FAIRY FINGERS. * * * * * _IN PRESS:_ BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME, THE MUTE SINGER;A Novel. * * * * * FAIRY FINGERS. A Novel. BY ANNA CORA RITCHIE, AUTHOR OF "THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ACTRESS, " "MIMIC LIFE, ""TWIN ROSES, " "ARMAND, " "FASHION, " ETC. * * * * * "Labor is Worship. " * * * * * NEW YORK: CARLETON, PUBLISHER, 413 BROADWAY. MDCCCLXV. * * * * * Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, byGEO. W. CARLETON. In the Clerk's Office of the District Courtfor the Southern District of New York. * * * * * CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Noblesse, 7 II. The Cousins, 17 III. Madeleine, 24 IV. Proposals, 38 V. Heart-beats, 43 VI. Unmasking, 55 VII. A Crisis, 68 VIII. Flight, 79 IX. The Empty Place, 94 X. The Humble Companion, 109 XI. Pursuit, 116 XII. The Sister of Charity, 121 XIII. Weary Days, 131 XIV. Diamonds and Emeralds, 139 XV. The Embroidered Handkerchief, 148 XVI. A Voice from the Lost One, 155 XVII. "Chiffons, " 166 XVIII. Maurice, 173 XIX. The Aristocrats in America, 179 XX. The Incognita, 186 XXI. The Cytherea of Fashion, 195 XXII. Meeting, 200 XXIII. Noble Hands made Nobler, 213 XXIV. Feminine Belligerents, 226 XXV. The Message, 237 XXVI. Meeting of Lovers, 241 XXVII. Count Tristan's Policy, 249 XXVIII. Lord Linden's Discovery, 254 XXIX. A Contest, 260 XXX. Bertha, 268 XXXI. A Surprise, 278 XXXII. The Nobleman and Mantua-maker, 283 XXXIII. Madame De Gramont, 294 XXXIV. Half the Wooer, 298 XXXV. A Revelation, 305 XXXVI. The Suitor, 311 XXXVII. A Shock, 314 XXXVIII. The Mantua-maker's Guests, 323 XXXIX. Ministration, 330 XL. Recognition, 340 XLI. Unbowed, 345 XLII. Double Convalescence, 352 XLIII. Outgeneralled, 357 XLIV. A Change, 364 XLV. Reparation, 375 XLVI. A Mishap, 380 XLVII. Inflexibility, 387 XLVIII. The New England Nurse, 392 XLIX. Ronald, 405 L. A Secret Divined, 409 LI. Seed Sown, 415 LII. A Lover's Snare, 420 LIII. Resistance, 426 LIV. An Unexpected Visit, 431 LV. Amen, 435 LVI. The Hand of God, 442 LVII. Conclusion, 453 * * * * * FAIRY FINGERS. CHAPTER I. NOBLESSE. They were seated in the drawing-room of an ancient château inBrittany, --the Countess Dowager de Gramont and Count Tristan, her onlyson, --a mansion lacking none of the ponderous quaintness that usuallycharacterizes ancestral dwellings in that locality. The edifice couldstill boast of imposing grandeur, especially if classed among "fineruins. " Within and without were harmoniously dilapidated, and a largeportion of the interior was uninhabitable. The limited resources of thecount precluded even an apologetic semblance of repairs. The house was surrounded by spacious parks and pleasure-grounds, in asimilarly neglected condition. Their natural beauty was striking, andthe rich soil yielded fruits and flowers in abundance, though its onlyculture was received from the hands of old Baptiste, who made hisappearance as gardener in the morning, but, with a total change ofcostume, was metamorphosed into butler after the sun passed themeridian. In his button-hole a flower, which he could never be inducedto forego, betrayed his preference for the former vocation. The discussion between mother and son was unmistakably tempestuous. Athunder-cloud lowered on the noble lady's brow; her eyes shot forthelectric flashes, and her voice, usually subdued to aristocraticsoftness, was raised to storm-pitch. "Count Tristan de Gramont, you have taken leave of your senses!" A favorite declaration of persons thoroughly convinced of their ownunassailable mental equilibrium, when their convictions encounter thesudden check of opposition. As the assertion, unfortunately, is one that cannot be disproved bydenial, the count sank resignedly behind the shield of silence. Hismother returned to the attack. "Do you mean me to understand that, in your right mind, you wouldcondescend to mingle with men of business?--that you would actuallydegrade yourself into becoming a shareholder, or manager, or director, or whatever you please to term it, in a railway company?--_you_, CountTristan de Gramont! The very proposal is a humiliation; to entertain itwould be an absurdity--to consent, an impossibility. I repeat it, youhave taken leave of your senses!" "But, my dear mother, " answered the count, with marked deference, "youare forgetting that this railway company chances to be an Americanassociation; my connection with it, or, rather, its very existence, isnot likely to be known here in Brittany, --therefore, my dignity will notbe compromised. The only valuable property left us is the transatlanticestate which my roving brother purchased during his wanderings in theNew World, and bequeathed to my son, Maurice, for whom it is held intrust by an American gentleman. The members of the association, whodesire to interest me in their speculation, assert that the proposedrailroad may pass directly through this very tract of land. Should thatbe the case, its value will be greatly increased. At the present momentthe estate yields us nothing; but the advent of this railroad mustinsure an immense profit. We estimate that, by judicious management, theland may be made to bring in"-- His mother interrupted him with a haughty gesture. "_'Speculation!'__'yield!'_ _'profit!'_ _'bring in!'_ What language to grow familiar tothe lips of a son of mine! You talk like a tradesman already! My son, give up all idea of this plebeian enterprise!" The count did not answer immediately. He seemed puzzled to determinewhat degree of confidence it was necessary to repose in his statelymother. After a brief pause, he renewed the conversation with evidentembarrassment. "It is very difficult to make a lady, especially a lady of your rank, education, and mode of life, understand these matters, and thenecessity"-- "It ought to be equally difficult to make the nobleman, my son, comprehend them, " answered the countess, freezingly. The count rejoined, as though driven to extremity, "It is the very factof my being a nobleman, that has made these people, Americans as theyare, and despisers of titles as they profess to be, seek me witheagerness. The _prestige_ of my _title_, and the promise of obtainingsome privileges respecting Maurice's Maryland estate, are all that I cancontribute toward the success of their undertaking. It is true I am anobleman; but even rank, my dear mother, must have the means ofsustaining its existence, to say nothing of preserving its dignity. Evenrank is subject to the common, vulgar need of food and raiment andshelter, not to mention the necessity of keeping horses, carriages, domestics, and securing other indispensable but money-consumingluxuries. Our narrow income is no longer sufficient to meet even ourlimited expenditures. The education of Maurice at the University ofParis, and your own charities, have not merely drained our purse, butinvolved us in debt. I hail the offer made me by this American company, because it may extricate us from some very serious difficulties. I ammuch mortified at your resolute disapproval of the step I contemplate. " Count Tristan de Gramont was a widower, the father of but one child. Itmust not be supposed that, although he seriously purposed embarking in abusiness enterprise, he had failed to appropriate a goodly share of thatpride which had both descended by inheritance, and been liberallyinstilled into his mind by education. His character was strongly stampedwith the Breton traits of obstinacy and perseverance, and he was giftedwith an unaristocratic amount of energy. When an idea once tookpossession of his brain, he patiently and diligently brought the embryothought to fruition, in spite of all disheartening obstacles. He wasnarrow-minded and selfish when any interests save his own and those ofhis mother and son were at stake. These were the only two beings whom heloved, and he only loved them because they were _his_--a portion of_himself_; and it was merely himself that he loved through them. In acertain sense, he was a devoted son. His education had rendered himpunctilious, to the highest degree, in the observance of all those formsthat betoken filial veneration. He always treated his august mother withthe most profound reverence. He paid her the most courteousattentions, --opened the doors when she desired to pass, placedfootstools for her feet, knelt promptly to pick up the handkerchief orglove she dropped, was ever ready to offer her his arm for her support, and seldom combated her opinions. The first time he had openly ventured to oppose her views was in theconversation we have just related. She looked so regal, as she sat before him in a richly carved antiquechair, which she occupied as though it had been a throne, that, in spiteof the blind obstinacy with which she refused to see her own interestsand his, Count Tristan could not help regarding her with admiration. She was still strikingly handsome, notwithstanding the sixty winterswhich had bleached her raven locks to the most uncompromising white. Those snowy tresses fell in soft and glossy curls about her scarcelyfurrowed countenance. Her forehead was somewhat low and narrow; theface, a decided oval; the nose, almost straight; the eyes almond-shaped, and of a jetty blackness, flashing out from beneath brows that wereremarkable for the fine, dark line that designated their arch. The mouthwas the least pleasing feature, --it was too small, and unsuggestive ofvaried expression; the lips not only lacked fulness, but wore asupercilious curl that had become habitual. Her form was considerably above the medium height, and added to thesense of grandeur conveyed by her presence. Her carriage was erect tothe verge of stiffness, and her step too firm to be quite soundless. Advancing years had not produced any unseemly _embonpoint_, nor had herfigure fallen into the opposite extreme, and sharpened into meagreangularity; its outline retained sufficient roundness not to lose thecurves or grace. She had made no reply to her son's last remark, which forced him tobegin anew. He thought it politic, however, to change the subject. "You remember, my mother, that some seven of our friends are engaged todine with us to-morrow. I trust you will not disapprove of my havinginvited two American gentlemen to join the party. After the letters ofintroduction they brought me, I was forced to show them some attentionand"-- He paused abruptly, without venturing to add that those gentlemen weredirectors of the railway company of which he had before spoken. "My son, you are aware that I never interfere with your hospitalities, but you seem to have forgotten that my Sêvres china is only a set fortwelve, and I can use no other on ceremonious occasions. With Bertha andMadeleine we have one guest too many. " "That is a matter readily arranged, " replied the count. "Madeleine neednot appear at table. She is always so obliging and manageable that shecan easily be requested to dine in her own room. In fact, to speakfrankly, I would _rather not_ have her present. " "But, should she be absent, Bertha will be annoyed, " rejoined Madame deGramont. "Bertha is a simpleton! How strange that she does not see, or suspect, that Madeleine always throws her into the background! I said a whileago, my mother, that _your charities_ had helped to drain our purse, andthis is one which I might cite, and the one that galls me most. Here, for three years, you have sheltered and supported this young girl, without once reflecting upon the additional expense we are incurring byyour playing the benefactress thus grandly. It is very noble, verymunificent on your part; still, for a number of reasons, I regret thatMadeleine has become a permanent inmate of this château. " "Madeleine was an orphan, " replied the countess, "the sole remainingchild of the Duke de Gramont, your father's nephew. When she was lefthomeless and destitute, did not the _honor of the family_ force me tooffer her an asylum, and to treat her with the courtesy due to arelative? Have we not always found her very grateful and veryagreeable?" "I grant you--very agreeable--_too_ agreeable by half, " returned thecount; "so agreeable that, as I said, she invariably throws yourfavorite Bertha into the shade. I confess that the necessity of alwaysreserving for this young person, thrust upon us by the force ofcircumstances, a place at table, a seat in the carriage, room upon everyparty of pleasure, makes her presence an inconvenience, if not apositive burden. And will you allow me to speak with great candor? May Iventure to say that I have seen you, my dear mother, chafed by theinfliction, and irritated by beholding Bertha lose through contrast withMadeleine?" His mother replied with animation: "Bertha is my grandniece, --thegranddaughter of my only sister; the ties of blood, if nothing more, would bind me more closely to her than to Madeleine. Possibly there mayhave been times when I have not been well pleased to see one so dear, invariably, though most inexplicably, eclipsed. Bertha may shine forthin her most resplendent jewels, --her most costly and exquisite Parisiantoilet; Madeleine has only to enter, in a simple muslin dress, a flower, or a knot of ribbons in her hair, and she draws all eyes magneticallyupon her. " "That is precisely the observation I have made, " answered Count Tristan;"and, my mother, have you never reflected how seriously your _protégée_may interfere with our prospects respecting Maurice?" The countess started. "Impossible! He could not think of Madeleine whena union with Bertha would be so much more advantageous. " "Youth does not think--it chooses by the attraction it experiencestowards this or that object, " answered the count. "Before Maurice lastreturned to the university, nine months ago, his admiration forMadeleine was unmistakable. Now that he is shortly to come home, and foran indefinite period, --now that our plans must ripen, I have come to theconclusion that Madeleine must be removed, or they will never attainfruition; she must not be allowed to cast the spell of her dangerousfascination over him; something must be done, and that before Mauricereturns; in a fortnight he will be here. " Before the countess could reply, a young girl bounded into the room, with a letter in one hand, and a roll of music in the other. It would be difficult to find a more perfect type of the pure blondethan was manifested in the person of this fair young maiden. The word"dazzling" might be applied without exaggeration to the lustrouswhiteness of a complexion tinged in the cheeks as though by thereflection of a sea-shell. Her full, dewy lips disclosed milky rows ofchildlike teeth within. Her eyes were of the clearest azure; but, inspite of their expression of mingled tenderness and gayety, one whocould pause to lay the finger upon an imperfection, would note thatsomething was wanting to complete their beauty;--the eyebrows were toofaintly traced, and the lashes too light, though long. The low brow, straight, slender nose, the soft curve of the chin, the fine oval of theface, were obviously an inheritance. At a single glance it wasimpossible not to be struck with the resemblance which these classicfeatures bore to those of the countess. But the sportive dimples, pressed as though by a caressing touch, upon the cheeks and chin of theyoung girl, destroyed, even more than the totally opposite coloring, thelikeness in the two countenances. The hair of the countess had beenremarkable for its shining blackness, while the yellow acacia was notmore brightly golden than the silken tresses of Bertha, --tresses thatran in ripples, and lost themselves in a sunny stream of natural curls, which seemed audaciously bent on breaking their bounds, and looked asthough they were always in a frolic. In vain they were smoothed back bythe skilful fingers of an expert _femme de chambre_, and confined in anelaborate knot at the back of Bertha's small head; the rebellious locks_would_ wave and break into fine rings upon the white brow, and lovinglysteal in stray ringlets adown the alabaster throat, ignoringconventional restraint as sportively as their owner. Bertha de Merrivale, like Madeleine, was an orphan, but, unlikeMadeleine, an heiress. The Marquis de Merrivale, Bertha's uncle, wasalso her guardian. He allowed her every year to spend a few months withher mother's relatives, who warmly pleaded for these annual visits. Hersojourn at the château de Gramont was always a season of delight toBertha herself, for she dearly loved her great-aunt, liked CountTristan, enjoyed the society of Maurice, and was enthusiasticallyattached to Madeleine. "A letter! a letter from Maurice!" exclaimed Bertha, dancing around heraunt as she held out the epistle. The countess broke the seal eagerly, and after glancing over the firstlines, exclaimed, "Here is news indeed! We did not expect Maurice for afortnight; but he writes that he will be here to-morrow. How little timewe shall have for preparation! And I intended to order so manyimprovements made in his chamber, and to quite remodel"-- "Oh, of course, everything will have to be remodelled for the ViscountMaurice de Gramont! Nothing will be good enough for _him_! Every onewill sink into insignificance at _his_ coming! We, poor, forlorndamsels, will henceforth be of no account, --no one will waste a thoughton _us_!" said Bertha. "On the contrary, " replied her aunt, "I never had your happiness more inmy thoughts than at this moment. Be sure you wear your blue brocadeto-morrow, and the blue net interwoven with pearls in your hair, andthat turquoise set which Maurice always admired. " "Be sure that I play the coquette, you mean, as my dear aunt did beforeme, " answered Bertha, merrily. "No, indeed, aunt, that may have done in_your_ day, but it does not suit _ours_. We, of the present time, do notwear nets for the express purpose of ensnaring the admiration of youngmen; or don our most becoming dresses to lay up their hearts in theirfolds. I am going to seek Madeleine to tell her this news, and I haveanother surprise for her. " "What is it?" inquired the countess, in an altered tone. "This great parcel of music, which I sent to Paris to obtain expresslyfor her. But I have something else which she must not see to day, --thisbracelet, the exact pattern of the one my uncle presented to me upon mylast birthday, and Madeleine shall receive this upon her birthday; thatwill be _to-morrow_. " As she spoke, she clasped upon her small wrist a band of gold, fastenedby a knot formed of pearls, and gayly held up her round, white armbefore the eyes of the count and countess. The latter caught her uplifted hand and said gravely, "Bertha, music andbracelets are very appropriate for _you_, but they do not suitMadeleine. Madeleine is poor, worse than poor, wholly dependent upon"-- "There you are mistaken, aunt, " returned Bertha, warmly. "As _I_ amrich, she is not poor;--that is, she will not always be poor, and sheshall _not_ be dependent upon any one--not even upon _you_. I mean tosettle upon her a marriage portion if she choose to marry, and ahandsome income if she remain single. " "Very generous and _romantic_ on your part, " replied the countess, ironically; "but, unfortunately for her, you have no power at presentover your own property; you cannot play the benefactress without theconsent of your guardian, and that you will never obtain. " "But if I marry, I will have the right, " answered Bertha, naïvely. "You will have the consent of your husband to obtain, and that will beequally difficult. " "That is true, but I am not discouraged. I suppose when I am of age Ishall have the power, and I need not marry before then. I am sixteen, nearly seventeen; it will not be so _very_ long to wait, and I amdetermined to serve Madeleine. " "Many events may occur to make you change you mind before you attainyour majority. Meanwhile you are fostering tastes in Madeleine which areunsuited to her condition. I know you think me very severe, but"-- "No, no, aunt, you are never severe toward me; you are only too kind, too indulgent; you spoil me with too much love and consideration; and itis because you _have_ spoiled me so completely that I mean to be saucyenough to speak out just what I think. " Bertha seated herself on the footstool at her aunt's feet, took her handcaressingly, and with an earnest air prattled on. "It is with Madeleine that you are severe, and you grow more and moresevere every day. You speak to her so harshly, so disdainfully attimes, that I hardly recognize you. One would not imagine that she isyour grandniece as much as I am, --that is, _almost_ as much, for she wasthe grandniece of the Count de Gramont, my uncle. You find incessantfault with her, and she seems to irritate you by her very presence. Oh!I have seen it for a long time, and during this last visit I see it morethan ever. " "Bertha!" commenced her aunt, in a tone which might have awed any lessvolatile and determined speaker. "Do not interrupt me, aunt; I have not done yet, and I _must_ speak. Whydo you put on this manner towards Madeleine? You _do put it on_, --it isnot natural to you, --for you are kind to every one else. And have younot been most kind to her also? Were you not the only one of her proudrelatives who held out a hand to her when she stood unsheltered andalone in the world? Have you not since then done everything for her?Done everything--but--but--but _love her_?" "Bertha, you are the only one who would venture to"-- "I know it, aunt, --I am the only one who would venture, so grant me onemoment more; I have not done yet. Madeleine cannot be an incumbrance, for who is so useful in your household as she? Who could replace her?When you are suffering, she is the tenderest of nurses. She dailyrelieves you of a thousand cares. When you have company, is it notMadeleine who sees that everything is in order? If you give a dinner, isit not Madeleine who not only superintends all the preparations, butinvents the most beautiful decorations for the table, --and out ofnothing--out of leaves and flowers so common that no one would havethought of culling them, yet so wonderfully arranged that every oneexclaims at their picturesque effect? When you have dull guests, --gueststhat put me to sleep, or out of patience, --is it not Madeleine whoamuses them? How many evenings, that would have been insufferablystupid, have flown delightfully, chased by her delicious voice!" "You make a great virtue of what was simply an enjoyment to herself. Shedelights as much, or more, in singing than any one can delight inhearing her. " "That is because she delights in everything she does; she alwaysaccomplishes her work with delight. She delighted in making you thatbecoming cap, with its coquettishly-disposed knots of violet ribbons;she delighted in turning and freshening and remaking the silk dress youwear at this moment, which fits you to perfection, and looks quite new. She delighted in embroidering my cousin Tristan that pretty velvetsmoking-cap he has on his head. She delighted in making me the wreathwhich I wore at the Count de Caradaré's concert the other evening, andwhich every one complimented me upon. It was her own invention;--and didnot you yourself remark that there was not a head-dress in the room halfas beautiful? Everything she touches she beautifies. The commonestobjects assume a graceful form beneath her fingers. The "_fingers of afairy_" my cousin Maurice used to call them, and, there certainly ismagic in those dainty, rapidly-moving hands of hers. They have an art, askill, a facility that partakes of the supernatural. Madeleine is adependent upon your bounty, but her magic fingers make her a veryvaluable one; and, if you would not think it very impertinent, I wouldsay that we are all _her debtors_, rather than _she ours_. There, I havedone! Now, forgive me for my temerity, --confess that you have been toosevere to Madeleine, and promise not to find fault with her any more. " "I will confess that she has the most charming advocate in the world, "answered the countess with affection. "Madeleine must not see this bracelet until to-morrow; so I must hastento lock it up, " resumed the young girl; "after that I will let her knowthat our cousin will be here to honor her birthday. How enchanted shewill be! But she makes entirely too much of him, --just as you all do. The instant she hears the news, away she will fly to make preparationsfor his comfort. I shall only have to say, 'Maurice is coming, ' and whata commotion there will be!" Bertha tripped away, leaving the countess alone with her son. "Is she not enchanting?" exclaimed the former, as Bertha disappeared. "Maurice will have a charming bride. " "Yes, _if_ the marriage we so earnestly desire ever take place. " "IF? IF? I intend that it _shall_ take place. It is my one dream, mydearest hope!" said the countess. "It is mine also, " replied the count; "and yet I have my doubts--myfears; in a word, I do not believe this union ever _will_ take place ifMadeleine remain here. " The countess drew herself up with indignant amazement. "What do youmean? Do you think Madeleine capable of"-- "I do not think Madeleine capable of anything wrong; but she has suchversatility of talent, she is so fascinating, her character is solovable, that I think those talents and attractions capable of upsettingall our plans and of making Maurice fall deeply in love with her. " "But is not Bertha fascinating, and lovely as a painter's ideal?" askedthe countess. "Yes, but it is not such a striking, such an impressive, such abewitching, bewildering style of beauty, " replied her son. "Mark mywords: I understand young men. I know what dazzles their eyes and turnstheir heads. If Maurice is thrown into daily communication with Berthaand Madeleine, it is Madeleine to whom he will become attached. " "It must not be!" said the countess, emphatically, and rising as shespoke. "It shall not!" "I echo, it shall not, my mother. But we must take means of prevention. It is most unfortunate that Maurice returns a fortnight before weexpected him. I had my plans laid and ready to carry into executionbefore he could arrive. Now we must hasten them. " "What is your scheme?" asked his mother. "Madeleine has other relations, all richer than ourselves. I purposewriting to each of them, and proposing that they shall receive her, notfor three years, as we have done, but that they shall each, in turn, invite her to spend three months with them. They surely cannot refuse, and her life will be very varied and pleasant, visiting from house tohouse every three months, enjoying new pleasures, seeing new faces, making new friendships. And her relatives will, in reality, be ourdebtors, for Madeleine is the most charming of inmates. She is always solively, and creates so much gayety around her; she has so many resourcesin herself, and she is so _useful_! In fact, we are bestowing a valuablegift upon these good relatives of hers, and they ought to thank us, as Ihave no doubt they will. " The countess approved of her son's plan to rid them of their dangerouslyagreeable inmate, and the count, without further delay, sat down to penthe projected epistles. CHAPTER II. THE COUSINS. Bertha's prediction was verified, and the whole château was thrown intoconfusion by preparations for the coming of the young viscount. OldBaptiste forsook his garden-tools for the whole day, to play in-doordomestic. Gustave, who daily doubled his _rôle_ of coachman with that of_valet_, slighted his beloved horses (horses whose mothers andgrandmothers had supplied the de Gramont stables from time immemorial)to cleanse windows, brighten mirrors, and polish dingy furniture. Bettina, the antiquated _femme de chambre_ of the countess, who alsodischarged the combined duties of housekeeper and housemaid, flew aboutwith a bustling activity that could hardly have been expected from heryears and infirmities. Elize, the cook, made far more elaboratepreparations for the coming of the young viscount than she would havedeemed necessary for the dinner to be given to her master's guests. Thisband of venerable domestics had all been servants of the family beforethe viscount's birth, and he was not only an idol among them, butseemed, in a manner, to appertain to them all. The countess, alone, did not find the movement of gladness around hercontagious. The coming of Maurice before the departure of Madeleine, distressed her deeply; but small troubles and great were incongruouslymingled in her mind, for, while she was tormented by the frustration ofher plans, she fretted almost as heartily over that set of Sêvresporcelain which, with the addition of her grandson, would not besufficient for the expected guests, even if Madeleine dined in her ownchamber. Besides, the arrival of Maurice made _that_ arrangement out ofthe question. He would certainly oppose her banishment, just as Berthahad done; and the day, unfortunately, was Madeleine's birthday. Thiscircumstance would give her cousins additional ground for insisting uponher presence at the festive board. The countess saw no escape from herdomestic difficulties, and was thoroughly out of humor. Before Madeleine had awoke that morning, Bertha had stolen to herbedside and clasped the bracelet upon her arm. Light as was Bertha'stouch, it aroused the sleeper, and she greeted her birthday token withunfeigned gratitude and delight. But Madeleine had few moments to spendin contemplation of the precious gift. She dressed rapidly, thenhastened away to make the château bright with flowers, to completevarious preparations for the toilet of her aunt, to perform numerousoffices which might be termed menial; but she entered upon her work withso much zest, she executed each task with such consummate skill, shetook so much interest in the employment of the moment, that no laborseemed either tedious or debasing. Maurice de Gramont had just completed his twenty-first year when hegraduated with high honor at the University of France. After passing afatiguing examination, he had gladly consented to act upon his father'ssuggestion, and devote a few weeks to enjoyment in the gay metropolis. The count had no clew to the cause of his sudden return to Brittany. "Aunt, aunt! There is the carriage, --he is coming!--Baptiste, run andopen the gate!" cried Bertha, whose quick eyes had caught sight of acoach which stopped at the farther end of a long avenue of noble trees, leading to the château. Baptiste made all the speed which his aged limbs allowed; Gustavehastened to throw open the front door; Bertha was on the porch beforethe carriage drew up; the count and countess appeared at the entrancejust as Maurice sprang down the steps of the lumbering vehicle. His blue eyes sparkled with genuine joy, and his countenance glowed withanimation, as he embraced his grandmother warmly, kissed his father, according to French custom, then turning to Bertha, clasped her extendedhands and touched either cheek lightly with his lips. She received thecousinly salutation without any evidence of displeasure or any token ofconfusion. As the maiden and youth stood side by side, they might easily have beenmistaken for brother and sister. The same florid coloring was remarkablein the countenances of both, save that the tints were a few shadesdeeper on the visage of Maurice. His eyes were of a darker blue; hisglossy hair was tinged with chestnut, while Bertha's shone withunmingled gold; but, like Bertha's, his recreant locks had a strongtendency to curl, and lay in rich clusters upon his brow, distressinghim by a propensity which he deemed effeminate. His mouth was as ripelyred as hers, but somewhat larger, firmer, and less bland in itscharacter. His eyebrows, too, were more darkly traced, supplying a wantonly too obvious in her countenance. The resemblance, however, disappeared in the forehead and classic nose, for the brow of Mauricewas broad and high, and the nose prominent, though finely shaped. His form was manly without being strikingly tall. It was what might bedesignated as a noble figure; but the term owed its appropriatenesspartly to his refined and graceful bearing. "My dear father, I am so glad to see you!--grandmother, it is refreshingto find you looking as though you bade defiance to time;--and you, mylittle cousin, how much you have improved! How lovely you have grown! Ayear does a great deal for one's appearance. " "Yours, for instance, " replied Bertha, saucily. "Well, there wasabundant room for improvement. " Maurice replied to her vivacious remark with a laugh of assent, and, looking eagerly around, asked, "Where is Madeleine?" "Madeleine is busy as usual, " answered Bertha. "I warrant she is in someremote corner of the château, mysteriously employed. She does not knowthat you have arrived. " "And is she well? My father never once mentioned her in his letters. Andhas she kept you company in growing so much handsomer during the lastyear?" "_Her_ beauty needed no heightening!" exclaimed Bertha, affectionately. "But she develops new talents every day; she sings more delightfullythan ever; and lately she has commenced drawing from nature with themost wonderful ease. You should see the flowers she first creates withher pencil and then copies with her needle! I really think her needlecan paint almost as dexterously as the brush of any other artist. " The count exchanged a look with his mother, and whispered, "Do stopher!" The latter turned quickly to her grandson, and said, "Are you and Berthadetermined to spend the morning out of doors? Come, let us go in. " As they entered the drawing-room, the countess pointed to a seat besideher. "Maurice, leave your chattering little cousin, and sit down and give ussome account of yourself. What have you been doing? How have you beenpassing your time?" Maurice obeyed; Bertha placed herself on the other side of her aunt; thecount took a chair opposite. "Behold a most attentive and appreciating audience!" cried Bertha. "Now, Mr. Collegian and Traveller, --hero of the hour!