“—But in a grave matter like matrimony one must not be obstinate and illiberal. Raoul assures me, you conceive, that his little sister-in-law is a delightful creature. He thinks that as a co-heiress of Nérac, without any meddlesome male relatives, she is the person logically suited to be my wife. And I like to indulge the dear fellow’s wishes.”
“Behold a fine sample of your indulgence of others, by marrying a great fortune! After all, though,” Cécile reflected, philosophically, “I would not change shoes with her. For it is not wholesome, my friend, to be your wife. But it has been eminently pleasant to be your playfellow.”
Florian smiled. And Florian somewhat altered his position.
“Bels dous amicx,” sang Florian, softly, “fassam un joc novel—!”
“I must ask for some explanation of, at least,” Cécile stated, with that light, half-muffled laugh which Florian found adorable, “your words.”
“I was about to sing, mademoiselle, a very ancient aubade. I was beginning a morning-song such as each lover in the days of troubadours was used, here in Poictesme, to sing to his mistress at arising.”
“So that, now you are, as I perceive, arising, you plan to honor the old custom? That is well enough for you, who are a Duke of Puysange, and who have so much respect for precedent and logic. But I am not logical, I am, as you can see, a woman. Moreover, I am modern in all, I abhor antiquity. I find it particularly misplaced in a bedroom. And so, my friend, I must entreat you, whatever you do, not to sing any of those old songs, which may, for anything I know, have some improper significance.”
Florian humored this young lady’s rather strict notions of propriety, and they for a while stopped talking. Then they parted with a friendly kiss, and they dressed each for travelling: and Mademoiselle Cécile rode south upon a tentative visit to Cardinal Borgia, whose proffered benefactions had thus far been phrased with magniloquence and vagueness. This fair girl had the religious temperament, and she delighted in submitting herself to her spiritual fathers, but she required some daily comforts also.
Florian next sent for the boy Gian Paolo, who had now for seven months been Florian’s guest. “I am marrying,” said Florian. “We must part, Gian Paolo.”
“Do you think so?” the boy said. “Ah, but you would regret me!”