomes more and more inadequate, wherein nature at last ceases to support man; wherein the exhausted earth fails under him."[24] Men who had grown old in the struggles of the preceding century were not the men to rejuvenate the new century. But the children had courage; they always have when they are left to themselves!
Lauriane, moved to enthusiasm by the gallant conduct of the Rohans and La Forces at Montauban, urged her father to go, believing that his only thought was to uphold the honor of the cause, and that he, like herself, had naught in view but to preserve, at the price of fortune, of life, if need be, the dignity and liberty of conscience granted by Henri IV.
She did not shed a tear as she gave him the last kiss; she followed him with her eyes along the road, as long as she could see him; and, when he was out of sight, she returned to her room and fell to sobbing.
Mercedes, who was working in the closet, heard her and walked to the door, but dared not approach. She regretted that she did not know her language so that she could comfort her.
The maternal instinct was so strong within her that she could not see a young heart suffer without suffering herself, and without a feeling that she must go to its aid. She thought of going in search of Mario; it seemed to her that no sorrow could hold out against the aspect and the caresses of her beloved child.