--most noblerepresentative of the house of de Gramont! hold forth! Let us hear howyou have been occupying your valuable time. " "In the first place, I have been studying tolerably hard, little cousin. It seems very improbable, does it not? The midnight oil has not yetpaled my cheeks to the sickly and interesting hue that belongs to astudent. Still the proof is that I have passed my examinationtriumphantly. I will show you my prizes by and by, and they will speakfor themselves. Next, I have joined a debating society of young studentswho are preparing to become lawyers. Our meetings have afforded meinfinite pleasure. At our last reunion, I undertook to plead a cause, and achieved a wonderful success. I had no idea that language would flowso readily from my lips. I was astonished at my own thoughts, and thefacility with which I formed them into words, and they say I made acapital argument. I received the most enthusiastic congratulations, andmy associates, in pressing my hand, addressed me, not as the Viscount deGramont, but as the _able orator_. I really think that I could make anorator, and that I have sufficient talent to become a lawyer. " "A lawyer!" exclaimed the countess with supreme disdain. "What couldintroduce such a vulgar idea into your head? A lawyer! There is reallysomething startling, something positively appalling in the vagaries ofthe rising generation! A lawyer! what an idea!" "It is something more than an _idea_, my dear grandmother: it is aproject which I have formed, and which I cherish very seriously, "replied Maurice. "A project, --a project! I like projects. Let us hear your sublimeproject, Mr. Advocate, " cried Bertha. "The project is simply to test the abilities which I am presumptuousenough to believe I have discovered in myself, and to study for the bar. My father wrote me that he intended to become a director in a railwaycompany, and descanted upon the advantage of embarking in theenterprise. He also confided to me, for the first time, the real stateof our affairs, --in a word, the empty condition of our treasury. Whyshould my father occupy himself with business matters and I live inidleness? Once more, I repeat, I am convinced I have sufficient abilityto make a position at the bar, and with my father's consent, and yours, grandmother, I propose to commence my law studies at once. " "A pettifogger! impossible! I, for one, will never countenance a step sohumiliating! It is not to be thought of!" replied his grandmother, in atone of decision. "No, Maurice, your project is futile, " responded his father. "My joiningthis railroad association is quite a different matter. I shall inreality have nothing to do. It is only my name that is required;besides, America is so far off that nobody in Brittany will be aware ofmy connection with the company. Your becoming a lawyer would be a publicmatter. I cannot recall the name of a single nobleman in the whole listof barristers"-- "So much the better for me! My title may, _in this solitary instance_, prove of service to me. It may help to bring me clients. People will beenchanted to be defended by a viscount. " "You conjure up a picture that is absolutely revolting!" cried thecountess, warmly. "_My grandson_ pleading to defend the rabble!" "Why not, if the rabble should happen to stand in need of defence?" "Why not?--because you should ignore their very existence! What have youand they in common?" Maurice was about to reply somewhat emphatically, but noticing hisgrandmother's knitted brow, and his father's troubled expression, hechecked himself. The countess added, with an air of determination that forbadediscussion, "Maurice, you will never obtain my consent, never!" "But if I may not study for the bar, what am I to do?" asked the youngman with spirit. "Do?" questioned the countess, proudly. "What have the de Gramonts donefor centuries past? Do nothing!" "_Nothing?_ Thank you, grandmother, for your estimate of my capacitiesand of the sluggish manner in which my blood courses through my veins. Doing _nothing_ was all very well in dead-alive, by-gone days, but itdoes not suit the present age of activity and progress. In our timeeverything that has heart and spirit feels that labor is a law of life. Some men till the earth, some cultivate the minds of their fellow-men, some guard their country's soil by fighting our battles; that is, somevocations enable us to live, some teach us how to live, and some renderit glorious to die. Now, instead of adopting any of these pursuits, Ionly wish to"-- "To become a manufacturer of fine phrases, a vender of words!" repliedthe countess, disdainfully. "An advantageous merchandise, " answered Maurice, --"one which it costsnothing, to manufacture but which may be sold dear. " "Sold? You shock me more and more! Never has one who bore the name of deGramont earned money!" replied the countess, with increased _hauteur_. "Very true, and very unfortunate! We are now feeling the ill effects ofthe idleness of our ancestors. It is time that the new generation shouldreform their bad system, " replied Maurice. "Maurice"--began his father. "My dear father, let me speak upon this subject, for I have it greatlyat heart. I have an iron constitution, buoyant spirits, a tolerably goodhead, a tolerably large heart, an ample stock of imagination, anunstinted amount of energy, and an admiration for genius; now, all thesegifts--mind, heart, imagination, spirit, energy--cry out foraction, --ask to vindicate their right to existence, --need to find vent!_That_ is one ground upon which I plant my intention to become a lawyer. Another is that a man of my temperament, liberal views, and tendenciesto extravagance, also needs to have the command of means"-- "Have we ever restricted you, Maurice?" asked his father, reproachfully. "No, it is only yourselves you have restricted. But do you suppose I amwilling to expend what has been saved through your economy? Until latelyI never knew the actual state of our finances. Now I see the necessityfor exertion, that I may be enabled to live as my tastes and habitsprompt. " "That you may obtain by making an advantageous marriage, " remarked thecountess, forgetting at the moment that Bertha was present. "What! owe my privileges, my luxuries, my very position, to my wife?Never! Every manly and independent impulse within me rises in armsagainst such a suggestion; while the emotion I experienced when I felt Icould become something _of myself_, --that I had talents which I couldemploy, --that I had a future before me, --renown to win, --great deeds toachieve, --filled me with a strange joy hitherto unknown. I tell you, myfather, there is a force and fire in my spirit that must have someoutlet, --must leap into action, --_must_ and _will_!" "It shall find an outlet, " replied the countess, "without making you ahired declaimer of fine words, --a paid champion of the low mob. Let ushear no more of this absurd lawyer project. The matter is settled: youwill never have your father's consent, nor mine. " "Then I warn you, " exclaimed Maurice, starting up, and speaking almostfiercely. "You will drive me into evil courses. I shall fall into allmanner of vices for the sake of excitement. If I cannot have occupation, I must have amusement, I shall run in debt, I may gamble, I may becomedissipated, I may commit offences against good taste and good morals, which will degrade me in reality; and all because you have nipped apure intention in the bud. The root that bore it is too vigorous not toblossom out anew, and the chances are that it will bring forth some lesscreditable fruit. You will see! I do not jest; I know what is in me!" "Content! we will run the risk!" replied the countess, trying to speakcheerfully. The grave manner of Maurice and his impressive tone, as he stood beforeher with an air half-threatening, half-prophetic, made her experience asensation of vague discomfort. "We will trust you, for you are a de Gramont, and cannot commit adishonorable action. Now, pray, go to your room and make your toilet. Weare expecting guests to dinner. " Maurice turned away without uttering another word, without even heedingthe hand which Bertha stretched in sympathy towards him; and, with aclouded brow and slow steps, ascended to his own apartment. CHAPTER III. MADELEINE. "Fourteen at table, and the Sêvres set only sufficient for twelve! Trulyit _is_ untoward, but I wish, my dear aunt, you would not let it troubleyou so much. If you will allow the two extra plates to be placed beforeBertha and myself, we will endeavor to render them invisible by ourwitchcraft. Do compliment us by permitting the experiment to be tried. " "Bertha is entitled to the best of everything in my mansion, " answeredthe countess, unsoothed by this proposition. "_That_ I admit, " was Madeleine's cordial reply; "but to meet thisunlooked-for emergency, I thought you might possibly consent to let herexert her witchery in making an intrusive plate disappear from generalview. " "And you, it seems, are quite confident of possessing witchcraft potentenough to accomplish the same feat!" Madeleine, without appearing to be hurt by the taunting intonation whichpointed this remark, replied frankly, "I suppose I must have been guiltyof imagining that I had; but, indeed, it was unpremeditated vanity. Ireally did not reflect upon the subject. I was only anxious to get overthe dilemma in which we are placed by these troublesome plates. " "Not _premeditated_ vanity, I dare say, " remarked the countess, dryly;"only vanity so spontaneous, natural, and characteristic that_premeditation_ is out of the question. " Madeleine remained silent, and went on with her task, dexterouslyrolling around her slender fingers her aunt's soft, white curls, andletting them lightly drop in the most becoming positions. The toilet of the countess for her son's dinner-party was in process ofcompletion. She wore a black velvet dress, which, after being on duty for a fabulousnumber of years, and finally pronounced past all further active service, had been resuscitated and remodelled, to suit the style of the day, byMadeleine. We will not enter into a description of the adroit method bywhich a portion of its primitive lustre had been restored to the wornand pressed velvet, nor particularize the skilful manner in which thecorsage of the robe had been refashioned, and every trace of ageconcealed by an embroidery of jet beads, which was so strikinglytasteful that its double office was unsuspected. Enough that thecountess appeared to be superbly attired when she once more donned thevenerable but rejuvenated dress. The snow-white curls being arranged to the best advantage, Madeleineplaced upon the head of her aunt a dainty cap, of the Charlotte Cordayform, composed of bits of very old and costly lace, --an heir-loom in thede Gramont family, --such lace as could no longer be purchased for gold, even if its members had been in a condition to exchange bullion forthread. This cap was another of the young girl's achievements, and shecould not help smiling with pleasure when she saw its picturesqueeffect. The countess, in spite of the anxious contraction of her darkbrows, looked imposingly handsome. Hers was an old age of positivebeauty, --a decadence which had all the lustre of "The setting moon upon the western wave. " It was only when her features were accidentally contrasted with those ofsuch a mild, eloquent, and soul-revealing face as the one bending overher that defects struck the eye, --defects which the ravages of time haddone less to produce than the workings of a stern and haughty character. But Madeleine's countenance how shall we portray? The lineaments wereof that order which no painter could faithfully present by tracing theiroutline correctly, and no writer conjure up before the mind bydescriptive language, however minutely the color of eyes, complexion, and hair might be chronicled. Therefore our task must necessarily be animperfect one, and convey but a vague idea of the living presence. It was a somewhat pale face, but pure and unsallow in its pallor. Thevivid blood rushed, with any sudden emotion, to cheek and brow, but diedaway as quickly; for late hours, too little sunlight, fresh air, andexercise, forbade the flitting roses to be captured and a permanentbloom insured. The hue of the large, dreamy eyes might be called a lighthazel; but that description fails to convey an impression of their rare, clear, topaz tint, --a topaz with the changing lustre of an opal: acombination difficult to imagine until it has once been seen. Thedarkly-fringed lids were peculiarly drooping, and gave the eyes a lookof exceeding softness, now and then displaced by startling flashes ofbrilliancy. The finely-chiselled mouth was full of grave sweetness, decision, and energy, and yet suggestive of a mirthful temperament. Theforehead was not too high, but ample and thoughtful. The finely-shapedhead showed the intellectual and emotional nature nicely balanced. Through the long, abundant chestnut hair bright threads gleamed in andout until all the locks looked burnished. They were gathered into onerich braid and simply wound around the head. At the side, where themassive tress was fastened, a single cape jasmine seemed to form a claspof union. A more striking or becoming arrangement could hardly have beendevised. Madeleine was somewhat above the ordinary stature, and her height, combined with the native dignity of her bearing, would have given her anair of stateliness, but for the exceeding grace which dispelled thefaintest shadow of stiffness, --a stiffness very noticeable in the formalcarriage of the countess. The wardrobe of the young girl was necessarily of the most limited anduncostly character; and, though she was dressed for a ceremoniousdinner, her attire consisted merely of a sombre-hued barege, made withthe severest simplicity, and gaining its only pretension to full dressby disclosing her white, finely-moulded neck and arms. Her sole ornamentwas the bracelet which had been Bertha's birthday gift. While giving the last, finishing touches to her aunt's toilet, Madeleinetalked gayly. Hers was not one of those bright, silvery voices whichmake you feel that, could the sounds become visible, they must _shine_;but there was a rich depth in her tones, which imparted to her lightestwords an intonation of feeling, and told the hearer that her vocalchords were in close communication with her heart. Though hercountenance did not lack the radiance of youthful gladness, there was somuch thought mingled with its brightness that even her mirth conveyedthe impression that she had suffered and sorrowed. The only daughter of the Duke de Gramont, at eighteen she suddenly foundherself an orphan and wholly destitute. Her father was one of that largeclass of impoverished noblemen who keep up appearances by means ofconstant shifts and desperate struggles, of which the world knowsnothing. But he was a man of unquestionable intellect, and had givenMadeleine a much more liberal education than custom accords to youngFrench maidens of her rank. The accident of his birth the Duke de Gramont regarded as a positivemisfortune, and daily lamented the burden of his own nobility, for itwas a shackle that enfeebled and enslaved his large capacities. He once said to his young daughter, "You would have been far happier asa peasant's child; I should have had a wider field of action andenjoyment as an humble laborer; we should both have been more truly_noble_. I envy the peasants who have the glorious privilege of doingjust that which they are best fitted to do; who are not forced to_vegetate_ and call vegetation existence, --not compelled to waste anddeaden their energies because it is an aristocratic penalty, --not doomedto glide into and out of their lives without ever living enough to knowlife's worth. " Such words sank into Madeleine's spirit, took deep root there, and, growing in the bleak atmosphere of adversity, bore vigorous fruit ingood season. She had known only the intangible shadow of pomp and luxury, while thesubstance was actual penury. But her inborn fertility of invention, herabundant resources, her tact in accommodating herself to circumstances, and her inexhaustible energy, had endowed her with the faculty of makingthe best of her contradictory position, and the most of the humblestmaterials at her command. Though she had several wealthy relatives, the Countess de Gramont wasthe only one who offered her unsheltered youth an asylum. Perhaps weought not to analyze too minutely the motives of the noble lady, forfear that we might find her actuated less by a charitable impulse thanby pride which would not allow it to be said that her grandniece everlacked, or had to solicit, a home. Be that as it may, the orphanMadeleine became a permanent inmate of the Château de Gramont. Her gratitude was deep, and found expression in actions more eloquentthan words. She was thankful for the slightest evidence of kindness fromher self-constituted protectors. She even exaggerated the amount ofconsideration which she received. She was not free from the hereditarytaint of _pride_; but in her it took a new form and unprecedentedexpression. The sense of indebtedness spurred her on to discover ways bywhich she could avoid being a burden upon the generosity of herbenefactors, --ways by which her obligations might be lightened, thoughshe felt they could never be cancelled. She became the active, presidingspirit over the whole household; her skilful fingers were ever at workhere, there, and everywhere; and her quick-witted brain was alwaysplanning measures to promote the interest, comfort, or pleasure of allwithin her sphere. The thought that an employment was menial, andtherefore she must not stoop to perform it, never intruded, for she hadan internal consciousness that she dignified her occupation. What sheaccomplished seemed wonderful; but, independent of the rapidity withwhich she habitually executed, she comprehended in an eminent degree theexact value of time, --the worth of every minute; and the use made of her_spare moments_ was one great secret of the large amount she achieved. The toilet of the countess for the dinner was completed, but she keptMadeleine by her side until they descended to the drawing-room. Madeleine had not yet welcomed Maurice, who had retired to his chamberto dress before she was aware of his arrival. When she entered the_salon_ with the countess, he was sitting beside Bertha, but sprang up, and, advancing joyfully, exclaimed, "Ah! at last! I thought I was neverto be permitted to see the busy fairy of the family, who renders herselfinvisible while she is working her wonders!" He would have approached his lips to Madeleine's cheek, but the countessinterfered. "And why, " asked Maurice, in surprise which was not free from a touch ofvexation, --"why may I not kiss my cousin Madeleine? You found no faultwhen I kissed my cousin Bertha just now!" "That is very different!" replied the countess, hastily. "Different! What is the difference?" persisted Maurice. "There is none that I can discover. Both are equally near of kin, --bothmy cousins, --both second cousins, or third cousins, some people wouldcall them; the one is kin through my grandmother, the other through mygrandfather. What _can_ be the difference?" "_My will_ makes the difference!" answered the countess, in a severetone. "Is not _that_ sufficient?" "It ought to be so, Maurice, " Madeleine interposed, without appearing tobe either wounded or surprised at her aunt's manner. "If not, I must add_my will_ to my aunt's. " Then, as though in haste to change the subject, she said, extending her hand, "I am very, _very_ glad to see you, Maurice. " "You have not changed as much as my pretty Bertha here, " remarkedMaurice. "She has gained a great deal in the last year. But you, Madeleine, look a little paler than ever, and a little thinner than youwere. I fear it is because you still keep that candle burning which lastyear I used to notice at your window when I returned from balls longafter midnight. You will destroy your health. " "There is no danger of _that_, " answered Madeleine, gayly. "I am in mostunpoetically robust health. I am never ailing for an hour. " "Never ailing and never weary, " joined in Bertha. "That is, she nevercomplains, and never admits she is tired. She would make us believe thather constitution is a compound of iron and India-rubber. " Maurice took a small jewel-case from his pocket, and, preparing to openit, said, "Nobody has yet asked why I am here one fortnight before I wasexpected. Has curiosity suddenly died out of the venerable Château deGramont, that none of the ladies who honor its ancient walls by theirpresence care to know?" "We all care!" exclaimed Bertha. "That we do!" responded Madeleine. "Why was it, Maurice?" "The reason chiefly concerns you, Madeleine. " "Me! You are jesting. " "Not at all; I came home because I remembered that to-day was yourtwenty-first birthday. I would not be absent upon your birthday, thoughI did not know that your reaching your majority was to be celebrated bya grand dinner. " "Madeleine's birthday was not thought of when your father invited hisfriends to dinner, " remarked the countess, curtly. Maurice went on without heeding this explanation. "I have brought you a little birthday token. Will you wear it for mysake?" As he spoke, he opened the case and took out a Roman brooch. Madeleine's eyes sparkled with a dewy lustre that threatened to shapeitself into a tear. Before she could speak, Bertha cried out, -- "A dove with a green olive-branch in its mouth, --what a beautifuldevice! And the word '_Pax_' written beneath! That must be inremembrance that Madeleine not only bears peace in her own bosom, butcarries it wherever she goes. Was not that what you intended to suggest, Cousin Maurice?" "You are a delightful interpreter, " replied the young man. "Yet she left me to read the sweet meaning of her own gift, " saidMadeleine, recovering her composure. "See, a band of gold with a knot ofpearls, --a '_manacle of love_, ' as the great English poet calls it, secured by purity of purpose. " As she fastened the brooch in her bosom, she added, "I am so rich inbirthday gifts that I am bankrupt in thanks; pray believe _that_ is thereason I thank you so poorly. " The countess impatiently interrupted this conversation by summoningMaurice to her side. As he took the seat she pointed out, he said, in an animated tone, "Ihave not told you all my good news yet. Listen, young ladies, for someof it especially concerns you. On my way here, I encountered theequipage of the Marchioness de Fleury. She recognized me, ordered hercarriage to stop, and sent her footman to apprise me that she was on herway to the Château de Tremazan, and to beg that I would pause therebefore going home, as she had a few words to say to me. I gladlycomplied. At the château I found quite a large and agreeable company. Ineed not tell you that the amiable host and hostess received me withopen arms. " The countess remarked, approvingly, "Our neighbors the Baron andBaroness de Tremazan are among the most valued of my friends. I have noobjection to their making much of you. " "Nor have I, " answered Maurice, vivaciously. "But, to continue"-- Bertha interrupted him: "I have so often heard the Marchioness de Fleuryquoted as a precedent, and her taste cited as the most perfect in Paris, that I suppose she is a very charming person;--is she not?" A comical expression, approaching to a grimace, passed over the brightcountenance of Maurice, as he answered, "_Charming?_ I suppose the termis applicable to her. At all events, her toilets are the most charmingin the world: she dresses to perfection! In her presence one neverthinks of anything but the wonderful combination of colors, and thegraceful flowing of drapery, that have produced certain artistic effectsin her outward adorning. She is style, fashion, elegance, tastepersonified; consequently she is very _charming as an exhibition of thenewest and most captivating costumes_, --as an inventor and leader ofmodes that become the rage when they have received her stamp. " "But her face and figure, --are they not remarkably handsome?" askedBertha. "Her figure is the _fac-simile_ of one of those waxen statues which areto be seen in the windows of some of the shops in Paris, and would bestyled faultless by a mantua-maker, though it might drive a sculptordistracted if set before him as a model. As for her face, the novelarrangement of her hair and the coquettish disposition of herhead-ornaments have always so completely drawn my attention away fromher countenance, that I could not tell you the color of her eyes, or thecharacter of any single lineament. " "Perhaps, too, " suggested Madeleine, "she is so agreeable inconversation, that you never thought of scanning her features. " "Of course she is agreeable, --that is, in her own peculiar way; for shehas an archly graceful manner of discussing the only subjects thatinterest _her_, and always as though they must be of the deepestinterest to _you_. If you speak to her of her projects for the winter orthe summer, she will dwell upon the style of dress appropriate in theexecution of such and such schemes. If you express your regret at herrecent indisposition, she will describe the exquisite _robes de chambre_which rendered her sufferings endurable. If you mention her brother, whohas lately received an appointment near the person of the emperor, shewill give you a minute account of the most approved court-dresses. Ifyou allude to the possibility that her husband (for such is the rumor)may be sent as ambassador to the United States, she will burst forth inbitter lamentations over the likelihood that American taste may not besufficiently cultivated to appreciate a Parisian toilet, or to comprehendthe great importance of the difficult art of dressing well. If you givethe tribute of a sigh to the memory of the lovely sister she lost a yearago, she will run through a list of the garments of woe that gaveexpression to her sorrow, --passing on to the shades of second, third, and fourth mourning through which she gradually laid aside her grief. You laugh, young ladies. Oh, very well; but I declare to you she wentthrough the catalogue of those mourning dresses, rehearsing the periodsat which she adopted such and such a one, while we were dancing aquadrille. In short, the Marchioness de Fleury is an animatedfashion-plate!--a lay-figure dressed in gauze, silk, lace, ribbon, feathers, flowers, that breathes, talks, dances, waltzes!--amantua-maker's, milliner's, hair-dresser's puppet, set in motion, --not awoman. " "Has she really no heart, then?" questioned Bertha. "I suppose that, anatomically speaking, a bundle of fibres, which shecourteously designates by that name, may rise and fall somewhere beneathher jewel-studded bodice; but I doubt whether the pulsations are notentirely regulated by her attire. " "You are too severe, Maurice, " remarked his grandmother, rebukingly. "The Marchioness de Fleury is a lady of the highest standing and ofgreat importance. " "Especially to the Parisian modistes who worship her!" replied Maurice. "But, while we are discussing the lady herself, I am forgetting to tellyou her reasons for delaying me half an hour. It was to inquire whetheryou would be disengaged to-morrow morning, as she purposes paying you avisit to make a proposition which she thinks may prove agreeable to theCountess de Gramont and Count Tristan. " "We are ever proud to receive the Marchioness de Fleury, " responded thecountess, graciously. "I dare say you think I have emptied my budget of news, " Maurice wenton; "but you are mistaken: several bits of agreeable intelligence remainbehind. At the Château de Tremazan, I saw three of our relatives on thede Gramont side, Madame de Nervac, the Count Damoreau, and M. DeBonneville. They inquired kindly after you, Madeleine, and I told themyou were the most"-- The countess interrupted him with the inquiry, "Are they upon a visit ofseveral days?" "I believe so. Now for the last, most pleasant item. As there are somany lively young persons gathered together at the château, some oneproposed an impromptu ball. Madame de Tremazan seized upon the idea, andcommissioned me to carry invitations to the Countess dowager de Gramont, Mademoiselles Madeleine and Bertha, and Count Tristan, for the eveningafter to-morrow. I assured her in advance that the invitations would beaccepted;--was I not right?" "Oh, yes, " replied Bertha; "I am so glad!" "We will enjoy a ball greatly!" exclaimed Madeleine. "And so will I!" said Maurice. "I engage Madeleine for the firstquadrille, and Bertha for the first waltz. " "And we both accept!" answered his cousins, with girlish delight. "Not so fast, young ladies, " interrupted the countess. "It is quite outof the question for you to attend a ball of such magnificence as may beexpected at the Château de Tremazan. " "And why not, aunt?" asked Bertha, in a disappointed tone. "You surelywill not refuse your consent?" "I deny you a pleasure very unwillingly, dear child, but I am forced todo so. You did not expect to appear at any large assemblies while youwere in Brittany, and you have brought no ball-dress with you. You havenothing ready which it would be proper for you to wear at such abrilliant reunion; for the de Tremazans are so rich that everything willbe upon the most splendid and costly scale. Mademoiselle Bertha deMerrivale cannot be present upon such an occasion, unless she is attiredin a manner that befits her rank and fortune. I, also, have no dressprepared. " "What a pity, what a pity!" half sighed, half pouted Bertha. "It is too bad, too provoking!" ejaculated Maurice. "If there be no obstacle but the lack of a ball-dress for yourself andfor Bertha, aunt, " remarked Madeleine, "we may console ourselves; for wewill go to the ball. " "Oh, you dear, good, ingenious Madeleine!" exclaimed Bertha, throwingher arms around her cousin. "I wonder if the time ever _will_ arrivewhen you have not some resource to extricate us from a difficulty?" "Madeleine forever! Long live Madeleine!" shouted Maurice, withenthusiasm. "And now, good, fairy godmother, where is the robe of gold and silver todeck your Cinderella?" asked Bertha. "I did not promise gold and silver apparel; you must be contentwith a toilet simple, airy, fresh, and spring-like as yourself. And for you, aunt, I will arrange an autumn arraying, --a costumesoft, yet bright, like the autumn days which the Americans call'Indian summer, '--something which will almost make one wish to fallinto the sere and yellow leaf of life in the hope of resembling you. " "But how is it possible to make two ball-dresses between this time andnight after next?" inquired the countess, evidently not at all averseto the project, if it could be carried into execution. "I answer for the possibility!" replied Madeleine. "Yes, Madeleine answers for it!" repeated Maurice. "Madeleine answers for it!" echoed Bertha; "and you know Madeleine has_the fingers of a fairy_; she can achieve whatever she undertakes. Butyour own dress, Madeleine?" "Do not be uneasy about that; we will think of that when the others areready. " "But if you do not wear a dress that becomes you?" persisted Bertha. "Why, then I shall have to look at yours, and, remembering that it is myhandiwork, be satisfied. " "There is no one like you, Madeleine!" burst forth Maurice, uncontrollably, --"no one! You never think of yourself; you"-- "But, as some one is always good enough to think of me, I deserve littlecredit on that account, " rejoined Madeleine. "Who could help thinking of you?" murmured Maurice, tenderly. The countess had not heard the enthusiastic encomium of Maurice, nor hislast, involuntary remark. The young man had risen and joined hiscousins. His father had taken the vacant seat beside the countess, andwas talking to her in a low tone. From the moment he learned thatMadeleine's relatives were accidentally assembled at the Château deTremazan, he had determined to seize that favorable opportunity, andsend them the letters requesting that they would by turns offer a hometo their poor and orphan relative. These letters, though written uponthe day previous, fortunately had not yet been posted. Count Tristanwhisperingly communicated his intention to his mother, and received herapproval. Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of M. Gaston de Bois, who invariably arrived before other guests made their appearance. M. DeBois was such a martyr to nervous timidity, that he could not summoncourage to enter a room full of company, even with some greatstimulating compensation in view. On the present occasion, though onlythe family had assembled, his olive complexion crimsoned as he advancedtowards the countess, and his expressive, though irregular and notstrictly handsome features became almost distorted; he unconsciouslythrust his fingers through his hair, throwing it into startlingdisorder, and twisted his dark moustache until it stood out withsufficient ferocity to suit the face of a brigand in a melodrama. But the most painful effect of this bewildering embarrassment evinceditself when he attempted to speak. His utterance became suddenlyimpeded, and, the more violent his efforts to articulate, the moredifficult it seemed for him to utter a distinct sentence. He waspainfully near-sighted; yet he always detected the faintest smile uponthe countenance of any one present, and interpreted it into anexpression of derision. These personal defects, however, were liberally counterbalanced bymental attributes of a high order. His constitutional diffidence causedhim to shun society; but he devoted his leisure to books, and was anerudite scholar, without ever mounting the pompous stilts of the pedant. All his impulses were noble and generous, though his best intentionswere often frustrated by that fearful self-consciousness which made himdread the possibility of attracting attention. There was a slight shadeof melancholy in his character. Life had been a disappointment to him, and he was haunted by a sense of the incompleteness of his ownexistence. His estate joined that of the Count de Gramont, and was even moreimpoverished. Gaston de Bois led a sort of hermit-like life in thegloomy and empty château of his ancestors. He chafed in his confinement, like a caged lion ready to break loose from bondage. But the lion freedmight take refuge in his native woods, while Gaston, if he rushed forthinto the world, knew that his bashfulness, his stammering, hisnear-sightedness, would render society a more intolerable prison thanhis solitary home. At the Château de Gramont he was a frequent guest, for the countess andher son held him in the highest esteem. After saluting his host and hostess, he warmly grasped the hand ofMaurice, and then addressed Madeleine, with but little hesitationapparent in his speech; but when he turned to Bertha, and essayed tomake some pleasant remark, he was suddenly seized with a fit of hopelessstammering. The beaming smile with which Bertha greeted him was displaced by anexpression almost amounting to compassion. Madeleine, with her wontedpresence of mind, came to his aid; finished his sentence, as though hehad spoken it himself; and went on talking _to him_ and _for him_, whilehe regarded her with an air of undisguised thankfulness and relief. Between Madeleine and Gaston de Bois there existed that sort offriendship which many persons are sceptical that a young and attractivewoman and an agreeable man can entertain for each other without thesentiment heightening into a warmer emotion. But love and friendship aretotally distinct affections. A woman may cherish the truest, kindliestfriendship for a man whom it would be impossible for her to love; nay, in whom she would totally lose her interest if he once presented himselfin the aspect of a lover; and we believe a certain class of men arecapable of experiencing the same pure and kin-like devotion for certainwomen. M. De Bois felt that he was comprehended by Madeleine, --that shesympathized with his misfortunes, appreciated the difficulties of hisposition, and, without pretending to be blind to his defects, alwaysviewed them leniently: thus, in her presence he was sufficiently at easeto be entirely himself; his _amour propre_ received fewer wounds, and hewas conscious that he appeared to better advantage than in the societyof other ladies. Madeleine, on her side, had more than once reflected that there was noone to whom she could more easily turn to impart a sorrow, intrust asecret, solicit a favor, or receive consolation and advice, --no one inwhom she could so thoroughly confide, as M. De Bois. Gaston had only commenced to regain his self-possession when the twoAmerican gentlemen, Mr. Hilson and Mr. Meredith, were announced. The countess received them with a freezing formality which would haveawed any visitors less unsuspicious of the cause of this augmentedstateliness. They were both gentlemen who held high positions in their own country;they had brought letters to Count Tristan de Gramont, with a view ofenlisting his interest in the railway company of which we have beforespoken; they had been cordially received by him, and invited to partakeof his hospitality; it therefore never occurred to either of them thatthe haughty demeanor of the countess was designed to impress them with asense of their inferiority. Mr. Hilson was what is termed a "self-made" man, --that is, he owednothing to the chances of birth; he had received little earlycultivation, but he had educated himself, and therefore all theknowledge he had acquired was positive mental gain, and brought intoactive use. He had inherited no patrimony, and started life with noadvantages of position; but he had made his own fortune, and earned hisown place in the social sphere. He had been one of the most successfuland scientific engineers which the United States ever produced, and wasnow the president of an important railroad, and a highly influentialmember of society. Mr. Meredith was born in the State of Maryland, --a "man of family, " asit is styled. He had not encountered the difficulties and experiencedthe struggles of his associates; his was therefore a less strong, lesshighly developed, character. He had travelled over the larger portion ofEurope, yet preferred to make his home in America; he had once retiredfrom business, but, finding that he was bored to death without thenecessity for occupation, connected himself with the railroad company ofwhich Mr. Hilson was president. The other guests were gentlemen residing or visiting in theneighborhood. They were the Marquis de Lasalles, the Count Caradore, Messieurs Villiers, Laroche, and Litelle. The two former, being the mostimportant personages, occupied seats at table on the right and left ofthe countess. Gaston de Bois was well pleased to find himself besideMadeleine; for he was opposite to Bertha, and could feast his eyes uponher fair, unclouded face, and now and then he spoke to her in glanceswhich were far more eloquent than his tongue. Mr. Hilson sat on the other side of Madeleine. A few naturally suggestedquestions about his native land unloosed his tongue, and she soon becamedeeply interested in the information he gave her concerningAmerica, --the habits, views, and aspirations of its people. After listening for some time, she almost involuntarily murmured, with ahalf-sigh, "I should like to visit America. " There was something in her own nature which responded to the spirit ofself-reliance, energy, and industry, which are so essentially Americancharacteristics. Bertha sat between the Marquis de Lasalles and Maurice. She was in thehighest spirits, and looked superlatively lovely. The brow of thecountess gradually smoothed as she noticed how gayly the heiress chattedwith her cousin. The two plates which intruded into the Sêvres set had been a terribleeyesore to Madame de Gramont at first; but Madeleine's suggestion hadbeen acted upon, --they were placed before the young ladies, and, as thecountess rose from the table, she comforted herself with the reflectionthat they had escaped observation. The gentlemen accompanied the ladies to the drawing-room, and thenMaurice lured Madeleine to the piano, and was soon in raptures over thewild, sweet melodies which she sung with untutored pathos. Hisgrandmother could scarcely conceal her vexation. Approaching the singer, she took an opportunity, while Bertha and Maurice were searching for apiece of music, whisperingly to suggest that Baptiste was old andclumsy, and the Sêvres set in danger until it was safely locked upagain. Madeleine murmured, in return, "I will steal away unnoticed and attendto it. " She stole away, but not unperceived, for one pair of eyes was ever uponher. She found so much besides the valuable china that demandedattention, and her aid was so heartily welcomed by the old domestics, who had become confused by the multiplicity of their duties, that it waslate in the evening before she reappeared in the drawing-room. Theguests were taking their leave. "I am highly flattered by the interest you have expressed in mycountry, " said Mr. Hilson, in bidding her adieu. "If you should evervisit America, as you have expressed the desire to do, and if you shouldpass through Washington, as you certainly will if you visit America, will you not promise to apprise me? Here is my address?" and he placedhis card in her hands. Madeleine looked not a little surprised and embarrassed at thisunexpected and informal proceeding, which she knew would greatly shockthe countess; but, taking the card, answered, courteously, "I fearnothing is more unlikely than that I should cross the ocean; but, ifsuch an unlooked-for event should ever occur, I promise certainly toapprise you. " CHAPTER IV. PROPOSALS. On the morrow, at the usual hour for visitors, the count and his mothersat in the drawing-room awaiting the promised guest. Maurice, at CountTristan's solicitation, had very unwillingly consented to postpone hiscustomary equestrian exercise, and was sauntering in the garden, wondering over the caprice that prompted his father to desire hispresence at the expected interview. The tramp of hoofs broke hisrevery; and a superb equipage, drawn by four noble horses, postilion-mounted, dashed up the long avenue that led to the château. Hehastened to the carriage-door, and aided the Marchioness de Fleury toalight. The living embodiment of graceful affability, she greeted him with avolley of slaying smiles; then, with an air which betrayed hertriumphant certainty of the execution done, glided past him into thedrawing-room, almost disappearing in a cloud of lace, as she made aprofound obeisance to the countess, and partially rising out of hermisty _entourage_ in saluting Count Tristan. Her voice had a low, studied sweetness as she softly syllabled somepleasant commonplaces, making affectionate inquiries concerning thehealth of the countess, and simulating the deepest interest as sheapparently listened to answers which were in reality unheard. Ere long, she winningly unfolded the object of her visit. Her brother, the youngDuke de Montauban, had prayed her to become his ambassador. He recentlyhad the felicity of meeting the niece of the Countess de Gramont, Mademoiselle Bertha de Merrivale. He had been struck and captivated byher grace and surpassing beauty; he now charged his sister to apprisethe family of Mademoiselle Bertha that he sought the honor of her handin marriage, and hoped to obtain a favorable response to his suit. The consternation created by those words did not escape the quick eyesof the marchioness. The count half rose from his seat, white withvexation, then sat down again, and, making an attempt to hide hisdispleasure, answered, in a tone of forced courtesy, -- "Though Mademoiselle Bertha de Merrivale is my mother's grandniece, wehave no control over her actions or inclinations. Her uncle, the Marquisde Merrivale, who is her guardian, is morbidly jealous of any influenceexerted over his niece, even by relatives equally near. " The Countess de Gramont, though she also had been greatly disconcerted, recovered herself more quickly than her son, and answered, with such anexcess of suavity that it had the air of exaggeration, -- "We feel deeply indebted for the proposed honor. An alliance with anobleman of the high position and unblemished name of the Duke deMontauban is all that could be desired for my niece; but, as my son hasremarked, her guardian is very punctilious respecting his rights, andwould not tolerate an interference with her future prospects. I beg youwill believe that we are highly flattered by the proposal of the Dukede Montauban, though we have no power to promote his suit. " Maurice could not help wondering why his father looked so thoroughlyvexed, and why his grandmother made such an effort to conceal herdispleasure by an assumption of overacted gratification. The Marchioness de Fleury betrayed neither surprise, disappointment, noremotion of any kind, except by gently tapping the ground with theexquisitely gaitered little foot that peeped from the mazes of her ampledrapery. She answered, in the most honeyed voice, "Oh! I was misinformed, and Iknew that your charming niece was at this moment visiting you. " Then, spreading her bespangled fan, and moving it gently backward andforward, though the day was far from sultry, she dismissed the subjectby asking Maurice if he had delivered Madame de Tremazan's invitationsto the ball. Almost before he had concluded his reply, she rose, and, with the mostenchanting of smiles, courtesied, as though she were making a reverencein a quadrille of the Lancers, and the lace cloud softly floated out ofthe room, the human being it encircled being nearly lost to sight whenit was in motion. Maurice could not resist the impulse to turn to his father, and expresshis amazement that the complimentary proposals made for Bertha by theMarchioness de Fleury had been so definitely declined, adding, "If mylittle cousin had been already engaged, you could not more decidedlyhave shut the door upon the duke. " The count bit his lips, and strode up and down the room. The countess replied, "We have other views for Bertha, --views which wetrust would be more acceptable to herself; but here she comes, and Ihave a few words to say to her in private. Take a turn with your fatherin the park, Maurice, while I talk to your cousin. " She gave the count a significant glance as she spoke. Father and son left the room as Bertha entered. For some minutes the two gentlemen walked side by side in silence. Finding that his father did not seem inclined to converse, Mauriceremarked, abruptly, -- "Now that the visit of the marchioness is over, I shall take mypostponed ride, if you have no further need of me. " "I _have_ need; let your horse wait a few moments longer, " replied thecount. "Can you conceive no reason why we did not for one instantentertain the proposition of the Marchioness de Fleury?" "None: it was made entirely according to rule; and, if you will allow meto say so, common courtesy seemed to demand that it should have beentreated with more consideration. " "Suppose Bertha's affections are already engaged?" suggested the father. "Ah, that alters the aspect of affairs; but it is hardly possible, --sheis so young, and appears to be so heart-free. " "Still, I think she has a preference; and, if I am not mistaken, herchoice is one that would give us the highest satisfaction. " "Really!" ejaculated Maurice, unsuspiciously. "Whom, then, does shehonor by her election?" "A very unworthy person!" rejoined the count, in a tone of irritation, "since he is too dull to suspect the compliment. " "You cannot mean"--began Maurice, in confused amazement, but paused, unwilling to finish his sentence with the words that rose to his lips. "I mean a most obtuse and insensible young man, walking by my side, whohas learned to interpret Greek and Latin at college, but not a woman'sheart. " "Impossible! You are surely mistaken. Bertha has only bestowed upon me acousinly regard, " answered Maurice, evidently more surprised andembarrassed than pleased by the unexpected communication. "I presume you do not expect the young lady herself to make known theesteem in which she holds you, undeserving as you are? You must take ourword for her sentiments. What this alliance would be to our fallinghouse, I need not represent; it is not even necessary that you shouldenter into the merits of this side of the question. You must see thatBertha is beautiful and lovable, and would make the most delightfulcompanion for life. Is this not so?" "Yes, she is beautiful, lovable, and would make a delightful companion, "answered Maurice, as though he echoed his father's words without knowingwhat he said. "Is she not all you could desire?" "All, --all I could desire as--as--as a _sister_!" replied Maurice. "But the question is now of a wife!" rejoined the count, angrily. "Areyou dreaming, that you pore upon the ground and answer in that strange, abstracted manner?" Maurice looked up, as if about to speak, but hesitated, dubious whatreply would be advisable. The count went on. "Maurice, your grandmother and I have this matter deeply at heart. Besides, Bertha loves you; you cannot treat her affection with disdain. Promise me that you will at once have an understanding with her, and letthis matter be settled. It must not be delayed any longer. Why do younot reply?" "Yes, --you are right. I ought to have an understanding with her, --_Iwill have!_" replied Maurice, still in a brown study. "That is well; and let it be as soon as possible, --to-day, or to-morrowat the latest, --before this ball takes place, --before you meet theMarchioness de Fleury again. " Maurice answered, hastily, "You need not fear that I desire any delay. You have put an idea into my head which would make suspense intolerable. I will speak to her without loss of time. And now will you allow me towish you good-morning? My horse has been saddled for an hour. " Saying this, he walked toward the stable and called to Gustave, who atonce appeared, leading the horse. The viscount vaulted upon its back, and, starting off at full gallop, in a few moments was out of sight. His father was mystified, doubtful of the real feelings of Maurice, anduncertain what course he meant to pursue, but well assured that he wouldkeep his word; and, if he did, it would be impossible for him tointroduce this delicate subject without compromising himself, --nay, without positively offering himself to Bertha. The very mention of sucha theme would be a proposal; and, with this consolatory reflection, hereturned to the château. As he passed the drawing-room, he caught a glimpse of Bertha, sitting athis mother's feet. The latter was holding both of the young girl'shands, and talking to her earnestly. Bertha's countenance wore anexpression of maidenly confusion and perplexity which, even if the counthad not been aware of his mother's intentions, would have betrayed thenature of her discourse. CHAPTER V. HEART-BEATS. Maurice must have found his equestrian exercise particularly agreeableupon that day, for he returned to the château so late that no one sawhim again until the family assembled at dinner. Bertha was unusually silent and _distrait_, not a single smile rippledher slumbering dimples, and she answered at random. She did not onceaddress Maurice, to whom she usually prattled in a strain of merry_badinage_, and he evinced the same constraint toward her. As soon as the ladies rose from table, Madeleine retired to her ownchamber. Her preparations for the morrow demanded all her time. Thecount retreated to the library. Maurice and Bertha were on the point offinding themselves _tête-à-tête_, for the countess just remembered thatshe had a note to write, when her little plot to leave the cousinstogether was frustrated by the entrance of the Marquis de Lasalles. The clouds suddenly melted from Bertha's countenance when the dull oldnobleman was announced. She greeted him with an air of undisguisedrelief, as though she had been happily reprieved from an impendingcalamity. The lively warmth of her salutation attracted the marquis toher side, and he remained fascinated to the spot for the rest of theevening. The countess was too thoroughly well-bred to allow herself tolook annoyed, or, even in secret, to acknowledge that she wished themarquis elsewhere; but she was disconcerted, and puzzled by theunaccountable change in Bertha's deportment. So passed the evening. The next morning, when Bertha appeared at breakfast, every one, Mauriceperhaps excepted, remarked that she seemed weary and dispirited. Herbrilliant complexion had lost something of its wonted lustre; herusually clear blue eyes looked heavy and shadowed; her rosy mouth had ahalf-sorrowful, half-fretful expression. It was evident that somenightmare preyed upon her mind, and had broken the childlike soundsleeping that generally visited her pillow. When the ball that was totake place that evening was mentioned, she brightened a little, butquickly sank back into her musing mood. "You must give me some assistance this morning, Bertha, " saidMadeleine, as she poured a few drops of almond oil into a tiny cup. "Your task shall be to gather, during your morning walk, this littlebasket full of the greenest and most perfect ivy leaves you can find, and bring them to the _châlet_. Then, if you feel inclined to aid mefurther, I will show you how to impart an emerald brilliancy to everyleaf by a touch of this oil and a few delicate manipulations. " "I suspect you are inventing something very novel and tasteful, "remarked Bertha, with more indifference than was natural to her. "You shall judge by and by, " replied Madeleine, as she left the room, with the cup in her hand. She carried it, with her work, to a dilapidated summer-house, emboweredby venerable trees. Madeleine's taste had given a picturesque aspect tothis old _châlet_, and concealed or beautified the ravages of time. Withthe assistance of Baptiste, she had planted vines which flung over theouter walls a green drapery, intermingled with roses, honeysuckle, andjasmine; and, within doors, a few chairs, a well-worn sofa, a table, andfootstool gave to the rustic apartment an appearance of habitablenessand comfort. This was Madeleine's favorite resort when the weather wasfine, and not a few of the magic achievements of her "fairy fingers" hadbeen created in that romantic and secluded locality. There was glamour, perhaps, in the sylvan retreat, that acted like inspiration upon handsand brain. Bertha usually flitted about her as she worked, wandering in and out, now and then sitting down for a few moments, and reading aloud, by fitsand starts, or occasionally taking up a needle and making futile effortsto busy herself with the womanly implement, but always restless, andgenerally abandoning her attempt after a brief trial; for Bertha franklyconfessed that she admired industry in her cousin without being able topractise it in her own person. This morning, however, Madeleine sat alone; the fleecy tarlatan, thatrolled in misty whiteness around her, gradually assuming the shape offemale attire. Bettina had been despatched to Rennes on the day previousto procure this material for Bertha's ball-costume, and had not returneduntil late in the evening; yet the dress was cut out and fitted beforeMadeleine closed her eyes that night. The first auroral ray of lightthat stole into her chamber the next day fell upon the lithe figure ofthe young girl folding tucks that were to be made in the skirt, measuring distances, placing pins here and there for guides; and, as thedawn broke, she sat down unwearily, and sent her needle in and out ofthe transparent fabric with a rapidity of motion marvellous to behold. After a time, the rickety door of the _châlet_ was unceremoniouslypushed open, and old Baptiste entered. He deposited a basket filled withivy leaves upon the table, and said that Mademoiselle Bertha desired himto gather and deliver them to Mademoiselle Madeleine. "Has she not taken her usual walk this morning, then?" asked Madeleine, in surprise. "No, mademoiselle; Mademoiselle Bertha only came to me as I was weedingthe flower-beds, and immediately went back to the château. Have Ibrought mademoiselle enough ivy?" "Quite sufficient, thank you; but I did not mean to consume your time, my good Baptiste. I thought Mademoiselle Bertha would take pleasure inselecting the ivy herself. " "Mademoiselle Madeleine knows how glad I always am to serve her, "answered Baptiste. For another hour Madeleine sat alone, singing, in a soft murmur, as shesewed, while "Her soul was singing at a work apart Behind the walls of sense. " The sound of a manly step upon the pathway silenced her plaintivemelody. The next moment the vines, that formed a verdant curtain aboutthe otherwise unprotected casement, were gently drawn back, and a faceappeared at the window. "I thought I should find you here on this bright morning, MademoiselleMadeleine. May I en--en--enter?" asked Gaston de Bois, speaking with somuch ease that his only stammer came upon the last word. "If you please. " "A noble slave of the needle, " he continued, still looking in at thewindow. "The daughter of a duke, with the talents of a dressmaker!_Where_ will ge--ge--genius next take up her abode?" "Genius--since you are pleased to apply that sublime appellation to mypoor capacities for wielding the most familiar and harmless weapon of mysex--is no respecter of persons, as you see. You are an early visitorto-day, M. De Bois. Of course, you are on your way to the château?" "I have let--let--letters for the count. He intrusted meyes--es--esterday with a package to take with me to the Château deTremazan, where I was engaged to pass the evening, and I have broughthim the replies. But before I play the postman, let me come in and talkto you, since you are the only person I can ever manage to talk to atall. " "Come in then, and welcome. " Gaston accepted the invitation with alacrity. He took a seat, and, regarding her work, remarked, "This must be for to-night's ball; is ityour own dress?" "Mine? All these tucks for a dress of _mine_? No, indeed, it isBertha's, and I hope she will like the toilet I have planned; each tuckwill be surmounted by a garland of ivy, left open at the front, andfastened where it breaks off, on either side, with blush roses. Thenamong her luxuriant curls a few sprigs of ivy must float, and perhaps arose peep out. You may expect to see her looking very beautifulto-night. " M. De Bois sighed, and remained silent for a moment. Then he resumed theconversation by asking, "And the dress will be ready in time?" "Before it is needed, I trust, for it is now well advanced. Fortunatelymy aunt's dress was completed last night. But it was not new, --only afresh combination of materials that had already been employed. Yet shewas kind enough to be highly pleased. " "Well she might be! You are always wor--wor--working for the good of thewhole family. " "What other return can I make for the good I have received?" repliedMadeleine, with emotion. "Can I ever forget that, when I was left alonein the world, without refuge, without friends, almost without bread, mygreat-aunt extended to me her protection, supplied all my wants, virtually adopted me as her own child? Can I offer her too muchgratitude in return? Can I lavish upon her too much love? No one knowshow well I love her and all that is hers! How well I love that dwellingwhich received the homeless orphan! People call the old château drearyand gloomy; to me it is a palace; its very walls are dear. I love thetrees that yield me their shade, --the parks that you no doubt think awilderness, --the rough, unweeded walks which I tread daily in search offlowers, --this ruined summer-house, where I have passed hours ofdelicious calm, --all the now familiar objects that I first saw throughmy tears, before they were dried by the hand of affection; and I reflectwith joy that probably I shall never quit the Heaven-provided home whichhas been granted me. I have been so very happy here. " "Real--eal--eally?" asked Gaston, doubtingly. "I fancied sometimes, whenI saw the Countess and Count Tristan so--so--so severe to you, that"-- "Have they not the right to find fault with me when I fail to pleasethem? That is only what I expect, and ought to bear patiently. I willnot pretend to say that sometimes, when I have been misunderstood, andmy best efforts have failed to bring about results that gratify them, --Iwill not say that my heart does not swell as though it would burst; butI console myself by reflecting that some far off, future day will cometo make amends for all, and bring me full revenge. " "Re--re--revenge! You re--re--revenge?" cried Gaston, in astonishment. "Yes, _revenge_!" laughed Madeleine. "You see what a vindictive creatureI am! And I am positively preparing myself to enjoy this delightfulrevenge. I will make you the confidant of my secret machinations. Thisold château is lively enough now, and the presence of Bertha and Mauricepreserve to my aunt the pleasant memory of her own youth. But by and byMaurice will go forth into the world, and perhaps we shall only see himfrom time to time, at long intervals. Bertha will marry"-- At these words M. De Bois gave a violent start, and, stammeringunintelligibly, rose from his seat, upsetting his chair, walked to thewindow, brought destruction upon some of Madeleine's vines by pullingthem violently aside, to thrust out his head; then strode back, liftedthe fallen chair, knocking down another, and with a flushed countenanceseated himself again. Madeleine went on, as if she had not noticed his abrupt movement. "Solitude and _ennui_ might then oppress the Countess and even CountTristan, and render their days burdensome. I am laying up a store ofmaterials to enliven these scenes of weariness and loneliness. I havemade myself quite a proficient in _piquet_, that I may pass longevenings playing with the count; I have noted and learned all the oldairs that his mother delights to hear, because they remind her of hergirlhood, and I will sing them to her when she is solitary anddepressed. I will make her forget the absence of the dear ones who mustleave such a void in her life; in a thousand ways I will soften thefootsteps of age and infirmity as they steal upon her;--that will be theamends time will bring me, --that is the _revenge_ I seek. " "Ah! Mademoiselle Mad--ad--adeleine, you are an angel!" "So far from an angel, " answered Madeleine, gayly, "that you make mefeel as though I had laid a snare, by my egotism, to entrap thatill-deserved compliment. Now let us talk about yourself and your ownprojects. Do you still hold to the resolution you communicated to me inour last conversation?" "Yes, your advice has decided me. " "I should have been very impertinent if I had ventured to give youadvice. I can hardly be taxed with that presumption. We were merelydiscussing an abstract question, --the use of faculties accorded us, andthe best mode of obtaining happiness through their employment; and youchose to apply my general remarks to your particular case. " "You drew a picture which made me feel what a worth--orth--orthlessmortal I am, and this incited me to throw off the garment ofslothfulness, and put on armor for the battle of life. " "So be it! Now tell us what you have determined upon. " "My unfortunate imped--ed--ediment is my great drawback. Maurice hopesto become a lawyer; but that profession would be out of theques--es--estion for me who have no power to utter my ideas. I could notenter the army, for what kind of an officer could I make? How should Iever manage to say to a soldier, 'Go and brave death for yourcoun--oun--ountry'? I should find it easier to do myself than to say it. Some diplomatic position I _might_ possibly fill. As speech, accordingto Talleyrand, was given to men to disguise their thoughts, a man whost--st--stammers is not in much danger of making known his privatemedita--a--ations. " "That is ingenious reasoning, " replied Madeleine. "I hope something willgrow out of it. " "It is grow--ow--ing already. Yesterday, at the Château de Tremazan, Ihad a long interview with the Marquis de Fleury. He expects to be sentas ambassador to the United States. We are old friends. We talked, and Itol--ol--old"-- "You told him your views, " said Madeleine, aiding him so quietly andnaturally that her assistance was scarcely noticeable. "And what wasconcluded upon? for your countenance declares that you have concludedupon something. If the marquis goes to America, you will perhapsaccompany him?" "Yes, as sec--sec--sec--" "As secretary?" cried Madeleine. "That will be an admirable position. But America--ah! it is a long, long distance from Brittany! This is goodnews for you; but there are two persons to whom it will cause not alittle pain. " "To who--o--om?" inquired Gaston, with suppressed agitation. "To my cousin Bertha, and to me. " "Mademoiselle Ber--er--ertha! Will _she_ heed my absence?She--she--she, --will she?" asked Gaston, confusedly. "Yes--but take care; if you let me see how deeply that idea affects you, you will fail to play the diplomat in disguising your thoughts, for Ishall divine your secret. " "My secret, --what--what secret? What is it you divine? What do youimagine? I mean. " "That you love Bertha, --love her as she deserves to be loved?" "I? I?" replied M. De Bois, trying to speak calmly; but, finding theattempt in vain, he burst forth: "Yes, it is but too true; I love herwith my whole soul; I love her passionately; love her despairingly, --ay, _despairingly_!" "And why _despairingly_?" "Alas! she is so rich!" he answered, in a tone of chagrin. "True, she is encumbered with a large and _un_-encumbered estate. " "A great misfortune for me!" sighed Gaston. "A misfortune which you cannot help, and which Bertha will neverremember when she bestows her heart upon one who is worthy of the gift. " "How can she ever deem _me_ worthy? Even if I succeed in making myself aname, --a position; even if I become all that you have caused me to dreamof being, --this dreadful imped--ed--ediment, this stammering whichrenders me ridiculous in the eyes of every one, in her eyes even, will"-- "Your stammering is only the effect of timidity, " answered Madeleine, soothingly. "Believe me, it is nothing more; as you overcome yourdiffidence and gain self-possession, you will find that it disappears. For instance, you have been talking to me for some time with ease andfluency. " "To _you_, ah, yes; with _you_ I am always at my ease, --I have alwaysconfidence. It is not difficult to talk to one for whom I have so muchaffection, --_so much_, and yet not _too much_. " "That proves fluent speech possible. " "But to any one else, if I venture to open my heart, I hesitate, --I gettroubled, --I--I stammer, --I make myself ridic--ic--iculous!" "Not at all. " "But I do, " reiterated Gaston, warmly. "Fancy a man saying to a womanhe adores, yet in whose presence he trembles like a school-boy, or aculprit, 'I--I--I--lo--ov--ov--ove you!'" "The fact is, " began Madeleine, laughing good-naturedly. "_There! there!_" cried M. De Bois, with a gesture of impatience anddiscouragement; "the fact is, that you laugh yourself, --_you_, who areso forbearing!" "Pardon me; you mistook"-- "You could not help it, I know. It is precisely that which discouragesme. And yet it is very odd! I have one method by which I can speak forfive minutes at a time without stopping or hesitating. " "Indeed! Why, then, do you not always employ that magical method insociety?" "It would hardly be admissible in polite circles. Would you believeit?--it is very absurd, but so is everything that appertains to usunfortunate tongue-tied wretches. " "Tell me what your method is. " "I--I--I do not dare; you will only laugh at me again. " "No; I promise I will not. " "Well, then, my method is to become very much animated, --to lash myselfinto a state of high excitement, and to hold forth as though I weremaking an exordium, --to talk with furious rapidity, using the mostforcible expressions, the most emphatic ejaculations! Those unloose mytongue! My words hurl themselves impetuously forward, as zouaves inbattle! Only, as you may conceive, this discourse is not of a veryclassic nature, and hardly suited to the drawing-room, --especially, as Ireceive great help, and rush on all the faster, for a few interjectionsthat come under the head of--of--of swear--ear--earing!" "_Swearing?