M. de la Marche thought that, before M. de Ternay's squadron sailed, he
would have time to test his new squire sufficiently.

On his side, Marcasse felt many regrets at taking leave of his friends
and home; for if he had "friends everywhere and everywhere a native
place," as he said, in allusion to his wandering life, he still had a
very marked preference for Varenne; and of all his castles (for he was
accustomed to call every place he stopped at "his"), the chateau of
Sainte-Severe was the only one which he arrived at with pleasure and
left with regret. One day, when he had missed his footing on the roof
and had rather a serious fall, Edmee, then still a child, had won his
heart by the tears she had shed over this accident, and the artless
attentions she had shown him. And ever since Patience had come to dwell
on the edge of the park, Marcasse had felt still more attracted toward
Sainte-Severe; for in Patience Marcasse had found his Orestes. Marcasse
did not always understand Patience; but Patience was the only man who
thoroughly understood Marcasse, and who knew how much chivalrous honesty
and noble courage lay hidden beneath that odd exterior. Humbly bowing
to the hermit's intellectual superiority, the weasel-hunter would stop
respectfully whenever the poetic frenzy took possession of Patience and
made his words unintelligible. At such a time Marcasse would refrain
from questions and ill-timed remarks with touching gentleness; would
lower his eyes, and nodding his head from time to time as if he
understood and approved, would, at least, afford his friend the innocent
pleasure of being listened to without contradiction.

Marcasse, however, had understood enough to make him embrace republican
ideas and share in those romantic hopes of universal levelling and a
return to the golden age, which had been so ardently fostered by old
Patience. Having frequently heard his friend say that these doctrines