"No, Adamas, people would laugh at us. And here comes that beautiful boy; we must give him the dog and all the rest, for the things that come from an angel should go to another angel, and I see in this Mario's eyes the innocence and affection that were in my young brother's eyes.—Yes, it is certain," continued the marquis, glancing at Mario and Mercedes, as they entered the room, escorted by Clindor the page, "that if Florimond had had a son, he would have been exactly like this boy; and, if you wish me to tell you why I was attracted to him at first sight, it was because he recalled to my mind, not so much by his features as by his bearing, his soft voice and his gentle manners, my brother as he was at about that age."
"Monsieur your brother never married," said Adamas, whose mind was even more romantic than his master's; "but he may have had natural children, and who knows whether——"
"No, no, my friend, let us not dream! I had a vision while this Moorish woman was telling us the story of the murdered gentleman. Would you believe that I actually fancied that it might have been my brother?"
"Well, and why should it not have been, monsieur, since no one knows how he died?"
"It was not he," replied the marquis, "for this little Mario's father was killed before the death of our good King Henri, whereas my last letter from my brother was dated at Genoa on June 16th, that is to say about a month after that event. It is not possible to reconcile the two."
[XVIII]
While the marquis and Adamas exchanged these reflections, the Moorish woman had made her preparations for singing, and Lucilio had arrived to listen to her.
The marquis was so pleased with her manner that he begged Lucilio to write down the airs she sung. Lucilio was even more captivated by them, as being, he said, "very old and rare, of great beauty and perfect in their way."