_" was all Madeleine could say, controlling a stronginclination to merriment. "Yes, downright swearing; employing strong expletives, --actual oaths!Oh, it helps me more than you can believe. But just imagine the resultif I were to harangue Mademoiselle Bertha in this style! Shewould--would--" "Would think it very original, and, as she has a joyous temperament, shemight laugh immoderately. But she likes originality, and the very oddityof the discourse might impress her deeply. Then, too, she is verysympathetic, and she would probably be touched by the necessity whichcompelled you to employ such an extraordinary mode of expression. " "Ah, if that were only true!" "I think it _is_ true. " "Thank you! thank you!" Madeleine was opening a skein of silk, and, extending it to M. De Bois, she said: "Will you assist me? It is for Bertha I am working. Will youhold this skein? It will save time. " Gaston, well pleased, stretched out his hands. Madeleine adjusted theskein, and commenced winding. "Besides, who knows?" she went on to say. "It seems to me very possiblethat the very singularity of such an address might captivate her, andgive you a decided advantage over lovers who pressed their suit inhackneyed, stereotyped phrases. " "You think so?" "I should not be surprised if such were the case, because Bertha has adecided touch of eccentricity in her character. " "If I only dared to think that she had ever given me the faintestevidence of favorable regard!" "When she sees you embarrassed and hesitating, does she not alwaysfinish your sentences?" "Is it pos--pos--pos--" stammered Gaston. "Possible?" said Madeleine. "Yes, I have observed that she invariablydoes so if she imagines herself unnoticed. I have besides remarked acertain expression on her transparent countenance when we talked of you, and she has dropped a word, now and then, "-- "What--what--what words? But no, you are mocking me cruelly! It cannotbe that she ever thinks of me! I have too powerful a rival. " "A rival! what rival?" asked Madeleine, in genuine astonishment. "The Viscount Maurice. " The silken thread snapped in Madeleine's hand. "You have broken the thread, " remarked M. De Bois; "I hope it was notowing to my awkward hold--old--olding. " "No, no, " answered Madeleine, hurriedly, and taking the skein out of hishand, but tangling it inextricably as she tried to draw out the threads. "You--you--you--think my cousin Maurice loves Bertha?" she asked, hardlyaware of the pointedness of her own question. "I do not exactly say _that_; but how will it be possible for him tohelp loving her? Good gracious, Mademoiselle Madeleine! what have I saidto affect you? How pale you have become!" Madeleine struggled to appear composed, but the hands that held thesnarled skein trembled, and no effort of will could force the retreatingblood back to her face. "Nothing--you have said nothing, --you are quite right, I--I--I daresay. " "Why, you are just as troubled and embarrassed as I was just now. " "I? nonsense! I'm--I'm--I'm only--only--" "And you stammer, --you actually stammer almost as badly as I do!"exclaimed Gaston, in exultation. "Ah, Mademoiselle Madeleine! I havebetrayed to you _my_ secret, --you have discovered _yours_ to me!" "Monsieur de Bois, I implore you, do not speak another word on thissubject! Enough that, if _I had a secret_, there is no one in the worldto whom I would sooner confide it. " "Why, then, do you now wish to hide from me the preference with whichyou honor your cousin?" Madeleine replied, in a tremulous tone, "You do not know how deep awound you are probing, how heavy a grief you"-- "Why should it be a grief? What obstacle impedes your union?" "An insurmountable obstacle, --one that exists in my own heart. " "How can that be, since that heart is his?" "Those to whom I owe everything, " replied Madeleine, "cherish theanticipation that Maurice will make a brilliant marriage. Even if mycousin looked upon me with partial eyes, could I rob my benefactors ofthat dearest hope? Could I repay all their benefits to me by causingthem such a cruel disappointment? I could never be so ungrateful, --soguilty, --so inhuman. Therefore, I say, the obstacle lies in my ownheart: that heart revolts at the very contemplation of such an act. Ipray you never to speak to me again on this subject; and give me yourword that no one shall ever know what I have just confided to you, --Imean what you suspect--what you suspect, it may be, _erroneously!_" "I promise you on the honor of a gentleman. " "Thank you. " A step was heard on the path leading to the summer-house. Gaston looked towards the open door and said, "It is the count. " At the same moment he withdrew to the window. Madeleine, who had risen, resumed her seat, and, as she plied herneedle, half buried her agitated face in the white drapery which lay inher lap. The count entered with downcast eyes, and flung himself into a chair. He had not perceived that any one was present. Madeleine found itdifficult to command her voice, yet could not allow him to remainunaware that he was not alone. After a brief interval, she said, in a tolerably quiet tone, "I amafraid you have not chosen a very comfortable seat. I told Baptiste toremove that chair, for its legs are giving signs of the infirmities ofage. " At the sound of her voice the count glanced at her over his shoulder, and said, brusquely, "What are you doing there?" "Playing Penelope, as usual. " The count returned harshly, "Always absorbed in some feminine frippery, just as if"-- "Just as if I were a woman!" answered Madeleine, forcing a laugh. "A woman in your position should find some less frivolous employment. " Madeleine replied, in a tone of badinage that would have disarmed mostmen, "How cruelly my cousin pretends to treat me! He actually makesbelieve to scold me when I am occupied with the interests of hisfamily, --when I am literally _shedding my blood_ in their behalf!" sheadded playfully, holding towards him the white dress upon which a slightred stain was visible; for the needle grasped by her trembling hands hadpricked her. "Good heavens, Madeleine! when will you lay aside those intolerable airsand graces which you invariably assume, and which would be very charmingin a young girl of sixteen, --a girl like Bertha; but, in a woman who hasarrived at your years, --a woman of twenty-one, --become ridiculousaffectation?" M. De Bois, enraged at the injustice of this rebuke, could controlhimself no longer, and came forward with a lowering visage. The countturned towards him in surprise. "Ah, M. De Bois, I was not aware of your presence. I must haveinterrupted a _tête-à-tête_. You perceive, I am, now and then, obligedto chide. " Gaston answered only by a bow, though his features wore an expressionwhich the count would not have been well pleased to see if he hadinterpreted aright. "But, " continued the latter, "we are most apt to chide those whom welove best, as you are aware. " "I am a--a--ware, " began M. De Bois, trying to calm his indignation, yetexperiencing a strong desire to adopt his new method of speakingfluently by using strong interjections. The count changed the subject by asking, "Did you deliver the letters, of which you had the goodness to take charge, to the Count Damoreau, Madame de Nervac, and Monsieur de Bonneville?" "Our relatives!" exclaimed Madeleine, unreflectingly. "Have youforgotten that you will see them to-night at the ball? But I beg pardon;perhaps you had something very important to write about. " "It _was_ very important, " answered the count, dryly. "I im--im--imagined so, " remarked M. De Bois, "by the sensation theletters created. Madame de Nervac turned pale, and the Count Damoreauturned red, and M. De Bonneville gnawed his nails as he was reading. " "Had they the kindness to send answers by you, as I requested?" "Yes, the object of my early vi--vi--visit was to deliver them. I heardMademoiselle Madeleine singing as I passed the _châlet_, and paused topay my respects. " He drew forth three letters, and placed them in the count's hand. The latter seized them eagerly, and seemed inclined to break the sealsat once, but changed his mind, and putting them in his pocket, said, "Shall I have the pleasure of your company to the château?" M. De Bois could not well refuse. He left the _châlet_ with the count, but, after taking a few steps, apologized for being obliged to return in search of a glove he haddropped. He went back alone. Madeleine was occupied with her needle aswhen he left her. There were no traces of tears upon her cheeks; therewas no flush, no expression of anger or mortification upon her serenecountenance. M. De Bois regarded her a moment in surprise, for he had expected tofind her weeping, or looking vexed, or, at all events, in a state ofexcitement. "Is the count often in such an amiable temper?" he asked. "No; pray, do not imagine _that_; he is evidently troubled to-day. Yousaw how preoccupied he was. Something has gone wrong, something annoyshim. He did not mean to be harsh. " "And _you_ can excuse him? Well, then _I_ cannot! I felt as though Imust speak when he rated you so unreasonably. And, if I had spoken, Ishould certainly have had my tongue loosened by swearing; perhaps Ishall yet"-- "Pray, M. De Bois, " urged Madeleine, "do not try to defend me, orallude to what you unfortunately heard. It will only make my positionmore trying. " "So I fear; but I have something to say to you. _You_ have given _me_good counsels; you must listen to some I have to give you inreturn, --but not now. You are going to the ball to-night?" "Yes, certainly. " "Perhaps I may find an opportunity of talking to you there. " Saying these words, he picked up the glove, and hastened to rejoin thecount, who was too much absorbed in his own thoughts to remark thelength of his friend's absence. CHAPTER VI. UNMASKING. Madeleine, left alone in the old _châlet_, remained for some timeabsorbed in her work, which progressed rapidly. The ivy leaves weredexterously polished, and a graceful garland laid above every tuck ofthe transparent white dress. The last leafy band was nearly completed, when the door again creaked upon its rusty hinges, and the young girl, looking up, beheld Maurice. "Is not Bertha here?" he asked, in a tone that sounded very unlike hisusual cheerful voice. "I came to seek her, and felt sure she must bewith you. " "I have not seen her since early morning, " answered Madeleine. "Shepromised to bring me this basket full of ivy leaves, but sent Baptisteinstead. " "I looked for her in the library, the _boudoir_, the drawing-room, andthe garden, before I came here, " Maurice continued, in the same gravetone. "She has disappeared just at the moment when I have made up mymind to have an understanding without further delay. " Madeleine's speaking countenance betrayed her surprise, for it seemedstrange that Maurice should desire an especial interview with hiscousin, whom he saw at all hours; and stranger still that he appeared tobe so much disturbed. "How serious you look, Maurice! Are you troubled? Has anything occurredto cause you unhappiness?" "I can have no disguises from you, Madeleine. I am thoroughly sick atheart. In the first place, my father and my grandmother have violentlyopposed my determination to embark in an honorable and useful career oflife;--_that_ threw a cloud over me almost from the hour I entered thechâteau. I tried to forget my disappointment for the moment, that noshadow might fall upon your birthday happiness; besides, I clung to thehope that I might yet convince them of the propriety, the policy, theactual necessity of the step I propose to take. My father, yesterday, stunned me with a piece of intelligence which renders me wretched, yetforces me to act. I have given him my promise; there is no retreat. Imust bring this matter to a climax, be the sequence what it may; and yetI dread to make the very first movement. " "I am too dull to read the riddle of the sphinx, and your words are asenigmatical. I have not begun to find their clew, " replied Madeleine, pausing in the garland she was forming, and letting the ivy dropunnoticed around her. The first impulse of Maurice was to gather the fallen leaves; the secondprompted him gently to force the dress, she was so tastefully adorning, out of her hands, and toss it upon the table. "I see your task is nearly completed, and Bertha's toilet for the ballwill be sufficiently picturesque to cause the Marchioness de Fleury todie of envy; can you not, therefore, rest from your labors, good fairydressmaker, and talk awhile with me? I need consolation, --I needadvice, --and you alone can give me both. " "I?" Madeleine spoke that single word tremulously, and a faint flushpassed over her soft, pale face. "_You_, Madeleine, you, and _you_ only!" "There is Bertha, at last, " she exclaimed, rising hastily, andapproaching the door. "Do you not see her blue dress yonder through thetrees? Bertha! Bertha!" and, leaving Maurice, she went forth to meetBertha. "Where have you hidden yourself all the morning, little truant? Why!what has happened to distress you? Your eyes look as though you had beenweeping. Dear Bertha! what ails you?" "I could not bear it any longer, " almost sobbed Bertha, laying her headupon her cousin's shoulder. "I could not help coming to you, though Iwanted to act entirely upon my own responsibility, and I had determinednot even to consult you, for I am always fearful of getting you intotrouble with my aunt. " Madeleine was so completely mystified that she could only murmur halfto herself, "More enigmas! What can they mean?" Then, passing her arm around Bertha's slender waist, they walked to thesummer-house. The position of Bertha's head caused her bright ringletscompletely to veil her face, and it was not until after she entered the_châlet_, and shook the blinding locks from before her eyes, that shesaw Maurice. She drew back with a movement of vexation and confusionnever before evinced at his presence, --clung to Madeleine as though forprotection, and seemed on the point of bursting into tears. "Maurice came here expecting to find you with me, " observed Madeleine. "He wanted to speak to you. " "Did he?--yes, I know he did. I know what he is going to say; I kept outof his way on purpose, until I could make up my mind about it all; Imean, I thought it best to postpone; but it does not matter, --I wouldrather have it over; no, --I don't mean _that_, --I mean"-- Bertha's perturbation rendered any clearer expression of her meaning outof the question. Madeleine took up the dress, which Maurice had flung upon the table, andsaid, "When you return to the house, Bertha, will you not come to myroom and try on your dress? It is just completed. " "Stay, stay, Madeleine!" exclaimed Bertha and Maurice together. "You see, we _both_ desire you to stay, " added Maurice; "therefore youcannot refuse. We have no secrets from you, --have we, Bertha?" "_I_ had none until yesterday; but my aunt is inclined to be so severewith Madeleine, that I feared I might make mischief by taking her intomy confidence. Do not go, Madeleine. Sit down, for you _must_ stay. Ifyou go, I will go with you; and Maurice wants to speak to me, --I mean, Iwant to speak to him, --that is to say, he intends to"-- Madeleine resumed her seat. "Since you so tyrannically insist upon my remaining, I will finish thisgarland while you are having your mysterious explanation. " Maurice approached Bertha with a hesitation which had some slight touchof awkwardness. Feeling that it was easier to induce _her_ to break theice than to take the first step upon this delicate ground himself, heremarked, "You wanted to speak to me; what did you desire to say, mydear little cousin?" Bertha looked up innocently into his face, as though she was scanninghis features for the first time. "What my aunt says is all very true. You _are_ exceedingly handsome; Inever denied it, except in jest; and you _are_ decidedly agreeable, except now and then; and you _have_ a noble heart, --I never doubted it;and a fine intellect, --though I do not know much about _that_; and anywoman might be proud of you, --that is, I dare say most women would. " "And I have a little cousin who is an adroit flatterer, and who isherself beautiful enough for a Hebe, and whose fascinations aresufficiently potent to captivate any reasonable or unreasonable man. " "Oh! but that is not to the point. I did not mean that we shouldexchange compliments. What I want to say is that such an attractive andagreeable young man as you are will naturally find hosts of young girls, who would any of them be proud to be chosen as his wife. " "And you, with your grace and beauty, your lovable character, and yourlarge fortune, will have suitors innumerable, from among whom you mayreadily select one who will be worthy of you. " "But that is not to the point either! I told my aunt that I was notinsensible to all your claims to admiration. I assure you I did youample justice!" "You were very kind and complimentary, little cousin; but I said as muchof you to my father. I gave him to understand that I acknowledged you tobe one of the most charming beings in the world, and that I thought theman to whom you gave your hand would be the happiest of mortals, andthat I did not believe _that man_ could value you more as a wife than Ishould as a sister. " "_A sister! A sister!_ Oh! I am so glad!--a _sister_? You do not reallylove me, then?" "Have I said that?" "You have said the same thing, and I am overjoyed! I can never thank youhalf enough!" "_You_ do not love _me_ then?" asked Maurice. "I love you with all my heart! I never loved you half as well as at thismoment!--that is as--as--a _brother_; for you love me as a _sister_, while my aunt declared you hoped to make me your wife, --that you werecrazily in love with me, and that if I refused you, I should ruin allyour future prospects, for the blow would almost kill you. I cannot tellyou how chagrined I was at the deplorable prospect. And it's all amistake, --is it not?" "My father assured me that you had formed the most flattering attachmentfor me. Is that a mistake also?" inquired Maurice, skilfully avoidingthe rudeness of a direct reply to her question. "Oh! I never cared a straw for you except as the dearest cousin in theworld!" "But why, " asked Maurice, resuming his usual gay tone of raillery, "why, if I am the incomparable being you pretend to think me, why are you soparticularly averse to becoming my wife? What do you say to that? Ishould like to have an explanatory answer, little cousin; or else youmust take back all your compliments. " "Not one of them!" replied Bertha, merrily. "I am so charmed with you atthis moment that I feel inclined to double their number. Yet there is areason why I should have refused you, even if you had offered yourselfto me. " "Is it because you like somebody else better?" "No, no, " answered Bertha, hastily; "how can you suggest such an idea?But I suppose _you do so because that is your reason_ for desiring torefuse my hand?" "I shall be obliged to think my suggestion correct, unless you tell mewhy you are so glad to escape becoming my wife. " "It was because, " said Bertha, approaching her rosy mouth to his ear, and speaking in a low tone, "because there is another woman, who is farmore worthy of you, who would make you a better wife than I could, andwho--who does not exactly _hate_ you. " "Another woman?" "Hush! do not speak so loudly. There is nothing in the world I desire somuch as to see that other woman happy; for there is no one I love halfso well. " "The garland is finished!" Madeleine broke in, starting up abruptly, forshe had caught the whispered words. "Come, Bertha, we must hasten backto the château. I must try on your dress immediately. " "Oh, since it is finished, we have plenty of time, " said Bertha. "It isquite early in the day yet, and Maurice and I are deeply interested inour conversation. We were never before such fast friends and devotedcousins. " "Never, " replied Maurice. "But the dress may need some alteration, " persisted Madeleine. "Pray, pray come!" She spoke almost imploringly, and in an excited tone, which the meretrying on of a dress did not warrant. "Oh, you dear despot! I suppose you must be obeyed. " Bertha snatched the ivy-garlanded dress, and bounded away. Madeleinewould have followed, but Maurice seized her hand detainingly. "One moment, Madeleine, --grant me one moment!" "Not now. Bertha will be waiting for me!" And she made an effort to freeher imprisoned hand. "You shall tell her that you were taken captive, and she will forgiveyou, if it be only for the sake of your _jailer_. There's vanity foryou!" "But my arrangements for this evening are not all completed. It isgrowing late, Maurice; I entreat you to release me; I _cannot_ remain--I_must_ go!" "Not until I have spoken to you. The time has come when you must hearme. " Madeleine felt that there was no escape, and, forcing herself to assumean air of composure, answered, "Speak, then; what can you have to say, Maurice, to which I ought to listen?" "Must I tell you? Have you not divined? Must I show you my heart? If noresponsive pulse in your own has revealed to you what is passing inmine, I am truly unfortunate, --I have been deceived indeed!" "Maurice, Maurice! for the love of Heaven"-- "You do well to say for the love of Heaven; for I love Heaven all thebetter for loving a being who bears the impress of Heaven's own glorioushand! Yes, Madeleine, ever loved, --loved from the first hour we met. " The rustling of silk interrupted his sentence. Madeleine tremblinglywithdrew her hand. The Countess de Gramont stood before them! Her tallfigure dilated until it seemed to shut out all the sunlight beyond; hercountenance grew ashy with suppressed rage; her black eyes shot outglances that pierced like arrows; not a sound issued from hertightly-compressed lips. Maurice, recovering himself, tried to assume an unconcerned air, andstooped to gather some of the ivy leaves scattered around him. Madeleinebowed her head as a culprit who has no defence to make, and no hope ofconcealment to cling to as a last refuge. The countess broke the painful silence, speaking in a hollow, scornfultone: "I am here at an unfortunate moment, it seems!" There was no reply. "Perhaps I ought to apologize for disturbing you, " she continued, sarcastically. "Not at all--not at all, " said Maurice, who felt that it was his duty toanswer and shield Madeleine, as far as possible, from his grandmother'sdispleasure. "Why, then, is Madeleine covered with confusion? Why did she so quicklywithdraw her hand? How--how came it clasped in yours?" "Is she not my cousin?" answered Maurice, evasively. "Have I no right toshow her affection? Must I renounce the ties of blood?" "It is not you, Maurice, whom I blame, " said the countess, trying tospeak less sternly. "It is Madeleine, who should not have permitted thisunmeet familiarity. I well know by what arts she has lured you to forgetyourself. The fault lies with her. " For the first time the countess beheld a flash of indignation in theeyes Madeleine lifted from the ground. "Madame--aunt!" she began. The countess would not permit her to proceed. "I know what I say! You have too much tact and quickness not to havecomprehended our hopes in regard to Maurice and Bertha; and it has notescaped my notice that you have sought, by every artful manoeuvre inyour power, to frustrate those hopes. " "I?" ejaculated Madeleine, aghast at the charge, and too much bewilderedto be able to utter a denial. "Yes, _you!_ Have you not sought to fascinate Maurice by every speciesof wily coquetry? Have you not"-- "Grandmother!" cried Maurice, furiously. "Be silent, Maurice, --it is Madeleine to whom I am addressing myremarks, and her own conscience tells her their justice. " "Aunt, if ever by word, or look, or thought"-- "Oh! it was all done in the most apparently artless, natural, _purposeless_ manner! But the same end was always kept steadily in view. What I have witnessed this morning convinces me of your aims. Yourmovements were so skilfully managed that they scarcely seemed open tosuspicion. The most specious coquetry has governed all your actions. Youwere always attired more simply than any one else; but by this verysimplicity you thought to render yourself remarkable, and attract alarger share of attention. You always pretended to shun observation, that you might be brought into more positive notice. You affected toavoid Maurice, that he might feel tempted to follow you, --that he mightbe lured to seek you when you were alone, as you were a momentago, --that he might"-- Maurice could restrain his ire no longer. He broke forth withvehemence, --"Grandmother, I cannot listen to this injustice. I cannotsee Madeleine so cruelly insulted. Were it my mother herself who spoke, I would not stand by and see her trample thus upon an innocent anddefenceless heart. " Madeleine turned to Maurice beseechingly. "Do not utter such words toone whom you are bound to address with reverence;--do not, or you willrender my sufferings unendurable!" "Your _sufferings_?" exclaimed the countess, catching at a word thatseemed to imply a reproof, which galled the more because she knew it wasdeserved. "Your _sufferings_? That is a fitting expression to drop fromyour lips! I had the right to believe that, far from causing you_suffering_, I had put an end to your suffering when I threw open mydoors to admit you. " "You misunderstood me, aunt. I did not intend to say"-- "You have said enough to prove that you add ingratitude to your othersins. And, since you talk of _sufferings_, I will beg you to rememberthe sufferings you have brought upon us, --you, who, in return for allyou have received at my hands, have caused my very grandson to treat mewith disrespect, for the first time in his life. _Your_ sufferings? Ican well conceive that she who creates so much affliction in the housethat has sheltered her, --she who so treacherously pierces the heartsthat have opened to yield her a place, --she who has played the viperwarmed upon almost a mother's bosom, --she may well have sufferings towail over!" Madeleine stood speechless, thunderstruck, by the rude shock of thesewords. The countess turned from her, and, preparing to leave the_châlet_, bade Maurice give her his arm. He silently obeyed, casting alook of compassionate tenderness upon Madeleine. But she saw it not; allher vast store of mental strength suddenly melted away! For the firsttime in her life she was completely crushed, overwhelmed, --hopeless andpowerless. For a few moments she remained standing as motionless as onepetrified; then, with a heart-broken cry, dropped into a seat, andcovering her face with her hands, sobbed convulsively, --sobbed as thoughall the sorrows of her life were concentrated in the anguish of thatmoment, and found vent in that deluge of tears, --that stormy whirlwindof passion! All the clouds in the firmament of her existence, which shehad, day after day, dispelled by the internal sunshine of her patient, trustful spirit, culminated and broke in that wild flood. Hope wasdrowned in that heavy rain; all the flowers that brightened, and thesweet, springing herbs that lent their balm to her weary pilgrimage, were beaten down into the mire of despair. There was no ark, no Ararat;she was alone, without refuge, on the waste of waters. Her heavy sobs prevented her hearing the entrance of Bertha, and it wasonly when the arms of the young girl were fondly twined about her, thatshe became aware of her presence. "Madeleine, dear, dear Madeleine! What has happened? Why do you weepthus?" "Do not speak to me, Bertha!" replied Madeleine in a stifled voice. "Youcannot, cannot help me; there is no hope left, --none, none! My fatherhas died to me again to day, and I am alone once more!--alone in adesert that has no place of shelter for me, but a grave beneath itsswathing sands!" Her tears gushed forth with redoubled violence. "Do not treat me so cruelly! Do not cast me off!" pleaded Bertha, as hercousin tried to disengage herself from her encircling arms. "If you arewretched, so am I--_because_ you are! Only tell me the reason for thisterrible sorrow. I was awaiting you in your room; but, as you did notcome, I felt sure my cousin Maurice had detained you. " At those last words an involuntary cry of intense suffering burst fromMadeleine's lips. "Then I saw my aunt and Maurice returning together, and Maurice appearedto be talking in an excited manner, and my aunt looked blacker than anythunder-cloud. Still you did not come, and I went in search of you. Tellme why I find you thus?--you, who have always borne your griefs withsuch silent fortitude. What _has_ my aunt said or done to you?" "She has ceased to love me, --she has ceased to esteem me, --she evenrepents of the benefits she has conferred upon me. " "No, no, Madeleine; you are mistaken. " "Oh, I am not mistaken, --my eyes are opened at last. The thin, waxenmask of assumed kindness has melted from her face! I am a burden toher, --an encumbrance, --an offence. She only desires to be rid of me!" "You, --the fairy of good works in her household? What could she dowithout you? It is only excitement which makes you imagine this. " "I never guessed, never dreamed it before; but I have wilfully deceivedmyself. _Now_ all is too clear! A thousand recollections rise up totestify to the truth; a thousand suspicions, which I repulsed asunworthy of me and of her, return to convince me; words and looks, coldness and injustice, slights and reproaches start up with frightfulvividness, and throw a hideous light upon conduct I never dared tointerpret aright. " "What looks? what words? what actions?" asked Bertha, though her hearttold her with what a catalogue she could answer her own question. "They could not be rehearsed in an hour or in a day. But it is not to myaunt alone that my presence is offensive. Cousin Tristan also chafes atthe sight of his dependent relative. I have seen it when I took my seatat table; I have seen it when room was made for me in the carriage; Ihave seen it on numberless occasions. His glances, his accents, hiswhole demeanor, have seemed to reproach me for the place I occupied, forthe garments I wore, for the very bread I ate, --the bread of bitter, bitter charity! And oh!" she groaned, "_must this be so still?