Furthermore, he could not avoid the discovery that in Paris nobody was a beau monsieur who was not of the court. To be sure, in their daily drives and on Place Royale, more or less people turned to gaze at the strange contrast between his painted face and Mario's deliciously fresh complexion; and for some time the goodman, thinking that he was recognized, smiled at the passers-by, and put his hand to his hat, ready to welcome overtures which no one thought of making. That gave him an air of dazed hesitancy and vulgar affability which aroused laughter. The ladies who sat under the young trees in the Cours-la-Reine, or walked back and forth fan in hand, said to one another:
"Who is that tall old fool, pray?"
And if those ladies were of the society in which Bois-Doré had reappeared, or bourgeoises of the quarter where he lodged, sometimes there would be one who would reply:
"He is a nobleman from the provinces, who prides himself on having been a friend of the late king."
"Some Gascon, I suppose? They all saved France! Or some Béarnais? They were all foster-brothers of our dear Henri!"
"No, an old ass from Berry or Champagne. There are Gascons everywhere."
So it was that honest Sylvain was quite effaced in that forgetful, ostentatious crowd, strive as he would to appear to advantage there. He said to himself with some vexation that it was better to be first in one's village than last at court. It is certain however that, with a little impudence and scheming, he could have pushed Mario ahead as so many others were pushed; but he dreaded some affront on the score of his problematical marquisate.
He resigned himself therefore to play the part of the provincial boor, and would have suffered terribly from ennui, had not Mario, who was always studious and intelligently artistic in his tastes, taken him to see the monuments of art and science which were the principal attractions of the capital of the kingdom in his eyes.
The pleasure and profit which the young man derived from them consoled the old man in some measure for what he called in his secret thoughts an abortive journey.
He did not tell Mario of all his disappointments. He still cherished the hope of discovering his mother's family and acquiring thereby a fine Spanish title, an inheritance of some sort. He had written many times to Spain to make inquiries and to furnish information concerning Mario, in case the said family should display any interest. He had never received any but vague, perhaps evasive replies.