"He is happy, thank heaven! He has married my dearest friend, and they are doing us the favor to take charge of our house and our property during our absence."
"Your dearest friend? Do you refer to Mercedes, the beautiful Moor? I should have supposed that you preferred to her—with feelings of a different nature, it is true—a younger and even lovelier friend."
"Do you mean Madame de Beuvre?" rejoined Mario, with a frankness in striking contrast to Monsieur Poulain's insinuating curiosity. "I can readily answer you as I would answer the whole world. She is, in very truth, a person whom I loved fervently in my childhood, and whom I shall respect all my life; but her affection for me is very placid, and you may question me concerning her without reserve."
"Is she not married yet?"
"I have no idea, monsieur. As we have been travelling for several months, we have little news of our friends at a distance."
Monsieur Poulain scrutinized Mario by stealth. He had the tranquillity of a broken heart, but not the prostration of a hopeless soul.
"Do you not know," said the rector, "that Monsieur de Beuvre was with the English fleet before La Rochelle?"
"I know that he was killed there, and that Lauriane has no one but herself to depend upon."
"She was in Poitou when the Duc de Trémouille, after the desertion of the English, went to the king's camp to abjure his heresy."
"She did not accompany him there!" said Mario, hastily. "She asked permission to share the captivity of the heroic Duchesse de Rohan, who refused to submit; and, having failed to obtain that favor, she was preparing to return to Berry when we left our province."