_ _Must_ Istill accept these bounties, which are begrudged me? _Must_ I still bebowed to the dust by the weight of these charities? Alas! I _must_, because I have nothing of my own, --because I am nothing of myself!" "Madeleine! one of these days"-- Madeleine did not heed her. "Oh, my father! my father! To what torturinghumiliations you subjected me in bequeathing me nobility with poverty!Well may you have wished that you had been born a peasant! Had I been apeasant's child, I might have lived by, and rejoiced in, honest labor!Had I been the daughter of a mechanic, I might have gained my bread bysome useful trade. Had I even been the child of some poor gentleman, Imight have earned a livelihood by giving lessons in music, in drawing, by becoming a governess, or teaching in a school. But, the daughter ofthe Duke de Gramont, it is one of the curses of my noble birth that Imust live upon charity, --charity unwillingly doled out and thrown in myface, even when I am receiving it with meekness!" "But, Madeleine, if you will but listen to me"-- Madeleine went on bitterly. "And I am young yet, --young and strong, andcapable of exertion; and I have dared to believe that, while one isyoung, some of the benefits received could be repaid by the cheerfulspirit of youth, --by the performance of needful offices, --by hands everready to serve, and a heart ever open to sympathize; but, if I am anencumbrance, an annoyance while I am _young_, what an intolerable burdenI must become when youth passes away! Then I shall either be repulsedwith aversion, or sheltered with undisguised reluctance, --forced toremember every moment that the hospitality I receive is an _alms_! Oh!it is too horrible! Death would be a thousand times preferable. " "And you can forget how dreadful it would be for us, who love you, tolose you?" "I forget _everything_, except the misery of my own degraded position! Iask for nothing save that God, in his mercy, will free me from it, Icare not how! I look despairingly on all sides, and see no escape! I ambound, hand and foot, by the chains of my own noble birth, and shutwithin the iron walls of circumstance. I struggle vainly in mycaptivity; no way of freedom is open to me! And yet I can never againresign myself to passive endurance. " "If you only knew how wretched you make me by talking in this strain!" "I make you wretched, as I have made all others, by my presencehere, --yes, I know it! You see how ungrateful, how selfish misery hasrendered me, since I am cruel even to you whose pure love I neverdoubted. " Before Bertha could make a fresh attempt to console her cousin, Baptisteentered, bearing a letter. He looked dismayed when he beheld Madeleine'sface of woe, and Bertha's tearful countenance; but the latter checkedhis glance of inquiry by asking abruptly what he wanted. Still regarding Madeleine with an expression of deep concern, hereplied, "The _vâlet_ of Count Damoreau has just left this letter forMademoiselle Madeleine, and desired that it should be delivered to herat once. " "Very well; that will do. " Bertha took the letter, and motioned to Baptiste to withdraw. "What _can_ Count Damoreau have to write to you about? Do open theletter and tell me. " "Not now, Bertha. Leave me to myself for a little while. I scarcely knowwhat I am doing or saying. I entreat you to leave me!" "Madeleine, if I were in trouble, I would not send you from me. " "Go, if you love me! And you--_you_, at least, _do_ love me!" "_If_ I love you? I will even leave you to prove that I do; but it isvery hard. " Bertha walked slowly away, taking the path that led from the château. Ina few moments she paused, turned suddenly, and quickened her steps inthe opposite direction, prompted by an impulse to seek Maurice and tellhim of Madeleine's grief. Perhaps he might have the power to consoleher. Count Tristan had been prevented opening the letters which M. De Boishad delivered. When the two gentlemen reached the château, severalvisitors were awaiting the count, and their stay was protracted. Theinstant his guests took their leave, he hastened to the library, whichhis mother entered at the same moment. He listened impatiently as shebriefly recounted the scene which had taken place in the summer-house. "The time has come when we must put an end to this madness, " answeredthe count; "and I trust that I hold the means in my hands. These are thereplies of Madeleine's relations. " He broke one of the seals, and glanced over the contents of the letter, gnawing his under lip as he read. "Well, my son, what reply?" "This letter is from M. De Bonneville. He writes that his château isonly large enough for his own family, --that it would be a greatinconvenience to have any addition to his home circle; and _we_--Isuppose _we_ have not been inconvenienced for the last three years"-- "I am not astonished at such a reply from M. De Bonneville. I expectednothing else. Give me Madame de Nervac's letter. She is a charmingwoman, whom every one admires and respects, and I know her kindness ofheart. " The count handed the letter. His mother opened it, and read, -- "MY DEAR COUSIN: "Are you not aware that a woman of any tact, who has still some claims to admiration, could hardly commit the absurd _faux pas_ of establishing in her own house, and having always by her side, a person younger and handsomer than herself? To consent to your proposition concerning Madeleine would therefore be a suicidal act"-- "This is insupportable!" ejaculated the count. "It seems that we are tobe forced into continuing to bear this burden, though it may bring usto ruin. What insupportable vanity Madame de Nervac betrays! You seewhat her kindness of heart is worth!" "There is still one letter to open, " remarked his mother, clinging to afaint hope. "Oh, it will be a repetition of the others, --you may be sure of that!"He tore it open angrily; but, glancing at the first lines, exclaimed, "What do I see? Have we found one reasonable and charitable person atlast? The Count Damoreau writes, -- "'A thousand thanks, my dear cousin for the opportunity you afford me of being useful to that lovely and unfortunate relative of ours. I have always regarded her with admiration and affection, and always appreciated the noble generosity which prompted your kindness to the orphan. '" "The count is a man endowed with most excellent judgment, " remarked thecountess with complacency. Her son continued reading the letter, -- "'I am at this moment about to make a number of necessary repairs in my château, which will cause me to absent myself for some time. I shall probably spend a year or two on the continent. '" "So much the better! He will doubtless take Madeleine with him, "suggested the countess. Count Tristan in an altered tone read on, -- "'As I shall travel entirely _en garçon_, of course it will be impossible for Madeleine to accompany me, but an admirable opportunity presents itself for placing her in a situation that is very suitable. My friend, Lady Vivian, of Edinburgh, who forms one of the party here, is in search of an humble companion. I have spoken to her ladyship concerning Madeleine. She made some slight demur on account of the young lady's attractive person, but finally consented to offer her this situation. '" "A de Gramont hired out as an humble companion! What an indignity!"ejaculated the countess. The count continued reading, -- "'I will myself write to Madeleine and apprise her of what I have done, and present the many advantages of such a position. '" "She must not receive the letter!" said the countess, earnestly. "She iscapable of accepting this offer for the sake of wounding us. But CountDamoreau has insulted us grossly. How has he dared to entertain such anoffer for a member of our family, --one in whose veins flows the sameuntainted blood? Why do you not speak, my son? But indignation may welldeprive you of speech!" "I can only say that in _some manner we must at once rid ourselves ofMadeleine_. " "I would rather see her dead than in a situation which disgraced hernoble name, " answered the countess, violently. "I quite agree with you, " returned the count, with a sardonic look;"but, unfortunately, life and death are not in our hands!" As he spoke, there was a gleam in his malignant eye, almost murderous. His foot was lifted to crush the worm in his path, and, could he havetrodden it out of existence in secret, the deed would have beenaccomplished with exultation. His hatred for Madeleine had strengthenedinto a fierce passion as his fears that Maurice loved her threatened tobe confirmed. Far from sharing his mother's indignation at the proposalof Count Damoreau, he had made up his mind to force Madeleine intoacceptance, if no other presented itself for freeing the château fromher presence. CHAPTER VII. A CRISIS. Count Tristan was in the heat of argument with his haughty mother, whenthe door of the library opened, and Madeleine entered. One who hadbeheld the tempestuous burst of grief, the torrent of tears, theheart-rending despair that convulsed her frame but half an hour before, in the little _châlet_, would scarcely have recognized the countenanceupon which the eyes of the Countess de Gramont and her son were nowturned. Not the faintest shadow of that whirlwind of passionate anguishwas left upon Madeleine's face, unless it might be traced in the greatcalm which succeeds a heavy storm; in the death-like pallor whichoverspread her almost rigid features; in the steady light that shonefrom her soul-revealing eyes; in the firm outline of her colorlesslips; in the look of heroic resolve which imparted to her noblelineaments a higher beauty than they ever before had worn. She approached Count Tristan with an unfaltering step, holding a letterin her hand. That letter had given a sudden check to her vehementsorrow, and restored her equilibrium. "I have received this communication from Count Damoreau. " As she spoke, she extended the epistle to the count, who for one instantquailed before her clairvoyant eyes. It seemed as though a propheticjudgment spoke out of their shining depths. He took the letter mechanically, without opening it. His gaze wasriveted, as though by a magnetism too powerful for him to resist, uponher purposeful countenance. Madeleine went on, -- "Count Damoreau tells me that you and my aunt desire to withdraw yourprotection from me; that you feel I have sufficiently long enjoyed theshelter of your roof; that you wish to provide me with some otherasylum. " There was no hesitation in her voice as she uttered these words. Shespoke in a tone rendered clear and quiet by the dignity of self-respect. "Count Damoreau had no authority to write in such a strain to you, "observed the countess, with asperity. "There is his letter. He informed me that he has the Count Tristan'sauthority. To prove it, he encloses the letter yesterday delivered tohim by M. Gaston de Bois. " Count Tristan was too thoroughly confounded to attempt any reply. He waspainfully aware of the unmistakable character of that epistle. "Count Damoreau announces to me, " continued Madeleine, undisturbed, "that he is unable to comply with your request, and extend an invitationfor me to join his family circle; and that my other relatives have alsodeclined to accede to a solicitation of yours that they should by turnsreceive me as an inmate. He adds that his friend, Lady Vivian, isseeking an humble companion to accompany her to Scotland; and he truststhat I will thankfully accept this situation. " "It is an insult, --a deliberate insult to us and you!" broke forth thecountess. Madeleine's lips trembled with a half smile. "I do not deem it an insult to myself: I am as thankful as CountDamoreau can desire me to be; but I decline his well-intentionedoffer. " Count Tristan ground his teeth, and cast upon Madeleine a glance of furyand menacing detestation. Their eyes met, and she returned the look withan expression which simply declared she recognized what was passing inhis mind. "You did right to decline: I should never have permitted you to accept, "remarked the countess, in a somewhat softer tone. She deemed it politic to conciliate Madeleine for the present, fearingthat she might be driven to take some humiliating step which would casta reflection upon her kindred. "I regret that my son has acted hastily. If you conduct yourself withthe propriety which I have the right to demand, you will still find ahome in the Château de Gramont, and in myself the mother I have everbeen to you. " "Mother!" at that word Madeleine's glacial composure melted. "A_mother!_--oh, my aunt, thank you for that word! You do not know howmuch good it does me to hear it from your lips! But the Château deGramont can never more be my home. That is settled: I came to tell youso. " "What do you mean?" asked the count, with a gleam of ill-disguisedsatisfaction. "I mean that I purpose shortly to quit this mansion, _never to return_!" "Then you _do_ intend to accompany Lady Vivian to Scotland?" heinquired. "You--my niece--_a de Gramont_--become the humble companion of LadyVivian!" exclaimed the countess, in wrathful astonishment. "Can you evencontemplate such an alternative?" "No, madame, " returned Madeleine, with an emphasis which might have beeninterpreted into a tone of pride. "I shall _not_ become the humblecompanion of any lady. " "With whom do you expect to live?" demanded the count. "I shall live alone. " "_Live alone_, at your age, --without fortune, without friends? It isimpracticable, --impossible!" replied her aunt, decisively. "I have reached my majority. I shall try to deserve friends. I have somesmall possession: the family diamonds of my mother still remain to me. " "But your noble name. " "Rest assured that it will never be disgraced by me!" "I tell you that your project is impossible, " maintained the countess, resolutely. "I forbid you to even attempt to put it into execution. Iforbid you by the gratitude you owe me. I forbid you in the name of allthe kindnesses I have lavished upon you!" "And do you not see, my aunt, it is because I would still be gratefulfor these kindnesses that I would go hence? From the moment I learned Iwas a burden to you, that my presence here was unwelcome, this was nolonger my home. If I leave you now, the memory of your goodness only, will dwell in my heart. If I were to remain longer, each day my presencewould become more intolerable to you; each day your words and lookswould grow colder and harsher; each day I should feel more degraded inmy own eyes. _You_ would spoil your own benefactions: _I_ perhaps, mightforget them, and be stained with the crime of ingratitude. No, let usnow part, --now, while I may still dare to hope that you will think of mewith tenderness and regret, --now, while I can yet cherish therecollection of the happy days I have passed beneath your roof. Myresolution is taken: it is unalterable. I could not rest here. You will, perhaps, accord me a few days to make needful preparations; then I mustbid you farewell. " She turned to quit the room, but encountered Maurice and Bertha, who hadentered in time to hear the last sentence. Bertha, on leaving her cousin, had sought Maurice and told him ofMadeleine's prostrating sorrow. They hastened back to the _châlet_together, but she had disappeared. They were in search of her when theyentered the library. "Bid us farewell, Madeleine?" cried Bertha. "What do you mean? Where areyou going? Surely you will never leave us?" "I must. " "But my aunt will not let you; Cousin Tristan will not let you; Mauricewill not let you. Speak to her, some of you, and say that she shall notgo. " "Bertha, " answered the count, "you do not know all the circumstanceswhich have caused Madeleine to form this resolution; and, if my motherwill pardon me for differing with her, I must say, frankly, that Iapprove of the course Madeleine has chosen. I honor her for it. I thinkshe acts wisely in remaining here no longer!" Then Maurice came forward boldly, and placing himself beside Madeleine, with an air of manly protection, spoke out, -- "And _I_ agree with you, my father. I honor Madeleine for herresolution. I think she acts wisely in remaining here no longer. " "O Maurice, Maurice! how can you speak so? Don't let her go, unless youwant to make me miserable!" pleaded Bertha. Madeleine's hueless face was overspread with a brilliant glow as shecast upon Maurice one hasty look of gratitude. "I speak what I mean. Madeleine cannot, without sacrificing herself-respect, accept hospitality which is not freely given, --protectionwhich is unwillingly accorded. She cannot remain here as an inferior, --adependent; one who is under daily obligation, --who is merely toleratedbecause she has no other place of refuge. My father, there is only _one_position in which she _can_ remain in the Château de Gramont, and thatis as an equal; as its future mistress; as your daughter; _as my wife!_" The countess was stricken dumb with rage; and a sudden revulsion offeeling toward the shrinking girl, whose deep blushes she interpretedinto a token of exultation, made her almost as willing to drive herforth, no matter whither, as her son himself. Bertha, with an exclamation of delight, flung her arms joyfully aboutMadeleine's neck. "Maurice, are you mad? Do you forget that you are my son?" was all thatthe count could gasp out, in his indignant amazement. "It is as your son that I speak; it is as the inheritor of yourname, --that name which Madeleine also bears. " "You seem to have forgotten"--began his father. Maurice interrupted him, -- "I have not forgotten that I have not reached my majority, and that yourconsent is necessary to render Madeleine my wife. " (Our readers are doubtless aware that the law in France fixes themajority of a young man at twenty-five, and that he has no power tocontract marriage or to control property until that period. ) "But, believe me, my father, even if this were not the case, I shouldnot desire to act without your approval, and I know I could never induceMadeleine to forego your consent to our union. But what valid objectionscan you have? You desired that Bertha should become my wife. Is notMadeleine precisely the same kin to me as Bertha? Is she not as good, asbeautiful?" "Oh, a thousand times better and lovelier!" exclaimed Bertha, withaffectionate enthusiasm. "There is but one difference: she is poor and Bertha is rich. Think youBertha's fortune could have one feather's weight in deciding my choice?I thank Heaven for teaching me to account it more noble, more honorable, to ask what the woman I would marry _is_, than to inquire what she_has_. " His father made a vain attempt to speak. Maurice went on withoutnoticing the futile effort. "But this is not all: I dare to hope that Madeleine's heart is mine, while Bertha's is not. My father, you requested that Bertha and I shouldhave an understanding with each other; and we have had one. Bertha hastold me that she does not love me. Is it not so, Bertha?" "I told you that I loved you with all my heart, as the dearest, mostdelightful cousin in the world!" answered Bertha, naïvely. "Just as I love you!" replied Maurice, smiling upon her tenderly. "But, as a lover, you definitely rejected me, --did you not?" "Oh, yes; just as you refused me. We are perfectly agreed upon thatpoint, " she rejoined, with childlike frankness and simplicity. "For shame, Maurice!" said the countess, in a tone of angry rebuke. "Grandmother, hear me out. For once my heart must speak, even though itmay be silent forever after. I feel that my whole future destiny hangsupon the events of this moment. You love me as a de Gramont should love;you love me with an ambition to see me worthy of my name, --to see thatname rendered more lustrous in my person. How far that is possible, myfather's decision and yours this hour will determine. I am ardent, impetuous, fond of excitement, reckless at times, --as prone, I fear, tobe tempted to vice as to be inspired by virtue. If you withhold yourconsent to my union with the only woman I can love, --if you drive me todespair, --I am lost! Every pure and lofty aspiration within my naturewill be crushed out, and in its place the opposite inclination willspring. I warned you before, when you thwarted the noblest resolution Iever formed. There is yet time to save me from the evil effects of thatdisappointment, and to spare me the worst results of _this_. If yougrant me Madeleine"-- "Maurice, for pity's sake!" supplicated Madeleine, extending her claspedhands toward him. Maurice caught the outstretched hands in his, and bent over her with anexpression of ineffable love irradiating his countenance. "Do not speak yet, Madeleine; do not answer until you have heardme, --until you have well comprehended my meaning. You do not know thethousand perils by which a young man is beset in Paris, --the siren luresthat are thrown in his way to ensnare his feet, be they disposed towalk ever so warily. You do not know that your holy image, rising upbefore me, shining upon the path I trod, and beckoning me into the rightroad when I swerved aside, has alone saved me from falling into thatvortex of follies and vices by which men are daily swallowed up, andfrom which they emerge sullied and debased. You do not know that, whileI am here beside you, listening to the sound of your voice, holding yourhand, gazing upon your face, I feel like one inspired, who has power tomake his life glorious and keep it pure! Madeleine, would you have megreat, distinguished? I shall become so if it be your will. Would youhave me lift up our noble name? It shall be exalted at your bidding. Would you reign over my soul and keep it stainless? It is under yourangel guardianship. Madeleine, best beloved, will you not save me?" Madeleine only answered with a look which besought Maurice to forbear. "Is your rhapsody finished at last?" asked Count Tristan, scornfully. "Is any one else to be permitted to speak?" "It seems there is but one person whose voice is of any importance toyour son, " sneered the countess, "and that is Madeleine. It is for _her_to speak; it is for her to accomplish her work of base ingratitude; itis for her to give the last finishing stroke to the fabric she hassecretly been laboring to build up for the last three years. " Madeleine--who, when the voice of Maurice was sounding in her ears, hadbeen unable to control the agitation which caused her breast to heave, and her frame to quiver from head to foot, while confusion flung itscrimson mantle over her face--grew suddenly calm when she heard thesetaunts. The same icy, pallid quietude with which, but a few momentsbefore, she entered the library, returned. She withdrew the handsMaurice had clasped in his, lifted her bowed head, and stood erect, preparing to reply. "Speak!" commanded the count, furiously. "Speak! since _we_ are nothingand nobody here, and _you are everything_. Since you are sole arbiter inthis family, speak!" Madeleine could not at once command her voice. The countess, arguing the worst from her silence, cried, withculminating wrath, "Speak, viper! Dart your fangs into the bosom thathas sheltered you: it is bared to receive the deadly stroke; it is readyto die of your venom! Nothing remains but for you to strike!" "Take courage, dearest Madeleine, " whispered Bertha. "They will not beangry long. Speak and tell them that you love Maurice as he loves you, and that you will be the happiest of women if you become his wife. " "Well, your answer, Mademoiselle de Gramont?" urged the countess. "It will be an answer for which I have only the pardon of Maurice toask, " said Madeleine, speaking slowly, but firmly. "Maurice, my cousin, I shall never be able to tell you, --you can never know, --what emotionsof thankfulness you have awakened in my soul, nor how unutterablyprecious your words are to me. Thus much I may say; for the rest, _I cannever become your wife!_" "You refuse me because my father and my grandmother have _compelled_ youto do so by their reproaches, --their _menaces_, I might say!" criedMaurice, wholly forgetting his wonted respect in the rush of tumultuousfeelings. "This and this only is your reason for consigning me tomisery. " The fear that she had awakened unfilial emotions in the bosom of Mauriceinfused fresh fortitude into Madeleine's spirit. "No, Maurice, you are wrong. If my aunt and Count Tristan had notuttered one word on the subject, my answer to you would have been thesame. " "How can that be possible? How can I have been so deceived? There isonly _one_ obstacle which _can_ discourage me, only one which can forceme to yield you up, and that is an admission, from your own lips, thatyour affections are already bestowed, --that your heart is no longerfree. " Madeleine, without hesitation, replied in a clear, steady, deliberatetone, looking her cousin full in the face, and not by the faintest signbetraying the poniard which she heroically plunged into her own devotedbreast, -- "My affections are bestowed; my heart is _no longer free!_" "Madeleine, Madeleine! you do not love Maurice, --you love some oneelse?" questioned Bertha, in sorrowful astonishment. Maurice spoke no word. He stood one moment looking at Madeleine as adrowning man might have looked at the ship that could have saved himdisappearing in the distance. Then he murmured, hardly conscious of hisown words, -- "And I felt sure her heart was mine! O Madeleine! may you never knowwhat you have done!" "Forgive me if you can, Maurice. Be generous enough to pardon one whohas made you suffer. A bright future is before you. The darkness of thishour will gradually fade out of your memory. " "Say, rather, that you have taken from me my future, --withdrawn itsguiding star, and left me a rayless and eternal night. But why should Ireproach you? What right had I to deem myself worthy of you? You love_another_. All is spoken in those words: there is nothing more for me tosay, except to thank you for not discarding me without making aconfession which annihilates all hope. " There was a dignity in his grief more touching than the most passionateoutburst would have been. Even his grandmother, in spite of her joy atMadeleine's declaration, was not wholly unmoved as she contemplated him. Count Tristan's exultation broke through all polite disguise, -- "Madeleine has atoned for much of the past by her present conduct; ithas restored her in a measure to"-- Madeleine, as far as her gentle nature permitted, experienced anantipathy toward Count Tristan only surpassed by that which heentertained for her. The sound of his voice grated on her ears; hiscommendation made her doubt the wisdom and purity of her own act; hisapproval irritated her as no rebuke could have done. Without waiting forhim to conclude his sentence, she grasped Bertha's hand, whispering, "Icannot stay here; I am stifling; come with me. " They left the room together, and took their way in silence toMadeleine's chamber. Bertha carefully closed the door, and, drawing hercousin down into a seat, placed herself beside her, and strove to readher countenance. "Madeleine, is it possible? How mistaken I have been! You do not loveour cousin Maurice. Poor Maurice! It is a dreadful blow to him. And youlove some one else. But whom? I know of no gentleman who comes hereoften, --who is on an intimate footing at the château, --except"-- A painful suspicion for the first time shot through her mind, and madeher pause. Could it be Gaston de Bois whom Madeleine preferred? Shealways treated him with such marked courtesy. There was no one else, --itmust be he! Bertha could not frame the question that hovered about herlips, though to have heard it answered in the negative would have madeher heart leap for joy. Madeleine was too much absorbed by her own reflections to divine thoseof her cousin. "At all events, " said Bertha, trying to rally and talk cheerfully, though she could not chase that haunting fear from her thoughts, "myaunt is no longer angry with you, and cousin Tristan was well pleased. They will treat you better after this, and your home will be happier. " "_My home?_" ejaculated Madeleine, in a tone that made Bertha start. "Yes, yours, until you exchange it for that of the favored lover, ofwhose name you make such a mystery. " "_That will never be!_" "Never? Does he not love you, then? But I know he does, --he must. Everyone loves you; no one can help it, --you win all hearts!" "_Count Tristan's, for instance_, " remarked Madeleine, bitterly. "Ah, not _his_, that is true. How wickedly he looked at you when Mauricepictured how dear you were to him! I noticed Cousin Tristan's eyes, andthey frightened me. He looked positively fiendish; and when Mauricesaid"-- To hear those precious words Maurice had spoken, --those words which shecould never more forget, --repeated, was beyond Madeleine's powers ofendurance: she sprang up, exclaiming, "Do not let us talk of thesematters any more to-day, Bertha. It is growing late, --almost sixo'clock. It is time for you to dress for dinner. And you have notforgotten the ball to-night?" "I could not bear to go now. I am sure Maurice will not go; andyou, --would you go, even if we did?" "You will not refuse me a favor, Bertha, though it may cost you somepain to grant it? Go to this ball, and persuade, entreat Maurice to go. If you do not, you will draw down my aunt's displeasure upon me anew, for she will know why you remain at home, --especially as it will beimpossible for me to appear in public to-night. " "I would do anything rather than have my aunt displeased with you again;and then there is the beautiful dress you have taken such pains tomake. " "I should be very much disappointed if you did not wear it this evening. Now let us prepare for dinner. " As she spoke, Madeleine commenced her own toilet. Bertha stood lookingat her as she unbound her long silken hair, and, after smoothing it ascarefully as was her wont, rapidly formed the coronal braid, and woundthe rich tress about the regal head. "I cannot comprehend you, Madeleine: you are a marvel to me. A coupleof hours ago you were almost frantic with grief, --I never saw any oneweep so immoderately; and now you are as serene as though nothing hadhappened. If your lips were not so very, very white, and your eyes hadnot such a fixed, unnatural look, I could almost think you had forgottenthat anything unusual had occurred. " "Forget it yourself, dear, and make ready for dinner. " Bertha obeyed at least part of the injunction, still wondering overMadeleine's incomprehensible placidity. The young maidens entered the dining-room together. Maurice came inlate. The meal passed almost in silence, though the Countess and CountTristan made unusual efforts to keep up a conversation. Bertha was right in imagining Maurice had lost all inclination to appearat the ball. When she brought up the subject, he answered impatientlythat he did not intend to go. His grandmother heard the remark, and madean especial request that he would change that decision and accompanythem. Bertha added her entreaties; but Maurice seemed inclined to rebel, until she whispered, -- "If you stay at home, my aunt will say it is Madeleine's fault, and shewill be vexed with her again. Madeleine begged you would spare her thisnew trial, and bade me entreat you to go. " Maurice looked across the table, for the first time during dinner, andfound Madeleine's eyes turned anxiously upon him. "I will go, " he murmured. His words were addressed rather to her than to Bertha. A scarcelyperceptible smile on the lips of the former was his reward. No comment was made upon Madeleine's determination to remain at home. But the tone of the countess to her niece, when she was officiating asusual at her aunt's toilet, was gentler than she had ever before used. Not the faintest allusion to the events of the morning dropped from thelips of either. At last the carriage drove from the door, and Madeleine was left alonewith her own thoughts. The mask of composure was no longer needed, yetthere was no return of the morning's turbulent emotion. Are not great trials sent to incite us to great exertions, which wemight not have the energy, the wit, perhaps the _humility_, toundertake, but for the spurring sting of that especial grief? Madeleinehad resolutely looked her affliction full in the face; had grownfamiliar with its sternest, saddest features; had bowed before them, and dashed the tears from her eyes, to see more clearly as that sorrowpointed out a path which all her firmness would be taxed in treading, --apath which she had never dreamed existed for her, until it had beenopened, hewn through the rocks of circumstance by that day's heavyblows, that hour's piercing anguish. Her greatest difficulty lay in the necessity of concealing the step shewas about to take from her aunt, whose violent opposition would throw afearful obstacle in the way. It was easier to avoid than to surmountsuch a barrier; but if it could not be avoided, it _must_ be surmounted. In that decision she could not waver. CHAPTER VIII. FLIGHT. Can there be a more dreary solitude, to a mind writhing under the throesof some new and hidden sorrow, than a brilliant ballroom? The stirringmusic jars like harshest discord upon the unattuned ear; the glaringlights dazzle the pained vision until utter darkness would seemgrateful; the merry voices and careless laughter catch a tone of bittermockery; the gayly apparelled forms, the faces decked with soullesssmiles, are more oppressive than all the apparitions with which afevered imagination can people the gloomiest seclusion. Maurice soonfound the festive scene at the Château de Tremazan intolerable, and tookrefuge in the illuminated conservatory, the doors of which were throwninvitingly open. It was mid-summer, but the flowers had been restored tobrighten their winter shelter during the fête. He had thought to findhimself alone; but yonder, bending over richly-tinted clusters ofazaleas and odorous heliotropes, a group of youthful heads unconcernedlythrust their lifeless chaplets in challenging contrast with nature'sliving loveliness, while flowing robes recklessly swept their floralimitations against her shrinking originals. In a different state of mindMaurice might not have been struck by the incongruous contact of thepainted semblance with the blushing reality; but now it reminded him tookeenly that the sphere within which he was bound, a social Ixion uponthe petty wheel of conventionalism, was one grand combination ofartificial trivialities and senseless shams. Goaded beyond endurance bythe reflection, he impatiently made his escape into the open air. Bertha had never mingled with a gay crowd in so joyless a mood. Thepresence of the heiress created no little sensation; but good-breedingkept its manifestation within such delicate limits that she wasunconscious of its existence. She was not even aware that it was a signof her own importance when the Marchioness de Fleury glided up to CountTristan, on whose arm Bertha was leaning, and, in a softly cadencedvoice, asked if she had not the pleasure of seeing Mademoiselle deMerrivale. In reply, the count presented Bertha. As she returned thecourtesy of the marchioness, she could not help remembering thedeclaration of Maurice, that he had never perused the countenance of thedistinguished belle, because his attention was irresistibly riveted uponthe wondrous details of her toilet: for Bertha found her own eyesinvoluntarily wandering over the graceful folds of the amethyst velvet, and the exquisite disposition of the _point de Venise_ by which it waselaborately ornamented; the artistic head-dress in perfect accordancewith the costly robe, and the Cleopatra-like drops of pearls whichseemed to have been showered over the wearer from brow to foot. Bertha's eyes were too ingenuous not to betray their occupation; butthose of the marchioness seemed only to be looking, with the mostcomplimentary expression of interest, into the face of her newacquaintance, while, in reality, she was scanning Bertha's picturesqueattire, and longing to discover by what tasteful fingers it had beencontrived; examining the polished ivy intertwined among her brightringlets, and the half-blown roses just bursting their sheaths in aglossy covert of amber tresses; and wondering that a coiffure with suchpoetic taste could have existed unknown in Brittany. As the marchionessstood, dropping sweet, meaningless words from her dewy lips, Bertha'shand was claimed by the Duke de Montauban, and she was led to the dance. She was moving through the quadrille with a languid, unelastic motion, very unlike her usual springing step, when she caught sight of M. DeBois, standing at a short distance, with his face turned toward her. Thesmile that accompanied her bow of greeting drew him nearer. As the danceended, and her partner was reconducting her to the countess, M. De Boisovercame his timidity sufficiently to join her. "Where is Mademoiselle Mad--ad--adeleine?" he inquired. "I have not seenher. " "She is not here. She would not come, " sighed Bertha, stopping abruptly, though they had not quite reached her chaperone's side. "Is she ill? She told me this morning that she would certainly be here. Has anything happened?" asked M. De Bois, speaking as distinctly asthough he had never stammered in his life, and throwing off, in hisgrowing excitement, all the awkwardness of his constitutionaldiffidence. Bertha could not but remark his anxious expression, and a suspicion, which she had essayed to banish, once more took possession of her mind. But she loved Madeleine with such absolute devotion, that this vague, uncomfortable sensation was quickly displaced by a purer emotion. Glancing at the countess to see that she was not within hearingdistance, she disengaged her arm from that of the duke, with a bow whichhe interpreted into a dismissal, and then, turning eagerly to M. DeBois, recounted to him, in a low, hurried tone, the occurrences of themorning. She fancied she heard words which sounded very like mutteredimprecations. He was perhaps putting into practice his new method ofloosening his tongue, and doubtless imagined that the emphaticutterances were inaudible. Bertha went on. "It was a terrible blow to Maurice! He felt so sureuntil then that Madeleine loved him; so did I. But we were bothmistaken. It is plain enough now that she does _not_. " "What makes it plain? How can you be sure?" asked M. De Bois, becomingmore and more disturbed. "Her own declaration has placed the fact beyond doubt. She evenconfessed that she loved another. " Her listener did not attempt to conceal his consternation at thesewords. "Mademoiselle Madeleine said she loved another! She, who would not stoopto breathe a word which was not the strictest truth, --_she told you so?