"Yes," rejoined the marquis, reading, so to speak, before he had written, so accustomed had he become, in two years, to divine his words from the first letters; "'Castilian pride,' that is what I said to myself. I have known a goodly number of these hidalgos, and I know that they do not consider it discourteous to show lack of confidence. So I must needs exercise hospitality here in the old-fashioned way, respect my guest's secrets and treat him courteously, as an old friend whom one believes to be the most honorable man on earth. But that does not compel me to accord him the confidence that he denies me, and that is why, as you saw, I left you in a corner, like a poor, paid musician, when he was here. And hereupon, my dear friend, I ask you to forgive me, once for all, for any apparent lack of affection or courtesy to which I am forced by regard for your safety, just as I clothe you in these common, ill-fitting clothes."
Poor Giovellino, who had never been so well dressed and so tenderly cared for in his whole life, interrupted the marquis by pressing his hands, and Bois-Doré was deeply moved to see tears of gratitude fall upon his friend's long, black moustache.
"Nay," he said, "you overpay me by loving me so dearly! I must reward you now by speaking to you of the sweet Lauriane. But must I repeat what she said to me about you? You will not be too puffed-up by it? No?—Well then, here goes. In the first place:
"'How is your druid?'
"I replied that the said druid was hers much more than mine, and that she ought to remember that Climante, in Astrée, was only a false druid, as deep in love as every other lover in that beautiful story.
"'Nay, nay,' she replied, 'you are deceiving me; if your Climante were as much in love with me as you represent him, he would have come with you to-day, whereas two whole weeks have passed since we saw him. Will you tell me that he starts when he hears my name, as in Astrée, and that he utters sighs which seem to rend his stomach in twain? I do not believe a word of it, and look upon him as an inconstant Hylas rather!'
"You see that the charming Lauriane continues to make sport of Astrée, of you and of me. However, when I took leave of her at nightfall, she said to me:
"'I insist upon your bringing the druid and his bag-pipe to us the day after to-morrow, or I will give you a cool reception, I promise you.'"
The poor druid listened with a smile to Bois-Doré's story; he knew how to jest on occasion, that is to say to take others' jesting in good part. Lauriane was to him nothing more than a lovely child, whose father he might have been; but he was still young enough to remember that he had loved, and in the depths of his heart his sense of isolation was exceedingly bitter to him.
As he thought of the past he stifled a sigh of regret, and began instinctively to play an Italian air which the marquis loved above all others.