It mattered little to Bois-Doré, who cared nothing for that hovel but much for his title, and to whom the King of France afterward laughingly fulfilled the promise he had made as King of Navarre. The dignity was not conferred upon the Berrichon squire by any parchment; but, under the protection of the omnipotent monarch, the title was tolerated, and the obscure country gentleman admitted to the king's select circle as Marquis de Bois-Doré.
As no one made any objection, the king's jest and his sufferance created a precedent at least, if not a right, and to no purpose did people make merry at the expense of Monsieur Sylvain Bouron du Noyer—such was his real name,—he esteemed himself a man of quality despite the scoffers. After all he had a better claim to the title and bore it more honorably than many other partisans.
D'Alvimar was not aware of any of these circumstances. He had paid little attention to what Guillaume d'Ars had told him hurriedly. It did not occur to him to scoff at his host's nobility, and our marquis, being accustomed to be teased upon that point, was infinitely grateful to him for his courtesy.
However he felt bound to assume the airs of a man in robust health, in order to neutralize that troublesome date of the siege of Sancerre.
"I keep this carriage," he said, "for no other purpose than that I may be able to offer it to the ladies in my neighborhood when occasion offers; for, so far as I am concerned, I much prefer the saddle. One travels faster and with less hindrance."
"So you treated me like a lady," rejoined D'Alvimar, "by sending for this carriage during the day. I am overwhelmed, and if I had thought that you did not fear the cool evening air, I should have begged you to make no change in your habits."
"But I thought that, after the long journey you have taken, you had ridden enough for to-day; and as to the cold, to tell you the truth, I am a terribly lazy mortal, and indulge myself in many little comforts which are not at all necessary to my health."
Bois-Doré attempted to reconcile the slothful nonchalance of young courtiers with the sturdy vigor of young country gentlemen, and he was sometimes sorely embarrassed over it. He was, in truth, still hale and hearty, a good horseman and in good health, despite occasional twinges of rheumatism which he never mentioned, and a slight deafness which he did not admit, attributing the mistakes made by his ear to his absent-mindedness.
"I must needs apologize to you for the discourtesy of my friend De Beuvre," he said. "Nothing can be in worse taste than these religious discussions, which are no longer in fashion. But you will pardon an old man's obstinacy. In reality De Beuvre worries no more than I do about these subtleties. It is infatuation for the past which causes now and then an attack of inveighing against the dead, and thereby making himself a good deal of a bore to the living. I do not see why old age is so pedantic over its reminiscences, as if, at any age, one had not seen enough things and enough people to be as much of a philosopher as is necessary! Ah! commend me to the good people of Paris, my dear guest, for ability to talk with refinement and moderation on every subject of controversy! Commend me to the Hôtel de Rambouillet for example! Of course you have frequented the blue salon of Arthenice?"[8]
D'Alvimar was able to reply that he was received by the marchioness, without departing from the truth. His wit and his learning had thrown open to him the doors of the fashionable Parnassus; but he had acquired no footing there, his intolerance having made itself manifest too soon in that sanctuary of French urbanity.