_You heard it yourself? You are _certain, very certain_, MademoiselleBertha?" "I dare say that I ought not to have repeated this to you, " repliedBertha, who now experienced some self-reproach at betraying her friend'ssecret to one whom it, perhaps, so deeply concerned; "but I am verycertain that Madeleine distinctly rejected Maurice, and, when heattributed her refusal to his grandmother's and his father's disapprovalof his suit, she denied that she was influenced by them, and confessedthat her heart was not free, --that she had bestowed it upon another. " "By all that is heroic, she is a noble woman!" exclaimed M. De Bois, fervently. "She has the grandest nature! She is incom-com-com"-- "Incomparable, " said Bertha, finishing his sentence, and checking asigh. "Yes, I never knew any one like her. She has no equal. " "I don't exactly say _that_. I don't mean _that_. She is notsu-su-superior--to"-- Bertha did not assist him by completing _this_ disjointed phrase, evenif she suspected what he desired to say. At that moment Count Damoreau approached, accompanied by a gaunt, overdressed lady, with harsh and forbidding features. "Lady Vivian is looking for Mademoiselle de Gramont. Did she notaccompany you?" inquired the count. "She intended to do so, but changed her mind. " "She received a letter from me to-day, --did she not?" continued CountDamoreau. "Yes, I remember delivering one to her myself, which Baptiste said wasbrought by your valet. " "Did she not apprise you of its contents?" "No. I was not present when she opened the letter. " "Then you do not know how she received my proposition?" remarked LadyVivian, in a grating voice. "I begin to be a little doubtful myself howit will do. Is your cousin as handsome as they say she is?" "In my eyes she is the most beautiful person in the world, " answeredBertha, in a tone of admiration the sincerity of which could not bemistaken. Lady Vivian looked vexed, and replied, "That's a pity. Beauty is adecided objection in such a position. " "I beg your ladyship's pardon, " returned Bertha, with spirit; "but Icannot perceive that my cousin's position renders her beautyobjectionable. " "Beauty is very suitable to you, my dear; but for an humble companion"-- "An _humble companion_? Madeleine is not my aunt's humble companion, normine. She is"-- "To become _mine_, I believe!" rejoined Lady Vivian, brusquely. "And Ialready begin to regret that I acceded to Count Damoreau's wishes. " "Madeleine your ladyship's humble companion? _That_ she shall never be. O Count Damoreau! how _could_ you have suggested such an idea? I wouldgo on my knees to implore her not to consent! I am sure your ladyshipwill find yourself mistaken. " Bertha, as she said these words, bowed with a degree of hauteur which noone had ever seen her assume, and, taking M. De Bois's arm, approachedher aunt with a troubled countenance. Before the Countess de Gramontcould ask the cause of her evident disquietude, she said, -- "I wish we could go home, aunt: I am wearied to death. I cannot enjoyanything to-night. And that horrid Lady Vivian has made me so angry, talking of Madeleine as her humble companion! Such impertinence! Surelyyou would never permit anything of the kind?" "Never! I do not wonder you were indignant. But do you really wish togo?" "Oh, yes. I am stifling here. I never was at such a dull ball. Pray, pray take me home!" Her aunt could not refuse a request so vehemently urged, and begged M. De Bois to seek Maurice. Fearing that Madame de Tremazan would bemortified by their early departure, the countess took an opportunity toleave the ballroom, accompanied by her niece and son, without attractingthe observation of the hostess. M. De Bois joined them in theantechamber, with the intelligence that Maurice was nowhere to be found. After a second search, and half an hour's delay, the carriage startedwithout him. As soon as they reached the château, Bertha bade her aunt good-night, and hastened to Madeleine's chamber. Madeleine, who did not anticipateher speedy return, and had not heard her light foot upon the floor, wassitting beside a small table, her head supported by her hands, and bentover some object which she contemplated with intense interest. At thesound of Bertha's voice she hastily closed the lids of a couple ofancient-looking caskets, which stood before her, and rose from her seat. "Is it you, Bertha? How soon you have returned!" "Yes; I was glad to get away. The ball was wretchedly stupid; and, afterthat disagreeable Lady Vivian irritated me by talking of you, I couldnot stay. She seemed to have the audacity to expect that you wouldbecome her humble companion. _You!_ our noble, _doubly noble_ Madeleine, the humble companion of any one, but especially of such a coarse personas Lady Vivian! It was unendurable. " "It is very possible that Count Damoreau assured her I would accept theproposition she made me through him, " was Madeleine's calm reply. "But you never could have entertained it for a moment?" "No. There is the answer I have just written to Count Damoreau. You mayread it. " Bertha glanced over the letter approvingly. As she laid it upon thetable, she noticed the caskets. "What are these, Madeleine?--jewel-cases?" "They were my mother's diamonds. They have been in the family, I canhardly tell you for how many generations. " "Do let me see them. " Bertha opened one of the cases. A necklace, brooch, and ear-rings ofbrilliants sparkled within. The precious stones emitted a clear lustrewhich would have caused a connoisseur at once to pronounce them of thefirst water; but their setting was quaint and old-fashioned. Thenecklace was composed of diamonds _fleur-de-lis_, divided by emeraldshamrock-leaves. A single _fleur-de-lis_, surrounded by the emeraldshamrock, formed the brooch and ear-rings. "Some of your ancestors must have come from the emerald isle: so, atleast, we may infer from this shamrock. " "Yes, my great-great-great-grandfather married the beautiful LadyKatrine Nugent, and these were her bridal jewels. You see that theshamrock of Erin is mingled with the _fleur-de-lis_ of France. " Bertha unclosed the other case. It held a bracelet and a tiara-shapedcomb. The shamrock and lily were blended as in the necklace. "These diamonds are very lustrous, " said Bertha, clasping the braceletadmiringly upon her delicate wrist. "But what are you doing with them, and at this time of night?" "Looking at them, " answered Madeleine, with some hesitation. "I have notseen them before for years. " "You shall wear them for your bridal _parure_, Madeleine. " Madeleine tried to laugh. "Then I should carry my whole fortune on my back; all that remains of myancient house I should bear, snail-fashion, upon my head and shoulders. No, little dreamer, of two facts you may rest assured: one is that Ishall never wear these jewels; the other that I never shall be a bride. Come, let me undress you; your blue eyes are so sleepy they are growinggray as the heavens at twilight. " The Château de Tremazan was seven miles from his father's mansion, butMaurice, after his abrupt exit from the conservatory, walked leisurelyhome. The next morning, before the count had risen, his son entered theroom, in travelling attire, to make the communication that he hadordered the carriage to drive him to Rennes, in time to meet the earlytrain that started for Paris. He trusted his father would offer noobjection, and would make the traveller's apologies to the ladies of thehousehold, for avoiding the pain of leave-taking. Count Tristan approvedof the journey; and, a few moments later, Maurice leaped into the coach, glancing eagerly up at a window, surrounded by a framework of jasminevines; but no face looked forth; no hand waved a farewell and filled thevernal frame with a living picture. The intelligence of his sudden departure was received differently by thethree ladies. The countess was inclined to be displeased that he hadforegone the ceremony of an adieu. Any shortcoming in the payment of thefull amount of deference, which she considered her due, was a greatoffence. Of late, Maurice had several times wounded her upon this tenderpoint, and her sensitiveness was thereby increased. Bertha was loud in her lamentations over the disappearance of hercousin. Her deep chagrin revived the hopes of Count Tristan and hismother, and awakened the welcome suggestion, that he, in reality, held atenderer place in her heart than she had ever admitted to herself. Madeleine's face instinctively brightened when she heard that Mauricewas gone; his departure smoothed away a difficulty from the path she wasabout to tread. Count Tristan watched her closely, and was perplexed bythe gleam of genuine satisfaction that illumined her countenance. Forthe first time he was half deceived into the belief that the passion ofMaurice was unrequited. He had been puzzled in what manner to interpretMadeleine's determined rejection of her cousin. He was unable tocomprehend a purity of motive which his narrow mind was equallyincapable of experiencing. He finally attributed her conduct partly to adread of her aunt's and his own displeasure, partly to a desire torender herself more highly valued by Maurice, and to gain a firmer holdupon his affections. M. De Bois was an early visitor on the day after the ball, but never hadhe seemed more ill at ease, or found more difficulty in controlling hisrestless nervousness, or in expressing himself intelligibly. When heheard that Maurice was on his way to Paris, he dashed down an antiquevase by his sudden movement of vexation, and, in stooping to gather thefractured china, upset the stand upon which it had stood. Thismanifestation of awkwardness, of course, increased his _mal-aise_; and, although the countess remained as unmoved as though she wholly ignoredthe accident, he could not recover his equanimity. Madeleine left thedrawing-room with the fragments of the vase in her hand, and did notreturn. After a prolonged and unsatisfactory visit, M. De Bois took hisleave. As he issued from the château, Baptiste dropped his spade and followedhim, keeping at a short distance behind, until he neared the gate; thenthe old gardener approached, looking cautiously around to see that hewas not observed, stealthily held out a note, whispering, "MademoiselleMadeleine bade me give this to monsieur, " turned on his heel, and walkedaway as rapidly as though he feared to be pursued. The note contained these words:-- "A friend in my great emergency is indispensable to me. I have no friend in whom I can confide but you. I shall be at the little _châlet_ to-morrow morning, at five o'clock. "MADELEINE M. DE GRAMONT. " A radiant change passed over the shadowed features of Gaston de Bois, ashe read these lines. That one so self-reliant as Madeleine proffered himher confidence, trusted him, appealed to him for aid, was surely enoughto raise him in his own esteem; and he almost forgot the recentmortification caused by an unfortunate awkwardness and miserablediffidence, which seemed the haunting demons of his existence. Impatience chased all slumber from his eyes that night, and the dawn hadscarcely broken when he hastened to the _châlet_ to await the coming ofMadeleine. The appointed time had just arrived, as the watch heconstantly consulted informed him, when she entered the summer-house. Their interview, occupied but half an hour; but, when M. De Bois leftthe _châlet_, his countenance wore an expression of earnestness, responsibility, and composure, totally opposite to its usualcharacteristics. Madeleine, as she tripped back through the dew, smiled with moisteyes, --a smile of gratitude rather than of pleasure. More than once shedrew a long breath, as though some heavy pressure had been lifted fromher breast; and, as she dashed away the tears that gathered in her eyes, she seemed eagerly looking into the distance, as though a mist hadrolled from before her steps, and she now saw her way clearly. All wassilent in the château, and she reached her chamber unperceived. That day passed as usual, and another, and another. Madeleine never oncealluded to the determination which she had announced to her aunt asunalterable, and the countess was satisfied that her niece had spokenunder the influence of excitement, without any fixed purpose; andgradually dismissed from her mind the fear that her dependent relativewould take some rash and dignity-compromising step. Bertha had not forgotten that Madeleine had declared the Château deGramont was no longer her home; but as the latter went through the dailyroutine of her wonted avocations as though they were always to continue, and as no change was apparent in her manner, save that she was moresilent and meditative, and her once ready smiles grew rarer, Bertha, also, was lulled into the belief that her cousin had abandoned herintention. Count Tristan fell into no such error. Madeleine's preoccupied mien, herunwonted reserve, the tender sadness with which she sometimes gazedaround her, as though bidding farewell to dear, familiar objects, assured him that she had not spoken lightly, and that her threat wouldbe carried into execution at no distant period. Well was it for her thathe had come to this satisfactory conclusion, for it spared her furtherpersecution at his hands. On the fourth morning after the departure of Maurice, Bertha enteredMadeleine's chamber, according to her custom, --for the young maidensalways descended to breakfast together. Her room was empty. "She has not waited for me to-day, " thought Bertha, hurrying down, andexpecting to find Madeleine in the breakfast-room. The countess and her son were at table, but Madeleine was not there. "Has Madeleine breakfasted?" inquired Bertha, cutting short her morningsalutations. The answer was in the negative. "Have you not seen her?" she asked. "No, not this morning, " replied the countess. "I suppose she is taking an early walk, " continued Bertha. "It seems oddthat she does not come back, for she is never late. " Bertha seated herself, but the coffee remained untasted before her; andher head was constantly turned towards the window which commanded a viewof the garden and park. Gustave passed, and she cried out to him, -- "Gustave, have you seen Mademoiselle Madeleine, this morning?" "No, mademoiselle. " "Why, where _can_ she be?" exclaimed Bertha, impatiently. "If you willexcuse me, aunt, I will go in search of her. Since she has not brokenher fast yet, we will breakfast together, as usual. " And away dartedBertha into the garden. The countess had not attached any importance to Madeleine's absence, andresumed the conversation with her son. Through Count Tristan's mind the suspicion at once had flashed thatMadeleine was gone, and he chuckled inwardly at the verification of hisown unspoken predictions. A quarter of an hour passed, and then hebeheld Bertha coming rapidly from the direction of the _châlet_. He feltno surprise in observing that she was alone. The windows of thebreakfast-room opened to the ground, and she entered by one ofthem, --her face crimsoned, her fair hair unbound and floating over hershoulders, for she had been running. "I cannot find Madeleine!" she faltered out. "It is very strange! She isnot in the _châlet_, nor in the garden. I have called until I am hoarse. I picked up this handkerchief in the _châlet_, --it is marked 'G. DeBois, ' yet it is three days since M. De Bois was here; and Madeleine andI have spent every morning since then at the _châlet_. When could M. DeBois have dropped this handkerchief there?" The count took the handkerchief from her hand, and examined the markwithout comment: he could not trust his voice at that moment. "I presume Madeleine will be here presently, to account for herself, "remarked the countess, not apparently discomposed. "Take your breakfast, Bertha; there is no need of your fasting until she chooses to make herappearance. " Bertha obediently sat down, sipped her coffee for a few moments, andthen, declaring that she wanted nothing more, left the room and returnedto Madeleine's apartment. It was in perfect order, but so it was always;the bed was made, but Madeleine was in the habit of making her own bed;there was no sign of change. Bertha opened the wardrobe, --the dressesMadeleine usually wore were hanging within; she wandered about the room, examining every nook and corner, hardly conscious of what she wasdoing, --what she expected to find or to miss. All at once she remarkedthat a few books, which were favorites of Madeleine and once belonged toher father, had been removed from the table; but what of that?--theyhad probably been placed somewhere else. Continuing her almostpurposeless search, Bertha now drew out the drawers of the bureau: theyusually held Madeleine's linen; they were empty! In violent agitationthe kneeling girl sprang to her feet; her undefined fear was takingshape. She ran to the antechamber and looked for a little trunk whichhad come to the château with Madeleine: it was no longer there! Bertha darted down the stair and rushed into her aunt's presence, sobbing out in agony of grief, --"She has gone! Madeleine has gone! Iknow she has gone, and she will never, never return to us! Her dressesare there; everything you have given her is there; she has only takenwith her what she had when she came to the château, and she has surelygone!" Count Tristan pretended to laugh at Bertha's fears, and maintained thatMadeleine would presently walk in, and feel very much flattered by thesensation she had created, and by her cousin's lamentations over hersupposed flight; adding, jocosely, that it was not easy for a young ladyto disappear in that dramatic manner, except from the pages of a novel. The countess, who began to be alarmed, desired her son to ring the bell. Gustave appeared in answer, and, after being closely questioned, wasdesired to summon the other domestics. Bettina and Elise promptly obeyedthe command. Their answers were precisely the same as those of Gustave:they had not seen Madeleine; they could not imagine where she was. "Baptiste, --where is he?" asked the countess. Baptiste was in the garden. "I am going out, --I will speak to him myself, and also institute furtherinquiries to satisfy our dear little Bertha; but I warn her that herdreams of a romantic adventure, and the flight of a young lady from anancient château and her natural protectors, will probably meet with asudden check by Madeleine's walking in from a long ramble. " Thus speaking, the count left Bertha to be consoled by his mother, andwent forth in search of Baptiste. Count Tristan well knew that, althoughthe domestics were all warmly attached to Madeleine, the devotion ofBaptiste was unsurpassed. The count did not, for one instant, doubt thatshe had really gone. Some assistance she must have had, and Baptiste'swas the aid she would naturally have selected. He chose to interrogatethe old man himself, to _prevent his giving_ rather than to extractinformation from him. The simple-hearted gardener was not an adept in deception. He wasdigging among his flower-beds when his master approached him, and it didnot escape the nobleman's observation that the spade went into theground and was drawn out again with increased rapidity as he drew near, and that the head of Baptiste, instead of being lifted to see who wascoming, was bent down as though he wished to appear wholly engrossed inhis occupation. "Baptiste?" "Monsieur?" The tremulous voice in which that one word was uttered, and his guiltycountenance, scarcely raised as he spoke, were enough to convict him. "Has Mademoiselle Madeleine passed you in walking out, this morning?" "No, monsieur. I have been very busy, monsieur; these flower-beds are ina terrible state; it is not easy for one pair of hands to keep them evenin tolerable order. I have not noticed who passed. I don't generallylook about me, --I"-- "Oh, very well; we thought perhaps you might have seen MademoiselleMadeleine to-day, as she must have walked out; but, as you know nothingat all about her, I will inform the countess and Mademoiselle Bertha. " "I am much obliged to monsieur, " replied Baptiste, gratefully. He could not conceal his thankfulness at escaping the cross-examinationwhich he had anticipated with the dread natural to one whollyunpractised in dissimulation. "This handkerchief of M. De Bois was found in the _châlet_, " continuedthe count. "I suppose he sometimes strolls over here in the morning, atan hour too early for visiting; it is very natural, as we are such nearneighbors. " "As monsieur says, it would be very natural. " The count had gained all the information that he desired, and withoutletting Baptiste suspect he had betrayed his secret. That Madeleine hadactually fled, that M. De Bois had lent his aid, and that Baptiste hadbeen taken into their confidence, was indubitable. The count returned to the château, and joined his mother, who was makingvain attempts to soothe Bertha. The only comfort to which she wouldlisten was the assurance that, if Madeleine had really gone, she wouldbe traced and entreated to return to her former home. The count now thought it politic to assume an air of the deepestconcern. "I am grieved to bring you such unsatisfactory news; but Baptiste knowsnothing, --he has not seen Madeleine. I am very much shocked, but thefear that she has really left us forces itself upon me. I will order myhorse and ride over to Rennes. She probably obtained a conveyance lastnight or this morning to take her there, as it is the nearest town; andthen, by railroad or stage-coach, she must have proceeded upon herjourney. " "But how could she have obtained a conveyance if none of the servantswere in her confidence? She must have walked, though it is five miles;but that cannot be, for she could not have carried her trunk. Some one_must_ have aided her. Oh, who _can_ it be?" Bertha wiped her streaming eyes with the handkerchief in her hand; itwas the handkerchief found in the _châlet_, --that of Gaston de Bois. Itseemed to answer her question. She hesitated for some moments before shecould persuade herself to communicate her suspicion; but her strong lovefor Madeleine, and her desire that she should be restored to them, prevailed. She handed the handkerchief to Count Tristan. "Before you go to Rennes, will you not return this handkerchief to M. DeBois? As it was picked up in the _châlet_, he must have been therelately, --possibly this morning. Perhaps he knows something ofMadeleine's flight. Oh, he _must_ know!--he must! Make him tellyou, --implore him to tell you!" The count took the handkerchief, saying, "It is an admirable suggestionof yours, my dear Bertha. I will go to M. De Bois at once. Meantime, donot spoil your beautiful eyes with weeping. Never fear, --we will haveMadeleine back shortly; and if you will only be consoled, I promise toforgive her all the anxiety she has occasioned us. " Count Tristan found M. De Bois at home, burrowing among musty volumes, which were the daily companions of his solitude. When he received hishandkerchief, a violent fit of stammering rendered the words heattempted to utter wholly incomprehensible, and the count made no effortto understand them. He proceeded to inform M. De Bois of Madeleine'ssudden disappearance, and of the great unhappiness it had caused, addingthat he came to him as a neighbor, to ask his advice concerning the bestmethod of tracking the fugitive. If M. De Bois offered any counsel (which his guest pretended to imaginehe did), the impediment in his speech increased to such an extent thathis suggestions were unintelligible. His perturbation might have passedfor surprise at the startling intelligence so abruptly communicated;but it could hardly be translated into sorrow or sympathy, and was avery imperfect simulation of astonishment. "I am going to Rennes, for the purpose of making inquiries at therailroad depôt. Will not that plan be a good one?" asked the count. "Ver--ver--ery good, " stammered M. De Bois. "Can you think of any mode that will facilitate my search?" "I fear not, --none at all; I am very dull in such m--m--matters. " The count took his leave, congratulating himself that his neighbor hadnot been subjected to the scrutiny of the Countess de Gramont or Bertha, and especially of Maurice, whose absence at this crisis he looked uponas doubly fortunate. Count Tristan returned to the château with as dejected a mien as hecould assume. Bertha was watching at the window, and ran out to meet him. "What news?When did M. De Bois lose his handkerchief? When did he last seeMadeleine?" "Dear child, I am deeply pained not to bring more cheering information. M. De Bois must have dropped his handkerchief some days ago, --themorning after the ball; he has not been here since; he has norecollection of the circumstance; he has not seen Madeleine at all. " "Was he not amazed to hear that she had gone?" "Very much confounded; the shock quite bewildered him. We consultedabout the best means of tracing her at Rennes. You may rest assured thatM. De Bois was totally ignorant of her intention to leave us. And, ifyou will allow me to make a suggestion, I would charge you not to lethim suspect, when you meet, that you for a moment imagine he was inMadeleine's confidence. It would be highly indelicate, --the verysupposition would be derogatory to her dignity. _I_ have said all thatwas necessary to him, and, as he had nothing to do with the affair, itis a topic which cannot with propriety be touched upon again. " "Assuredly not, " coincided the countess. "Madeleine, with all herfaults, would not so entirely forget her own self-respect as to have aclandestine understanding with a young man. I cannot believe she woulddisgrace herself and us by such unmaidenly conduct. " "Unmaidenly! Would it be unmaidenly?" questioned Bertha, innocently. "Ifit would be an impropriety to confide in M. De Bois, then Madeleinecertainly has not made him her confidant. Oh, my poor Madeleine! It isdreadful to think that she must have gone away alone, --quite alone!" "You may well call it _dreadful_, Bertha. An occurrence of this kind hasnever blotted the annals of our family! What will be said of her and ofus? Such a step, taken by a woman of her birth, will set hundreds oftongues discussing our domestic concerns; our names will be bandiedabout from lip to lip; our affairs will be in all sorts of commonpeople's mouths. Hasten, for heaven's sake, my son, and find Madeleinebefore this story gets wind. " Count Tristan dutifully obeyed, --that is to say, he assumed anappearance of compliance, for in a few moments he was galloping towardRennes. Evening set in before he returned. His long absence had kindled in theminds of the countess and Bertha a hope that he had discovered someclew, and the latter had worked herself up to such a pitch of excitementthat she almost anticipated the return of Madeleine in Count Tristan'scompany. Her disappointment when, at last, he entered, looking weary anddejected, was proportionate to her expectations. He had made allpossible search, --_so he said_, --and no information concerning thefugitive could be gathered; she was gone! He feared they must now waitpatiently until they heard from her. She would doubtless write soon, --aletter might come at any moment. Very possibly she had changed her mindin regard to Lady Vivian's offer, and had accepted it withoutcommunicating her intention, because she feared her aunt's displeasure. This was the most likely explanation of her sudden departure. He hadcalled at the Château de Tremazan, and Lady Vivian had left for Scotlandtwo days after the ball. Madeleine was doubtless at this moment on herway to Edinburgh. The count, though he made this assertion with an air of perfectcredence, did not, for a moment, believe that such was Madeleine'sdestination; but he thought to check persistent inquiries which mightaccidentally bring to light some fine thread that would lead to thediscovery of her retreat. "Oh, if she goes to Lady Vivian, we will make her return at once, --willwe not, aunt?" asked Bertha, catching eagerly at this new hope. "ButMadeleine told me distinctly that she had no intention of accepting LadyVivian's offer. " "There would be no harm in changing her mind, " observed the count. "Youwill find that she has done so; therefore, give yourself no moreuneasiness at present. " Bertha would very gladly have followed the count's advice; but, even ifshe had made the effort, it would have been impossible to drive anxietyfor Madeleine out of her thoughts. Several times during the evening shestarted up, thinking that she heard her voice; if a step echoed in theantechamber, she turned eagerly to the door, her blue eyes greateningwith expectation. Once, when the roll of wheels sounded in the distance, she uttered a cry of joy and rushed out upon the porch. Every moment shegrew more and more restless and feverish; and when the usual hour forretiring came, she wandered into Madeleine's room, instead of her own, and once more minutely examined the whole chamber. There might, perhaps, be a note somewhere which she had overlooked: after the most diligentsearch, none was to be found. There were pens, ink, and paper upon thelittle table which Madeleine generally used, but not a word of writingwas visible. The sight of pen and ink suggested an idea which had not before occurredto Bertha. She sat down and wrote to Maurice. She poured out all hergrief upon paper, and it was soothed as if dropped into words upon theblank sheet before her. How often a full heart has had its burden liftedand lightened at the pen's point, as if the sorrow it recorded grew lessheavy beneath the calming touch of that potent instrument! CHAPTER IX. THE EMPTY PLACE. It chanced that Bertha's letter to Maurice was posted the next morningwithout the knowledge of Count Tristan and his mother; not, however, through any preconcerted arrangement on the part of Bertha. Hercharacter was so frank, so transparent, --her actions were always sounveiled, --her thoughts flowed in such an instinctive current toward herlips, --that the idea of concealment could have no spontaneous existencein her mind. She made no allusion to the letter until it was gone; butthat was purely accidental, though not the less fortunate. Had CountTristan been aware that such a letter had been written, it would neverhave reached its destination. It was somewhat singular that the count, whose code of honor would haveforced him to resent, at the sword's point, the faintest hint that hecould be guilty of an unworthy action, would not have scrupled tointercept a letter, to distort a fact (we use the mildest phrase), tostoop to any deception, to be guilty of any treachery, if he werepowerfully prompted by what he termed family considerations, --whichsimply meant his own personal interest. He had determined to keep Maurice in ignorance of Madeleine's flight aslong as possible, that the chances of discovering her retreat might bediminished; and great was the wily schemer's consternation when helearned that Bertha had unadvisedly frustrated his plans by writing toher cousin. Madeleine's value had never been estimated to its just height until herplace was empty. It is not in human nature to prize that which wepossess to its full worth, until it is "lacked and lost!" Alas! in howmany households there moves, with noiseless feet, some placid, patient, yet potent spirit, with hands ever ready to toil, or soothe; a smileever kindled to comfort or encourage; a voice that "turns common wordsto grace, " imparting hope and dispensing joy; a presence full ofhelpfulness and peace; a being, grown familiar to our eyes by everyday's association, whom we carelessly greet, or jostle againstunheeding, or thrust aside impatiently, never dreaming that ourworking-day mortal, could she cast off this garment of clay, would standrevealed one of God's holy messengers commissioned to minister!