"Ah! you bad girl, you would not be so obstinate in your opinions if you loved us a little more!"
Lauriane had not detected her father's purpose. The marquis's reproach made it clear to her. It was the first reproach he had ever addressed to her, and she was deeply grieved. But the fear of irritating her father prevented her from answering as her heart prompted. She looked down at her plate and held back a tear that trembled on her eyelid.
Mario, who seemed entirely engrossed in preparing little Fleurial's dainty dinner, spied that tear, and said abruptly, in a grave, almost manly tone, in striking contrast to the puerile occupation of his hands:
"We are making Lauriane sad, father; let us say no more about it. She has a brain of her own, and she is right. For my part, if I were in her place I would do as she does, and I would not abandon my party in misfortune."
"Well said, my little man!" said De Beuvre, impressed by Mario's intelligent air.
"And it suggests to me," said the marquis, "that we are above such profitless discussions. My son already has the free spirit of noble minds, and he would never be the one to dispute Lauriane's opinions."
"Dispute them, no indeed," said Mario; "but——"
"But what?" queried Lauriane eagerly; "you do not mean that you would share them, Mario, even through affection for me?"
"Ah! if that were the case," exclaimed De Beuvre, once more struck by a sudden thought, "if the child, with his name and his wealth, should decide to espouse our cause heartily, I do not say that I would not advise Lauriane to wear her black cap some time longer."
"Then it is all right!" said the marquis; "when the time comes——"