"Yes," said Mario, "he is in the garden. Let us go. Would you like me to go and get my white goat to amuse you with her capers?"
"We will go together to look for her; come!"
She went out leaning on his arm, not like a lady leaning on the arm of a gallant, but like a mother, with her boy's arm passed through hers.
As they descended the stairs they found Mercedes, whose lovely eyes rested caressingly on them as they passed. Lauriane, who could make herself understood by signs, needed only to look at her to understand her. She divined her loving solicitude and held out her hand, which Mercedes would have kissed. But Lauriane would not permit it, and kissed her on both cheeks.
Never before had a Christian kissed the Moor, although she was herself a Christian. Bellinde would have considered that she disgraced herself by bestowing the slightest caress upon her, and, deeming her a heathen, she even objected to eating in her company.
The noble-hearted little dame's fascinating cordiality was therefore one of the greatest joys in that poor creature's life, and, from that moment, she almost divided her affection between her and Mario.
She had always refused to try to learn a word of French, even striving to forget the little Spanish that she knew, having an exaggerated fear of forgetting the language of her fathers, as she had sometimes found that it was forgotten by Moors isolated from their countrymen in foreign lands, to whom she had not been able to make herself intelligible. Hitherto it had been sufficient for her to be able to speak with the learned Abbé Anjorrant, with Mario, and of late with Lucilio. But the longing to talk with Lauriane and the kind-hearted marquis caused her to overcome her repugnance. Indeed, she felt that it was her duty to acquire the language of those affectionate people, who treated her as a member of their race and their family.
Lauriane undertook to act as her teacher, and in a short time they were able to understand each other.
Lauriane soon found herself very happy at Briantes, and, if it had not been for the absence of her father, from whom, however, she soon received good news, she would have been happier than she had ever been in her life.
At La Motte-Seuilly she was almost always alone, as the robust De Beuvre hunted in all weathers, loving to tire himself out; and, despite his affection for her, he neglected the innumerable little delicate attentions, the ingenious indulgences which the marquis placed at the service of women and children.