--thatis, _never until_ we suddenly find her place empty, yet trace the touchof her delicate fingers, the print of her light footsteps everywherearound us, and feel the dreary void made in our hearts by her absence, and recognize, too late, that we have entertained an angel unawares. Throughout the Château de Gramont there was no one, save Count Tristan, who did not make some such reflection (though vague and undefined, perhaps) while thinking of Madeleine. The ancient domestics seemedcompletely lost without her guiding hand, --her spirit of ordersystematizing and lightening all their duties. Everything was inconfusion, everything went wrong. Dearly as they loved her, they hadnever before realized that Mademoiselle Madeleine had been of so muchimportance and assistance to them all. The countess missed her every moment; and, interested as were herregrets, they were not unmingled with some faint self-reproach when sheremembered how lightly she had prized her services. The antiquated_femme de chambre_ had never appeared so clumsy, purblind, and stupid;and the more her stately mistress chided her, the more bewilderedBettina became, the more blunders she committed. Even a bearing as majestic as that of the noble lady could notneutralize the caricaturing effect of a robe pinned awry; curls withlong straight ends standing out porcupine fashion; a cap obstinatelybent upon inclining to one side; and a collar with a strong tendency toavoid a central position. As for Bertha, naturally restless, excitable, and untutored in the artof calming the agitation of her mind by active employment, she could donothing but wander in and out of her aunt's apartment; stand at thewindow watching for the postman, beating the devil's tattoo upon thepanes; counting the hours, fretting over their insupportable length, andbreaking out, at intervals, into piteous lamentations. It was with difficulty that she could be persuaded to appear at table, and she scarcely tasted food. Glancing up at the faded flowers in thehanging baskets suspended before the windows, and to the witheredbouquets in the tall vases that stood on either side, --baskets and vaseswhich Madeleine had ever kept freshly supplied, --Bertha could scarcelyrestrain her tears, as she murmured mournfully, -- "Ah, I know now what the English poet's Ophelia meant, when she said allthe violets withered when her father died! All our flowers faded whenMadeleine went!" Baptiste, who was standing beside her chair, rubbed his eyes, and thesigh, that would not be checked, was audible to her quick ears. Sheturned to give him a glance which recognized his sympathy, and noticedthat there was no gay-looking blossom in his button-hole that day. Thiswas an unmistakable expression of sorrow on the part of Baptiste; for henever assumed the compulsory office of butler without asserting hispreference for his legitimate vocation of gardener by a flower in hiscoat. Bertha had never seen him dispense with the floral decorationbefore, and she comprehended its absence but too well. Her nervous disquietude increased every hour, and caused her aunt aspecies of petty martyrdom resembling the torture of perpetualpin-pricking, the incessant buzzing and stinging of a gnat, the endlesscreaking of rusty door-hinges, --minor miseries often more unendurablethan some great mental or physical suffering. But although the patienceof the countess was wearied out, Bertha was too great a favorite to berebuked. Count Tristan discreetly fled the field, and thus avoided hisshare of the infliction. Bertha's letter reached Maurice the day after it was written, and foundhim in a state of such torpid despondency that any summons to action, even the most painful, was a blessing. He had felt that the only chanceof combating his sorrow, and preventing its obtaining full mastery overall his faculties, was to work off the sense of depression by hardstudy, --to battle against it with the arms of some engrossingoccupation; but how could he spur himself up to study without anobject?--and he was as far as ever from obtaining his father's consentto fitting himself for the bar, or for any other professional pursuit. No, --there was only one pursuit left open to him, the pursuit ofpleasure, and he had not sufficiently recovered from his late shock tostart off in chase of that illusive phantom. Bertha's letter roused himout of this miserable, mind-paralyzing apathy. In the very next trainwhich left for Rennes he was on his way back to Brittany. It was the fourth day after Madeleine's departure. Those days had seemedmonths to Bertha, the weariest months of her brief, glad life. She wasstanding at a window that commanded the road, --her favorite post, andthe only locality where she ever remained quiet for any length oftime, --when the carriage in which Maurice was seated drove up theavenue. With a joyful exclamation she rushed out of the room, darteddown the stair, through the hall, into the porch, and had greetedMaurice before any one but the old gardener knew that he had arrived. "You have heard from her?" were her cousin's first words, gaspinglyuttered. "No, not a line. She will never write; she will never come back! OMaurice! I have lost all hope, " sighed Bertha. "Dear Bertha, we will find her! Let her go where she may, I will findher!--be sure of that. I will not rest until I do. " His grandmother, attracted by Bertha's exultant ejaculation, hadfollowed her, though with more deliberate steps, and now appeared. Thecruel words the countess had spoken to Madeleine were ringing in theears of Maurice, and he saluted his noble relative respectfully, but notwith his usual warmth. "I am glad you have come back to us, Maurice. Bertha is so lonely. " The lips of Maurice parted, but some internal warning checked the bitterwords before they formed themselves into sound. He bowed gravely, and, entering the house, remarked to Bertha, -- "You wrote that all the servants had been examined?" "Yes, all; and they know nothing of Madeleine's flight. " "That is _impossible_. One of them at least must have some knowledge. " Maurice rang the bell. It was Bettina, who replied. Gustave, she said, was in the stable, and Baptiste in the garden. The answers of the _femmede chambre_ to the young viscount were clear and unhesitating: no onecould doubt, for a moment, that she was wholly ignorant of Madeleine'smovement; and her tone and manner evinced, as forcibly as any languagecould have done, how deeply she mourned over her absence. Elise was nextsummoned, and her replies were but a repetition of Bettina's. "I will not send for Gustave and Baptiste, " he observed, dismissing thetwo female domestics, --"I will walk out and see them. " "And I will go with you, " said Bertha. The countess was too well pleased to see the cousins together to object. Gustave was grooming a horse as they passed by the stable. He paused inhis work to welcome the viscount, and added, in the same breath, -- "Monsieur will find it very dull at the château, now. It does not seemlike the same place since Mademoiselle Madeleine left!" "Have you no idea how she went, Gustave? Some of you surely must know!" "I know nothing, monsieur. When they told me that Mademoiselle Madeleinewas gone, it was as though a thunder-bolt had struck me. I have neverfelt good for anything since!" There was too much sincerity, too much feeling in his tone for Mauriceto doubt him, or deem further questioning necessary. He walked sadlyaway, accompanied by Bertha. Baptiste was busied near the little _châlet_; he seemed to hover aboutit constantly of late. He was aware of the return of his youngmaster, --he had bowed to him as he was descending from the carriage. When Bertha and her cousin approached the venerable domestic, histrepidation was too obvious to escape their notice. He was pruning theluxuriant growth of some of the vines Madeleine had planted, and thehand which held his knife shook and committed unintentional havoc amongthe blossoming branches. "Baptiste, come in; I have something to talk to you about, " saidMaurice, entering the _châlet_ with Bertha. How painfully that pleasant little retreat reminded him of Madeleine!For a moment he was overpowered, and dropped into a chair, covering hiseyes with his hands; perhaps because he could not bear the sight ofobjects which called up such agonizing recollections; perhaps becausehis eyes were dim with too womanish a moisture. "Dear Maurice, " said Bertha, bending over him compassionately, "ifMadeleine only knew how wretched she has made us both, surely she wouldnot forsake us so cruelly. " Maurice, by a gesture, prayed her to sit down. Baptiste stood in thedoorway; his attitude betokened a reluctance to enter, and a desire tobe quickly dismissed. After a long interval, the viscount, slowlyraising his head, was again struck by the perturbed mien of theguileless old man, whose native simplicity, warmth, and ingenuousnesswould have melted any mask he attempted to assume. Maurice had almostabandoned all expectation that he would receive any information from thedomestics; but he now experienced a sudden renewal of hope. "Baptiste, " he said, scrutinizing the ancient gardener closely, "do younot know where Mademoiselle Madeleine is?" "No, monsieur. " The reply was uttered in a tone of genuine sadness. "You cannot even guess?" "No, monsieur. " "Do you know how she left here?" "No, monsieur. " "Baptiste, you are not speaking falsely?--you are not trifling with me?If you _are_, you can hardly know how cruelly you are adding to mysorrow. " "I have spoken the exact truth, monsieur. " "I am sure he has, Maurice, " interrupted Bertha. "I never knew Baptisteto utter even a _white lie_: he has as great a horror of falsehood asMadeleine herself. " Baptiste looked at her gratefully. "Then you know _nothing at all_, " ejaculated Maurice, in a tone ofdiscouragement. "You did not help Mademoiselle Madeleine in any way? Shemust have had some assistance; but from _you_ she had none? You did noteven know that she intended to leave us?" Baptiste hesitated; his mouth twitched, --his eyes were fixed upon theground. "Why do you not answer, Baptiste?" asked Bertha. "You _did not_ knowthat Mademoiselle Madeleine was going, --did you?" "Yes, mademoiselle. " The answer was spoken almost in a whisper. "_You knew it?_ And why, _why_ have you not told us this before?" shealmost shrieked out. "No one asked me that question, mademoiselle; and Mademoiselle Madeleinerequested me not to give any information concerning her which I couldpossibly, and without uttering a falsehood, avoid. " Maurice sprang up and laid his hand upon the old man's shoulder. "Speak _now_ then! You cannot avoid telling us all you know! You wereaware that she was going; you assisted her flight. _How_ did you aidher? _What_ did you do? _What_ do you know?" "Very little, monsieur. I did very little and know very little. Theevening before Mademoiselle Madeleine left, she came to me in thegarden; she asked me if I would do her a favor. I would have done her athousand. Did I not owe her enough? Was it not she who watched beside mybed when I had that terrible rheumatic fever two years ago? Did she notpour out my medicine with her own white hands? Did she not talk to mewhen I was racked with pain, until I thought the room was full ofheavenly music, and I forgot I was suffering? Did she not keep me fromcursing God when the pangs were so sharp that I felt I was torturedbeyond my strength? Did she not tell me why all anguish of soul or bodyshould be borne patiently? Was there, oh, was there _anything_ I wouldnot have done for Mademoiselle Madeleine? When she left the château, washer loss greater to any one than it was to me? And she would not havegone if she could have staid any longer. I was sure of _that_. When shesaid she must go, I knew she _must_, and I never even dared to pray herto remain. " It was seldom that Baptiste spoke so much, for he was taciturn bynature; but the emotion, forcibly suppressed for so many days, oncebreaking bondage, burst forth into a torrent of words. "You did well, Baptiste, --good, faithful old man! Mademoiselle Madeleineneeded a friend; and I thank Heaven she had one like you. Do not thinkwe blame you; only tell us all you know. She came to you the eveningbefore she left: what favor did she ask?" "Mademoiselle Madeleine only asked, monsieur, that I would come to herroom when the house was all quiet, that night, and carry down her trunkand place it in the _châlet_. I could not help saying, 'Oh, Mademoiselle Madeleine, are you going to leave us?' She answered, 'I_cannot_ stay, Baptiste. I am _compelled_ to go. You are the only personhere who is aware of my intention. When I am gone do not give anyinformation concerning me that you can possibly, and without uttering afalsehood, avoid. It will be better that no one should know I had youraid. ' Those were her exact words, monsieur. " "Go on, --go on!" urged Maurice, as the narrator paused. "When the house was all quiet, I put off my shoes and stole softly toMademoiselle Madeleine's room. She opened the door, and, withoutspeaking, pointed to the little trunk. Old and weak as I am, I had notrouble in carrying it. It was light enough. It could not have heldmuch. " "Did she not bid you adieu, then?" asked Bertha. "Just as I was stooping to lift the trunk, Mademoiselle Madeleinestretched out her hand and took mine. I felt her warm, soft touch thewhole day after. She did not say adieu, but she looked it. She looked asthough she were blessing me and thanking me. I never saw a face thatsaid so much, --so much that went to my very soul and comforted me! Whenshe let go my hand, I took up the trunk and carried it out. She closedthe door behind me without a sound, and I brought the trunk here thatnight and left it. That is all I know, monsieur. " "But how was the trunk conveyed hence?" "I do not know, monsieur. " "Did you see Mademoiselle Madeleine the next morning?" inquired Bertha. "No, mademoiselle. I could not help going to the _châlet_ the firstthing when I came out to work. I pushed the door open and looked in; thetrunk was not there, and I knew that Mademoiselle Madeleine was gonetoo!" "But did not Mademoiselle Madeleine drop some hint, even the faintest, of her plans?" asked Maurice, earnestly. "I have told monsieur every word Mademoiselle Madeleine spoke to me onthe subject. " "_Some one_ must have aided her further! Who could it be? _Who could itpossibly be?_" mused Maurice. Baptiste was certain he knew who alone it could be; and he was ponderingwithin himself whether he had the right to mention the note Madeleinehad ordered him to deliver to M. De Bois. Her request had been that hewould give no information he could honestly avoid; if it _could_ beavoided, it was plain, then, that the intelligence ought not to becommunicated. "Has monsieur done with me?" he asked, as Maurice stood reflecting insilence. "Yes, if you have nothing further to tell me. " "Nothing further, monsieur. " Saying these words, Baptiste withdrew. "After Madeleine was missed, " said Bertha, when the old gardener wasgone, "I was the first person who came to the _châlet_. I found ahandkerchief lying just by this table. It was marked G. De Bois. " "Gaston de Bois! Then it is clear _he_ was Madeleine's confidant. Hepromoted her flight!" "So I thought, at first, " rejoined Bertha; "but it seems this is not so. Your father took him the handkerchief, and he could not tell when orwhere he had lost it. He was amazed to hear that Madeleine had left us, and disclaimed all knowledge concerning her. " "Who, then, could it have been? But I will see M. De Bois myself. " "First let me tell you"--began Bertha, and faltered. "Why do you hesitate? For Heaven's sake, dear Bertha, tell me everythingwhich can throw the faintest glimmer of light upon the path Madeleinehas taken. " "I do not know how to say what I was thinking; perhaps I ought not toallude to it at all; yet it seems as if it must be true. Do you notremember that Madeleine confessed she had bestowed her affections upon_some one_? Since they were not given to you, as I once believed, Icannot help imagining that perhaps she might--might have meant"-- "Gaston de Bois?" "Yes. " Maurice did not answer, and Bertha could say no more. There was apainful struggle going on in her mind, though less torturing than thatwhich convulsed the spirit of her cousin. When he had somewhat recovered himself, he said, -- "At all events I will see M. De Bois. If there is nothing to be learnedfrom him, if he really knows nothing concerning Madeleine's departure, Imust seek information at Rennes. There is no time to lose. I will callupon M. De Bois at once. " The cousins parted at the door of the _châlet_. Bertha turned toward thechâteau, pausing on her way to talk with Baptiste; Maurice went in thedirection of his neighbor's residence. Count Tristan's visit had taken M. De Bois aback, chiefly because he wasconfounded by a new proof of his own awkwardness (stupidity, he plainlytermed it) in leaving his handkerchief behind him, as a witness of hispresence at the _châlet_. But there was no such confusing testimony todestroy his composure when he received Maurice. Besides, he had ampletime to collect himself; for he was walking in the park when his valetannounced that the young viscount was awaiting him in the library. Hehad looked forward to the return of Maurice to Brittany as soon as thelatter heard of Madeleine's mysterious disappearance. M. De Bois knewthat it would be more difficult to prevent her being traced by hercousin than by any other person, and that it was by him Madeleineherself most feared to be discovered. Gaston was therefore fully on hisguard against betraying her confidence. Maurice, on his part, was keenly sensible of the difficulty of hisundertaking. He could not openly inquire of M. De Bois whether Madeleinehad apprised him of her intentions. The very question would have atendency to compromise his cousin, by suggesting that she was capable ofholding clandestine communication with a young gentleman. Then, too, ifM. De Bois was really the object of her attachment, he might not beaware of the preference with which she honored him; and it would be theheight of indelicacy for Maurice to allow him to suspect a circumstancewhich her modesty would scrupulously conceal. He was sitting in thelibrary pondering over the embarrassments of his position, when his hostentered. The gentlemen greeted each other with wonted cordiality. "Did you return from Paris to-day?" asked M. De Bois. "Have you justcome?" "About an hour ago. I came to you at once to"-- M. De Bois interrupted him. It was the policy of the former to lead theconversation, that he might avoid direct questions. "Had you heard that Mademoiselle de Gramont had left the château?" "Yes; my cousin Bertha wrote to me, and"-- Again M. De Bois seized upon the thread of conversation. "Have you no news from Mademoiselle Madeleine?--no letter?" "None, " sighed Maurice, convinced that, as M. De Bois plunged into thesubject in this straightforward, calm manner, he could not possibly bein her confidence. The host went on. "Has not Count Tristan been able to obtain any trace of her?" "Thus far, none at all! What _could_ have become of her! Where _could_she have gone!" exclaimed Maurice; but not in a tone of interrogation, for he now felt assured that M. De Bois could not answer. "One thing is certain; what Mademoiselle Mad--ad--adeleine has done musthave been prompted by a noble motive. She could not cause you all thissorrow unless she imagined herself compelled to take the step which wemust all lament. " "You are right, you only do her justice!" rejoined Maurice. "What course do you propose to ado--op--opt?" inquired M. De Bois, witha perfectly natural air of friendly interest. "I hardly know what to do. I should be thankful for any advice. I shallfirst visit the Prefecture at Rennes, to see if she obtained a passport. She could not surely run the risk of attempting to travel without one. If the passport be for Great Britain, I may go to Scotland. Possibly shemay have changed her mind, and accepted Lady Vivian's offer, --do you notthink so?" "It does not appear to me likely. She definitely decli--i--ined. " "Did she tell you so? Did she speak to you on the subject?" askedMaurice, hastily. For the first time during the interview, M. De Bois betrayed a slightdisquietude, but he quickly collected himself and answered, -- "I heard Lady Vivian speak to Mademoiselle Bertha of the offer she hadmade her cousin, and after that, Mademoiselle Mad--ad--adeleine told meshe had declined the prop--op--oposition. But, if you imagine she haschanged her mind, would not a letter to Lady Vivian answer everypur--ur--urpose?" "No; if she should be there, I must see her, and use arguments whichwould have no force upon paper. _She must be there!_ Where else couldshe be? I will start for Scotland to-night. Now I must bid you adieu. " "If you are going back to the château, I will accompany you. I must makemy _adieux_ to the ladies. I leave for Paris to-morrow. " "Indeed! Do you make a long stay?" "Prob--ob--obably. The Marquis de Fleury had promised me asecretaryship, if he were sent as ambassador to America. It is uncertainwhen he may get the appointment, but he has offered me the post ofconfidential sec--ec--ecretary at once. " "And you have accepted?" "Gladly. " "Ah, M. De Bois, how I envy you! _You_ will have an object in life, while _I_, who feel as though a pent-up volcano were roaring within me, am condemned to let my struggling energies smoulder beneath the ashes ofmy father's autocratic will! You have heard of his opposition to mystudying for the bar? What is to become of me if I am deprived of everystimulating incentive to action?--especially now--now that"--he checkedhimself suddenly. He was not aware that M. De Bois had been informed byBertha of Madeleine's rejection, and Maurice could not dwell upon hisown disappointment to one who might be a rival. "Count Tristan may gradually be brought to contemplate your wishes withmore favor. " "Hardly; but come--if you will accompany me, let us go. " Bertha, who had been waiting impatiently for the return of Maurice, didnot fly to meet him when she saw M. De Bois walking by his side, as theyapproached the château. The countess was in the drawing-room when thegentlemen entered, and her majestic presence stemmed the stream ofinquiries that was ready to gush from Bertha's lips. M. De Bois, who during his interview with Maurice had been soself-possessed that the impediment in his speech was scarcelyobservable, was seized anew and cast into chains by his invisible enemy. The captive struggled in vain; the avenues of speech were barricaded;all his limbs were shackled; his movements became uncertain andspasmodic, menacing tables, chairs, vases, which, had they been giftedwith consciousness, must have trembled at his approach; his nervousfingers thrust themselves into his hair, and threw it into ludicrousdisorder; his countenance was suffused with scarlet; he stammered outsomething about bidding adieu, which the ladies were evidently at a lossto comprehend, until Maurice explained that M. De Bois expected to starton the morrow for Paris, where he purposed to take up his residence. "We shall regret losing so valued a neighbor!" observed the countess, condescendingly. Bertha made no remark, though she looked as though she wished to speak, and could not summon resolution. She took an opportunity, while thecountess was conversing with their guest, to whisper to her cousin, -- "You asked M. De Bois, and he could give you no information concerningMadeleine?" "None at all, " replied Maurice in a low tone. Then, turning to thecountess, he said aloud, "I also must bid you adieu, my grandmother; Iam going immediately to Rennes; if I obtain the information there, whichI think probable, I shall start at once for Scotland and seek LadyVivian. " "You have not consulted your father, Maurice, " the countess answered, with an emphasis which was intended to remind him that he was not a freeagent. "I must beg you to make my apologies to him. " Maurice, though he treated his grandmother with deference which left herno room for complaint, could not force himself to assume his wonted airof affection; his love for her had waned from the hour he listened tothe unjust accusation, the reproaches, the contumely she had heaped uponthe innocent and unfortunate orphan placed at her mercy. The softeningveil had fallen from her character, and disclosed its harsh, proudselfishness and policy. He now knew that she had offered her destituterelative shelter, not from any genuine, womanly feeling of tendernessand compassion, but simply because she deemed it humiliating to allowone who bore her name to be placed in a doubtful and friendlessposition. All Madeleine's gentleness, cheerfulness, diligence to please, had failed to melt her aunt's impenetrable heart and make it expand toyield her a sacred place; the countess had misinterpreted her highestvirtues, --grossly insulted her by attributing shameful motives to hermost disinterested conduct, and destroyed all the merit of her ownbenefactions by reminding the recipient of her indebtedness. Mauricefelt that, truly to venerate a person, he must be moved by esteem fornoble qualities possessed. The recent revelation of his grandmother'sactual attributes estranged and revolted him, until it became difficultto treat her with even the outward semblance of reverence. When the viscount bade farewell, M. De Bois also took his leave. "You will write to me as soon as you reach Edinburgh?" pleaded Bertha toher cousin. "I will certainly write, " answered Maurice; "meantime comfort yourselfwith the assurance that I will not relinquish my search until Madeleineis restored to us. " And Bertha did solace herself with that pledge, for hope was a dominantcharacteristic of her buoyant temperament. The monotonous round of blank, weary days that ensued was happilybroken, before the week closed, by the promised letter from Maurice. Bertha, whose only exciting occupation consisted in watching for thearrival and distribution of letters, was in possession of the preciousmissive before her aunt and Count Tristan were aware of its arrival. Shetore it open, and, glancing through the contents, uttered a cry of joythat rang through the château, and reached the ears even of the countessand her son in the library. The next moment Bertha burst into theapartment, laughing and crying, waving the letter triumphantly over herhead, and exclaiming, in a voice now stifled with sobs, now broken byhysterical mirth, -- "She is found! she is found! Maurice has traced her! Oh, my dear, dearMadeleine, I shall see her again!" Her blinding tears, or her overwhelming transport, prevented hernoticing the totally different effect produced upon her two relatives bythis rapturously uttered communication. The face of the countessexpressed a haughty satisfaction that her noble family had been sparedsome impending disgrace; but Count Tristan's black brows contracted; hismalignant eyes flashed fiercely; he ground his teeth with suppressedrage as he snatched the letter out of Bertha's hand. She flung her armsabout her aunt, and laid her head lovingly upon her unsympathetic bosom, as though she must caress some one in the exuberant outburst of her joy!Meanwhile the count perused the letter. "My son, let me hear what Maurice says. " Count Tristan read, -- "I hasten to send you good news, my dearest Bertha. At Rennes I visited the Prefecture to examine the list of passports, knowing that Madeleine must have obtained one to travel unmolested. I found that her passport had been taken out for England. This confirmed my impression that she had joined Lady Vivian in Scotland. The passport which, as you are aware, requires two responsible witnesses, was signed by Messrs. Picard and Bossuet. I sought those gentlemen to extract further information from them, but, singularly enough, both had left Brittany the day after Madeleine. I cannot conceive how she obtained their signatures, for surely she had no acquaintance with them. Following this clew I started immediately for Edinburgh, and arrived here on Wednesday evening. I had no difficulty in finding the residence of Lady Vivian. She is in London, but is expected home shortly. I had an interview with her venerable housekeeper, who answered all my inquiries with great patience. From her I learned that Lady Vivian was accompanied by a young French lady whom she had recently engaged as a _dame de compagnie_. The housekeeper could not remember her foreign name, but when I mentioned Mademoiselle de Gramont, she said it sounded like that. She had been informed that the young lady was very accomplished and belonged to an excellent family; also that Lady Vivian had first heard of her during her late visit in Brittany. In answer to the question whether this young lady arrived with Lady Vivian in London, the housekeeper replied that she did not, --she had joined her ladyship only a few days ago. Thus I feel certain that Madeleine is found. I leave for London at once, and, not many days after you receive this letter, you may expect to see us both; for I will never cease my supplications until Madeleine yields and returns with me to the Château de Gramont. I know what joy this intelligence will give you, my dear little cousin, and my joy is increased by the reflection of yours. " The count broke off without reading the concluding lines of the letter, and remarked, -- "Maurice came to a hasty conclusion. If Lady Vivian's _dame decompagnie_ should prove to be Madeleine, as it _may_ be, there is nocertainty that she will yield to his persuasions and return to us. Madeleine is very obstinate and self-willed. You must pardon me, Bertha, for throwing a damper upon your hopes, but I would spare you too severedisappointment. " "I shall _not_ be disappointed. I feel sure Maurice has discoveredMadeleine: _that_ is all I ask for the present. You may be right abouther refusing to return here, --I dare say you are; but _that_ will notmake me miserable, which I should be if we could not find her at all. Imean to ask my uncle's permission to allow Madeleine to reside with us. I do not see how he can refuse, and he is very indulgent; so that, whether Madeleine consents to return here, or not, we shall not bewholly parted. " Bertha did not suspect into what a fury her words were lashing thecount, nor did she divine the machinations already at work within hisperfidious spirit to defeat her kindly purpose. CHAPTER X. THE HUMBLE COMPANION. Rapidly as Maurice travelled from Edinburgh to London, the distanceseemed interminable to his impetuous spirit. Multitudes of argumentswere driven through his mind in long array, and he was impatient toprove their power in persuading Madeleine to return. Was it possiblethat she could refuse to see their force? If calm reasoning, ifentreaties and prayers failed to move her, he would test the potency ofa threat, --she should learn that he had vowed never to return to hispaternal home, never to forgive those who had driven her forth by theircruelty, until _she_ had proclaimed their pardon by again taking up herabode at the Château de Gramont. Madeleine, who shrank from all strife, who moved in an atmosphere of harmony, which seemed to envelop herwherever she went, would not lift her hand to sever the sacred bond ofunion between father and son, grandmother and grandchild. Whateveranguish it might cost her to yield, however great her sacrifice, shewould endure the one and accept the other rather than become theinstrument that, with fatal blow, struck such an unholy severance. Maurice vividly pictured to himself his approaching interview under atantalizing variety of circumstances. Now he imagined that he sawMadeleine only in the presence of her new friends, --that she was coldand reserved, and allowed him no opportunity of uttering a word thatcould reach _her_ ear alone. Now he fancied she had granted him aprivate interview, --that she was sitting by his side, but resolute, unconvinced, unmoved, while he besieged her with arguments, appealed toher with all the passionate fervor that convulsed his soul, portrayed indarkest colors the fearful results of her inflexibility. Now he paintedher overwhelmed by his reasoning, melted by his application, terrifiedby that terrible menace, and finally consenting to his petition. It was past ten o'clock when the train reached the London terminus. Theloquacious Edinburgh housekeeper had informed him that Lady Vivian wasthe guest of Lady Augusta Langdon. The lateness of the hour forbade avisit that night; yet, after having engaged a room at Morley's hotel, hecould not help strolling in the direction of Grosvenor Square, and wassoon searching for the number he had written upon his tablets. It waseasily found, and Maurice stood before one of the most sumptuous of themagnificent edifices which adorn that aristocratic locality. The windowswere thrown open, and the richly embroidered lace curtains drawn back, for the evening was more than usually sultry. He crossed to the oppositeside of the street, and took up a position which enabled him todistinguish forms moving about the spacious drawing-room. With whatstraining eyes and breathless anxiety he scrutinized them! Now he saw alady of noble carriage walking to and fro, --_that_ might be LadyLangdon; by and by he caught sight of a gaunt, ungainly figure, andrecognized Lady Vivian. Who would have believed that a glimpse of thatangular, unsymmetrical form could ever have called such radiance to theeyes of a young and handsome man?--could have kindled such a glow uponhis cheeks?