Mario came softly in on tiptoe and stood close beside Lauriane without betraying his presence. Lauriane was already his darling sister. She was so kind to him, so playful, so anxious to amuse him when he passed the day with her!
Seeing her weep, he was frightened; he believed, with everybody else, that Monsieur de Beuvre was absent for a few days only.
He knelt on the edge of the cushion on which she had placed her feet, and gazed at her speechless. At last he ventured to take her hands.
She started, looked up, and saw before her that angelic face, smiling at her through tear-bedewed eyes. Touched by the child's sensibility, she pressed him to her heart with the utmost warmth and kissed his lovely hair.
"What is the matter, pray, my Lauriane?" he asked, emboldened by this outburst.
"Why, my poor darling," she replied, "your Lauriane is grieved, as you would be if your dear father the marquis should go away."
"But your papa will return soon; he told you so when he went."
"Alas! my Mario, who can say that he will return at all? When one is travelling, you know——"
"Has he gone very far away?"
"No, but—Nay, nay, I will not make you unhappy. I must go out and take the air. Will you come with me and find your dear father?"