--could have quickened his pulses with so joyful a motion? Not long after, a group of young ladies clustered together, just beneaththe chandelier, to examine some object which one of them held in herhand; and now the heart of Maurice throbbed so tumultuously that itsbeats became audible. He had singled out one maiden whose height andgraceful proportions distinguished her from her companions, --Madeleine!Her face was turned from him; but surely that statuesque outline, thatslender, flexible throat, that exquisitely-shaped head, about which hethought he traced the coronal braid that usually crowned her noblebrows, --these could belong to Madeleine only! Could he fail to recognizethem anywhere or at any distance? The longer he gazed the more certainhe became that it was she herself, --that she was found at last! Howeagerly he watched to see her turn, and render "assurance doubly sure"by revealing her lovely countenance! She remained some time in the sameposition; then the little group dispersed, and she glided away, but notin the direction of the window. The eyes of Maurice never moved from theplace where she had disappeared, though he was conscious of attractingthe attention of passers-by, and now and then a whispered comment ofderision fell upon his ear. Several equipages drove up to Lady Langdon's door, and her guestsgradually departed. Soon after the drawing-room was deserted, the lightswere extinguished, the windows closed. Other lights brightened thecasements above. Still Maurice remained riveted to the spot, unreasonably hoping to behold Madeleine for one fleeting moment again. By and by, one window after another grew dark; but not until the lastlight went out could he force himself to turn away and retrace his stepsto the hotel. "Will the dawn never come?" How often that question rises involuntarilyto the lips, through the long night of expectation that precedes awished-for day! _Time_--that is, the sense of its duration--is butanother word for _state_, --state of mind. The length or briefness of thehour is so completely governed by the mood of one's spirits that itbecomes easy for those who have learned this truth from experience toconceive a thousand years but as a day to the blessed, --a day oftorture, an age to the miserable; and to comprehend that _time itself_can have no existence, and its computation must be replaced by _state_in the eternal hereafter where we shall live in the spirit only. "Will the dawn never come?" Maurice repeated hundreds of times as thatnight dragged its leaden, lagging feet with the slow movement ofcenturies. The dim, late London morning came at last to bring with it a newperplexity. It would be a breach of etiquette to call upon Lady Vivianat too early an hour; yet, how was Maurice to curb the headlong rush ofhis impatience until the prescribed period for ceremonious visitsarrived? A stranger in London, it might be supposed that the numberlessnoteworthy objects by which he was environed might have diverted hisattention; but one engrossing thought so completely filled his wholebeing that it rendered him blind to all the marvels of art or beautiesof nature. Yet to remain imprisoned at the hotel was out of thequestion. He concluded to spend his morning in Hyde Park, chieflybecause it was not far distant from Grosvenor Square. But theattractions of the noble park, through which he listlessly sauntered, and of the adjacent Kensington Gardens, to which he unconsciouslyextended his rambles, were entirely lost upon the abstracted wanderer. Grand old trees, romantic walks, delicious flowers, had no existence forhim; the whole world was one great, hueless, formless void, in which hebeheld nothing but the spectral image mirrored in his own soul. He had decided not to pay his visit until after one o'clock; but, beforethe sun reached its meridian, he absolved himself from the propriety ofwaiting, and, with rapid steps, once more took his way to Lady Langdon'sresidence. The door was opened by a solemn footman. "Is Lady Vivian at home?" "Not at home, sir. " "Is Mademoiselle de Gramont--I mean the young lady who accompanied LadyVivian--at home?" "Not at home, sir. " "Can you tell me when I shall be likely to find them?" "Her ladyship gave no orders on the subject, sir. " Maurice stood perplexed, and hesitating. "Your card, if you please, sir, " suggested the demure domestic. "No, I will call again by and by. " Maurice walked directly back to the park. His suspense was intolerable;he could only endure it for another hour, and then returned to LadyLangdon's. The same staid attendant reappeared at his knock. "Has Lady Vivian returned?" "Not returned, sir. " "Can you tell me when I may depend upon seeing her? I call upon a matterof great importance. " The stately footman looked as though he were pondering upon thepropriety of making any satisfactory answer to this question. Maurice repeated the inquiry with such an anxious intonation, such aperturbed air, that the stolid domestic, accustomed to behold only theconventional composure which allows no pulse to betray its beating, wasmoved out of the even tenor of his way by astonishment. "Lady Vivian went with my lady and a large party to Hampton Court. Theirladyships will probably spend the day. " "The day!" exclaimed Maurice, in an accent of consternation. The footman evidently thought that he had proffered more than sufficientinformation, and made a dignified attempt to put a close to theinterview, by extending his hand, and saying, "I will see that your cardreaches her ladyship. " "No, there is no need of my leaving a card: I shall return. At what hourdoes Lady Langdon dine?" "At seven, sir. " "I will take the liberty of calling after dinner. " The footman looked as though he decidedly thought it was a liberty, andMaurice turned slowly away from the closing door. What could be done to shorten the endless hours that stretched theirweary length between that period and evening? Hampton Court! What was toprevent his going to Hampton Court? He might meet Lady Vivian andMadeleine, there; nothing was more likely, since they were to spend theday. His spirits revived as he signalled an empty cab, and requested tobe driven as rapidly as possible to Hampton Court. He took no note ofthe length of time occupied in reaching his destination: it was a reliefto be in motion, and to know that every moment brought him nearer alocality where the lost one might be found. Was he more likely to encounter her in the palace or in the grounds? heasked, internally, as he sprang out of the cab. He would try the palacefirst. He strode through its magnificent apartments, one after another, without noticing their gorgeous grandeur, without glancing at theirsuperb decorations, without wasting a look upon the wondrous products ofbrush, or chisel, or loom. His disconcerted guide paused before eachworld-renowned master-piece in vain; Maurice hurried on, and silencedhim by saying that he was in search of a friend. Neither Lady Vivian nor Madeleine was to be seen. They were doubtlessrambling in the beautiful pleasure-grounds. Maurice took his way through noble avenues of trees, --through groves, gardens, conservatories, --without letting his eyes dwell upon any objectbut the human beings he passed. Still no Madeleine. He made the tour ofthe palace the second time, and then traversed the grounds once more. The result was the same. Lady Vivian must have returned home. It was growing late. He reëntered his cab, and ordered the driver totake him to Morley's Hotel; paid the exorbitant price which the man, knowing he had to deal with a stranger, demanded, and took refuge in hischamber, without remembering that he had not broken his fast sincemorning, until a waiter knocked at the door to know if he would dine. Yes; dinner might assist in whiling away the time. But it helped lesseffectually than he had anticipated; for to dine without appetite is atedious undertaking. His own busy thoughts supplied him with more thansufficient food, and precluded all sense of hunger. Maurice had but a slight acquaintance with Lady Vivian. An evening visitcertainly was not _selon les regles_; but all ceremony must give waybefore the urgency of his mission. He compelled himself to wait untilnine o'clock before he again appeared in Grosvenor Square. That imperturbable footman again! The very presence of the automatonchilled and dispirited the impatient visitor. "Is Lady Vivian at home?" "Her ladyship is indisposed and has retired, sir. " "Can I see Mademoiselle de Gramont?" "Whom, sir?" "The young lady who accompanies Lady Vivian. " "She is with Lady Vivian; but I will take your card, sir. " Maurice had no alternative and handed his card. "Say that I earnestly beg to see her for a few moments. " Did he imagine that human machine could deliver a message which conveyedthe suggestion that any one very earnestly desired anything in creation? The viscount was ushered into the drawing-room. A long interval, or oneMaurice thought long, elapsed before the messenger returned. "The ladies will be happy to see you, sir, to-morrow, at two o'clock. " Another night and another morning to struggle through, haunted by themurderous desire of killing that which could never be restored, --_time!_But here, at least, was a definite appointment, --a fixed period when heshould certainly see Madeleine; this was a great step gained. He had heard some gentlemen, at the hotel, loud in praise of CharlesKean's impersonation of "King John, " which was to be represented thatevening, and the recollection of their encomiums decided him to visitthe Princess' Theatre. Our powers of appreciation are limited, governed, crippled or expanded, by the mood of the moment, and a performance, which might have rousedhim to a high pitch of enthusiasm at another time, now seemed dull andtedious. But duller and more tedious still was the night that followed. And when morning came, how was he to consume the hours between breakfastand two o'clock? He must go somewhere; must keep on his feet; must givehis restless limbs free action. He bethought him of St. Paul's andWestminster Abbey. These majestic edifices were associated with thememory of those who had done with time, and might assist him in thetime-annihilating process which was then his chief object. He wasmistaken; he could not interest himself in monuments to the dead; he wastoo closely pursued by a living phantom. He walked through the aisles, the chapels, the crypt, with as much indifference as he had wanderedthrough Hyde Park, and Kensington Gardens, and Hampton Court. The appointed hour drew near, at last, and with rising excitement heordered the coachmen to drive to Grosvenor Square, number ----. It wasjust two, --hardly two, perhaps. The inevitable footman received hiscard, with the faintest _soupçon_ of a grin, and conducted him to thedrawing-room. Lady Vivian entered a few moments afterwards. She was delighted to seehim, --very flattered at his visit. When did he come to London? Would hemake a long stay? How did he leave their friends in Brittany? Maurice replied as composedly as possible to her inquiries, and thenasked, "May I be allowed to see Mademoiselle de Gramont?" "Mademoiselle de Gramont!" exclaimed Lady Vivian, raising her bushyeyebrows. "Yes, she is with you. She is engaged as your humble companion, --is shenot?" "No, I have not the pleasure of her acquaintance. " If a bullet had passed through Maurice, he could not have sprung fromhis seat with a wilder bound, and hardly have dropped back moremotionless. Lady Vivian looked at him in amazement, --asked what had happened. Was heill? Would he take anything? He had been very much fatigued, perhaps. Hewas so very pale! She felt quite alarmed; really it was distressing. Making a desperate effort to recover from the stunning blow, he falteredout, "I heard that you made Mademoiselle de Gramont a proposition to"-- "To become my humble companion? Yes, I did so at the request of CountDamoreau. But she definitely declined, and I felt much relieved, for shewas entirely too handsome for that position. Shortly afterward I heardof a young person who suited me much better. I thought it was a mistakeof the footman's, last night, when he said you desired to see the younglady who accompanied me. It was somewhat singular to have one's humblecompanion included in a visit to one's self! Now I comprehend that youthought she was your cousin. I hope you are feeling better; your coloris coming again. " Maurice was not listening. He had lost Madeleine anew. The agony of asecond bereavement, the mystery that enveloped her fate, the dreadfuluncertainty of tracing her, pressed upon him and rent his soul withfiercer throes than before. Muttering some hurried apology, he rose, staggered toward the door, and, to the amazement of the stoical footman, who was greatly scandalized thereby, the pertinacious stranger fairlyreeled past him into the street. CHAPTER XI. PURSUIT. Maurice, when he took his abrupt leave of Lady Vivian, did not return tothe hotel. He felt as though he could not breathe, could not exist, shutwithin four walls, with the oppressive weight of his new disappointmentcrushing and stifling his spirit. He traversed the streets with a rapidpace, not knowing nor caring whither he went, if he only kept in motion. His own torturing thoughts pursued him like haunting fiends, driving himmercilessly hither and thither, and he sped onward and onward, as thoughby increased celerity he could fly from his intangible persecutors. Now sprang up the tantalizing suggestion, that, as Lady Vivian had neverseen Madeleine, the latter had presented herself under a feigned name, for the sake of concealing her rank, and baffling the friends who soughtto discover her abode. Was not _that_ very possible, very natural? Herecalled the tall, finely-moulded form, of which he had caught a glimpsein Lady Langdon's _salon_, and for awhile he cherished this chimera;then its place was usurped by one more painful: Madeleine was perhapstravelling alone, subjected by her very beauty to the curious scrutiny, the heartless insults of brutal men; and, perchance, through herignorance of the world, trapped into some snare from which she couldnever be extricated unharmed. Then his mind was filled with the horribleidea that, in her friendliness and despair, finding no place of refugeon earth, she had flung away her burdensome life with violent hands. Nothing was more improbable than that a being endowed with herself-controlled, serene, sorrow-accepting temperament, should be drivento such an act of unholy madness. Yet Maurice allowed the frightfulfantasy to work within his brain until it clothed itself with a shapelike reality, and drove him to the verge of distraction. Where could she have gone? _Where? oh, where?_ Hundreds of times he asked himself that perplexing question! All thepursuing demons seemed to shout it in his ears, and defy him to answer. If she had escaped the perils he most dreaded, where had she hiddenherself? Perhaps she had only taken out a passport for England, with aview of throwing those who sought to track her steps, off the rightscent. If she had gone to England, her passport must have been _viséd_as she passed through Paris. If it had not been presented at the _bureaudes passeports_, she must have remained in Paris. If she had conceivedany plans by which she thought to earn a livelihood, where could they sowell be carried into execution? In that great city she might reasonablyhope to be lost in the crowd, and draw breath untraced and unknown. Ifshe had left the metropolis, the fact could easily be ascertained byexamining the list of passports. Maurice walked on and on, untilgradually the clamorous city grew silent, and the streets were deserted. Besides the vigilant police, only a few, late revellers, with uncertainsteps, and faces hardly more haggard than his own, passed him, from timeto time. Still he walked, carrying his hat in his hand, that thenight-breeze might cool his fevered brow. There was a stir of wheels again, a waking-up movement around him;shop-windows lifting their shutter-lids, and opening their closed eyes;men and women bustling forward, with busy, refreshed morning faces. Another day had dawned and brought its weight of anguish for endurance. Maurice had paced the streets all night. The light that struck sharplyupon his bloodshot eyes first made him aware of the new morning. Theseason for action then had arrived; the night had flown as a hideousdream. He did not know into what part of London he had wandered, buthailed a cab, sprang in, and gave the order to be driven to Morley's. The distance seemed insupportably long. He was now tormented by the fearthat he should not reach his destination in time to take the first trainfor Dover. When he alighted at the hotel, he learned that in less thanan hour the train would start. He dashed off a few, incoherent, sorrowful lines to Bertha, hastily crammed his clothes into his trunk, paid his bill, drove to the station, and secured a seat one momentbefore the railway carriages were in motion. After he had crossed the channel, and entered a railway coach at Calais, utter exhaustion succeeded to his state of turbulent wretchedness. Nature asserted her soothing rights, and poured over his bruised spiritthe balm of sleep. With reviving strength came renewed hope, and when heawoke at the terminus, in Paris, he was inspired with the convictionthat he should find Madeleine in that vast metropolis, --a conviction asfirm as the belief he had entertained that he would behold her inScotland, and afterwards that he would discover her in London. Hehastened to the _bureau des passeports_, and examined the list. Nopassport had been _viséd_ to which her name was attached. It was thencertain that she was still in Paris. But what method could he devise fora systematic search? He thought of the argus-eyed, keen-scented police, who, with the faintest clew, can trace out any footprint once madewithin the precincts of the far-spreading barriers; but could he draghis cousin's name before those public authorities? Could he describe herperson to them, and enter into details which would enable them to hunther down like a criminal? Delicacy, manly feeling, forbade. He must seekher himself, unaided, unguided; and a superstitious faith grew strongwithin him that, through his unremitting search, never foregone, neverrelaxed, he would discover her at last. His plan was sufficiently vague and wild. He resolved to scour Parisfrom end to end, scanning every face that passed him, until the lightshone upon hers, and kindled up once more his darkened existence. When he last returned from Brittany, he had engaged one small, plainapartment in the Rue Bonaparte, the _Latin_ quarter of the city, --afavorite locality of students. Here he again took up his abode, or, rather, here he passed his nights; he could scarcely be said to have adwelling-place by day. From dawn until late in the evening he wanderedthrough the streets, peering into every youthful countenance thatflitted by him, quickening his pace if he caught sight of some gracefulfemale form above the ordinary stature, and plunging onward in pursuit, with his heart throbbing madly, and his fevered brain cheating him withphantoms. His search became almost a monomania. His mind, fixedstrainingly upon this one, all-engrossing object, lost its balance, andhe could no longer reason upon his own course, or see its futility, ordevise a better. The invariable disappointment which closed every day'ssearch, by some strange contradiction, only confirmed him in the beliefthat Madeleine was in Paris, and that he would shortly find her there;that he would meet her by some fortunate chance; would be drawn to herby some mysterious magnetic instinct. Every few days he visited the_bureau des passeports_, to ascertain whether her passport had beenpresented to be _viséd_. To the friends he daily encountered he scarcely spoke, but hurried pastthem with hasty greeting, and a painfully engrossed look, which causedthe sympathetic to turn their heads and gaze after him, wondering at thedisordered attire and unsettled demeanor of the once elegant andvivacious young nobleman, who had graced the most courtly circles, andwas looked upon as the very "glass of fashion and mould of form. " Maurice had been nearly a month in Paris, passing his days in the mannerwe have described, when, for the first time, he encountered Gaston deBois. The former would have hastened on, with only the rapid salutationwhich had grown habitual to him, but M. De Bois stopped withoutstretched hand, and said, -- "Where have you hidden yourself? I have been expecting to see you eversince I came to Paris; but I could not discover where youlod--od--odged. " "My lodgings are in the Rue Bonaparte, numero --, " returnedMaurice, abruptly; "but I am seldom at home. " "You will allow me to take my chance of finding you?" asked M. De Bois, forcibly struck by his friend's altered appearance. "Or, " he added, "youwill come to see me instead? I am at the Hotel Meurice at present. " "Thank you, " said Maurice, absently, and glancing around him at thepassers-by as he spoke. "Good-morning. " M. De Bois would not be shaken off thus unceremoniously. He was too muchdistressed by the evident mental condition of the viscount. He turnedand walked beside him, though conscious that Maurice looked annoyed. "When we parted, did you go to Scotland, as you pro--o--po--sed?"inquired Gaston. "Yes; but Lady Vivian was in London. I sought her there. She knewnothing of my cousin. I returned to Paris; for I am sure Madeleine ishere. " "Here?" almost gasped M. De Bois, stopping suddenly. Maurice walked on without even noticing the strange confusion thatarrested his companion's steps. The latter recovered himself and rejoined him, asking, in as unconcerneda tone as he could command, "What has caused you to think so?" "I am certain of it;--her passport was taken out for England, but it hasnot been _viséd_ in Paris. She must be here still, and I know that Ishall find her. I have walked the streets day after day, hoping to meether, and I tell you I shall--I must!" M. De Bois, whose equanimity had only been disturbed for a moment, shookhis head sorrowfully, saying, "I fear _not_; it does not seem likely. " "To me it _does_. Fifty times I have thought I caught sight of her, butshe disappeared before I could make my way through some crowd to thespot where she was standing. This will not last forever, --ere long weshall meet face to face. " "I hope so! I heartily hope so! I would give all I possess, though thatis little enough, to have it so!" These words were spoken with such generous warmth, that Maurice wasmoved. He had not before noticed the change in his Breton neighbor, --achange the precise opposite to the one which had taken place in himself, yet quite as remarkable. Gaston's address was no longer nervous and flurried; he had gainedconsiderable self-command and repose of manner. The air of uncomfortablediffidence, which formerly characterized his deportment, haddisappeared, and given place to a manly and cheerful bearing. "If he loves Madeleine, " thought Maurice, "how can he look so calm whileshe is--God only knows where, and exposed to what dangers?" "Have you heard from Mademoiselle Ber--er--ertha?" asked M. De Bois, with some hesitation. "Yes, several times. My cousin Bertha was broken-hearted at the news Isent her from London; but I trust that soon"-- He did not conclude his sentence: his wan face lighted up; his restless, straining eyes were fastened upon some form that passed in a carriage. Without even bidding M. De Bois good morning, he broke away and pursuedthe carriage; for some time he kept up with it, then Gaston saw himmotion vehemently to a sleepy coachman, who was lazily driving an emptyfiacre. The next moment Maurice had opened the door himself and leapedinto the vehicle; it followed the carriage the young viscount had keptin view, and soon both were out of sight. The imagination of Maurice had become so highly inflamed that forms andfaces constantly took the outline and lineaments of those ever-presentto his mind. And when, after some exhausting pursuits, he approachednear enough for the illusive likeness to fade away, or when the shape hewas impetuously making towards was lost to sight before it could beneared, he always felt as though he had been upon the eve of thatdiscovery upon which all his energies were concentrated. After their accidental encounter Gaston de Bois called upon Mauricerepeatedly, but never found him at home. Bertha continued to write sorrowful letters teeming with inquiries. Maurice answered briefly, as though he could not spare time to devote tohis pen, but always giving her hope that the very next letter wouldconvey the glad intelligence which she pined to receive. Four months wasthe limit of her yearly visit to the Château de Gramont, and the periodof her stay was rapidly drawing to a close. She wrote that in a few daysher uncle would arrive and take her back to his residence in Bordeaux. The language in which this communication was made plainly indicated thatshe would rejoice at the change. She touched upon the probability ofseeing Maurice before she left; but he was unmoved by thehalf-invitation; nothing could induce him to leave Paris while hecherished the belief that Madeleine was within its walls. Count Tristan wrote and urged him to return home; but the summons wasunheeded. He could not have endured, while his mind was in this terriblestate of incertitude, to behold again the old château, which mustconjure up so many harrowing recollections. Then, too, his naturalaffection for his father and his grandmother was embittered by theremembrance of their persecution of Madeleine. Until she had beenfound, --until he could hear from her own lips (as he knew he should)that she harbored no animosity towards them, --he could not force himselfto forgive their injustice and cruelty. She alone had power to softenhis heart and cement anew the broken link. CHAPTER XII. THE SISTER OF CHARITY. The marvellous change in the bearing of Gaston de Bois, by which Mauricewas struck, had been wrought by a triad of agents. A man who had passedhis life in indolent seclusion, who had plunged into a tangled labyrinthof abstruse books, not in search of valuable knowledge, but to lose inits mazes the recollection of valueless hours; who had allowed his daysto drag on in aimless monotony; who had fallen into melancholy becausehe lacked a healthy stimulus to rouse his faculties out of theirlife-deadening torpidity; who had allowed his nervous diffidence to gainsuch complete mastery over him that it tied his tongue, and clouded hisvision, and confused his brain; who had despised himself because he waskeenly conscious that his existence was purposeless andprofitless;--this man, subjected to the sudden impetus of an occupationfor which his mental acquirements and sedentary habits alike fitted him, found his new life a revelation. He had emerged from the dusty, beaten, grass-withered path his feet had spiritlessly trodden from earliestyouth, and entered a field of bloom and verdure where the very stir ofthe atmosphere exhilarated, where the labor to be performed calleddormant capacities into play and tested their strength, where each day'sachievement gave the delightful assurance of latent powers withinhimself hitherto unrecognized, --in a word, where his manhood wasdeveloped through the regenerating virtue, the glorious might, theblessed privilege of _work!_ The second cause which had contributed to bring about the happymetamorphosis in Gaston de Bois sprang out of the hope-inspiring wordsMadeleine had dropped on that day which closed so darkly on the duke'sorphan daughter. Those few, passing, precious words had fallen likefructuous seed and struck deep root in Gaston's spirit; and, as thegerms shot upward, every branch was covered with blossoms of hope whichperfumed his nights and days. He dared to believe that Bertha did notlook upon him with disdain, --that she sympathized with the misfortunewhich debarred him from free intercourse with society, --that a deeperinterest might emanate from this compassionate regard. The possibilityof becoming worthy of her no longer appeared a dream so wild andbaseless; but he was too modest, too distrustful of himself, to havegiven that golden dream entertainment had it not been inspired byMadeleine's kindly breath. The third cause which combined with the two just mentioned torevolutionize his character will unfold itself hereafter. The more cognizant M. De Bois became that powerful influences werevivifying, strengthening, and bringing order out of confusion in his ownmind, the more troubled he felt in pondering over the disordered mentalcondition of Maurice. During a whole month after their accidentalencounter in the street he called repeatedly at the lodgings of theviscount, but never once found him at home. Half discouraged, yetunwilling to abandon the hope of an interview, he persisted in hisfruitless visits. One morning, to his unbounded satisfaction, when heinquired of the _concierge_ if M. De Gramont was within, an affirmativeanswer was returned. Gaston could hardly credit the welcomeintelligence, and involuntarily repeated the question. "Ah, yes, poor young gentleman! he's not likely to be out again soon!"replied his informant, in a pitying tone. Without waiting for an explanation of the mysterious words, M. De Boisquickly ascended to the fifth story, and, being admitted into theantechamber by a neat-looking domestic, knocked at the door of theapartment which was indicated to him. The voice of a stranger bade him enter. He turned the doorknob withshaking hand. The room was so small that it could be taken in at asingle glance. It was a plain, almost furniture-less apartment. In thenarrow bed lay Maurice. His eyes--those great, blue eyes which sostrongly resembled Bertha's--were glittering with the wild lights ofdelirium; fever burned on his cheeks and seemed to scorch his parchedlips. The fair, clustering curls were matted and tangled about his brow;his arms were tossing restlessly about. He sprang up into a sittingposture as Gaston appeared at the door, and gazed at him eagerly; thenstared around, peering into every corner of the chamber, as though inquest of some one. Those searching glances were followed by a look ofblank despair that settled heavily upon his pain-contracted features ashe sank back and closed his eyes. Beside the bed sat a woman, clad in the shapeless dress of black serge, and wearing the widely projecting white bonnet and cape, black veil, white band across the brow, and beneath the chin, which compose theattire of a sister _de bon secours_. She was one of that community ofself-abnegating women, who, bound by holy vows, devote their lives tothe care of the suffering, and are the most skilful, tender, and zealousnurses that France affords. Just beyond the good "sister" stood a young man, poring over a piece ofpaper, which had the appearance of a medical prescription: aspirited-looking youth, whose harmonious and intellectual cast offeatures was heightened to rare beauty by richly mellow coloring, andthe silken curves of a beard and moustache unprofaned by arazor, --curves softly traced above the fresh, rubious lips, andgracefully deepening about the cheeks and chin, --curves that disappearforever when the civilized barbarism of shaving has been accepted. He came forward when M. De Bois entered, and accosted him in an earnest, rapid tone. "I hope, sir, you are a friend of this gentleman. Am I right in mysupposition?" "Yes--yes--what--what has happened?" asked M. De Bois, his countenanceplainly betokening his alarm. "I occupy the adjoining apartment, " continued the stranger. "My name isWalton. Three nights ago I was startled by the sound of some objectfalling heavily near my door, followed by a deep groan. I found thisgentleman lying on the ground, apparently insensible. I carried him intohis chamber, laid him upon the bed, and summoned the _concierge_. Thename inscribed upon her book is the Viscount Maurice de Gramont, and hislast residence the château of his father, Count Tristan de Gramont, inBrittany, near Rennes. I took upon myself the responsibility of callinga physician, --Dr. Dupont, --and, through his advice, of engaging thisgood 'sister, ' one of the '_soeurs de bon secours_, ' as a nurse. Dr. Dupont wrote to his patient's father; but no answer has been received. Ihave been with your friend very constantly. You perceive he has a ragingfever; he talks a great deal, but too incoherently to be able to answerany questions or to give any directions. " This information was communicated with a quick, energetic intonation, while the speaker stood fanning Maurice, and preventing the hand whichhe flung about from striking against the wall. There was a confidentrapidity in the stranger's movements, a vigorous manliness andself-dependence in his bearing, strikingly dissimilar to the deportmentwhich usually characterizes young Parisians at the same age. Though hespoke the French language with fluent correctness, a slightly foreignaccent betrayed to M. De Bois that he was not a native of France. Gaston thanked him as warmly as his troublesome impediment permitted, and said that he would himself write to the Count de Gramont. Then, bending over his friend, took his hot, unquiet hand, and spoke to himagain and again. His voice failed to touch any chord of memory and causeit to vibrate in recognition. Maurice was muttering the same word overand over; Gaston hardly needed to bow his head to catch the imperfectsound; he knew, before he heard distinctly, that it was the name of"Madeleine. " "Had you not better write your letter _immediately_?" asked youngWalton. "Will you walk into my room? I do not see any writing materialshere. Mine are at your service. " Gaston, as he followed the stranger into the adjoining chamber, couldnot but be struck by the easy, off-hand, decided manner in which hespoke, and the promptitude with which he desired to accomplish the workto be done. Mr. Walton's sitting-room, which was separated from his bed-chamber, wasmuch larger than the apartment of Maurice. It had an air of greatcomfort, if not of decided elegance, and testified to the literary andartistic taste of its occupant. The walls were decorated with finephotographic views, and some early efforts in painting. Here stood aneasel, holding an unfinished picture; there an open piano; further on aconvenient writing-table; in the centre another table covered with booksand portfolios; materials for writing and sketching were scattered aboutwith a bachelor's disregard for order. "I will clear you a space here, " said he, sweeping the contents of onetable upon another, already overburdened. "Everything is in confusion;for I have been working at odd moments. I could not make up my mind togo to the studio. I would not leave that poor fellow until somebodyclaimed him. What an interesting face he has! If he were only better, Iwould make a sketch. His countenance is just my beau ideal of the youngSaxon knight in a historical picture I am painting. A man always findsmaterials for art just beneath his hand, if he only has wit and thriftto stoop and gather them as he goes. But I fear I am interrupting you. Make yourself at home. I will leave you while you are writing. Really, Icannot express how glad I am that you have come at last. I have beenlooking for you--that is, for somebody who knew M. De Gramont--everymoment for two days. " After drawing back the curtains to give M. De Bois more light, andglancing around to see that he was supplied with all he could require, the young artist returned to the apartment of Maurice. Ronald Walton was born of South Carolinian parents, --their only child. His boyhood was not passed in a locality calculated to develop artisticinstincts, nor had his education afforded him artistic advantages, norhad he been thrown into a sphere of artistic associates; yet from thetime his tiny fingers could hold brush or pencil he had seized uponengravings of romantic scenery, copied them upon an enlarged scale, andpainted them in oil, to the astonishment of his parents and friends. When his young companions extracted enjoyment from fish-hook and gun, and hilariously filled game-bags and fishing-baskets, he sat quietlydrinking in a higher, more humane delight before his easel. Thesetastes, as they strengthened, caused his father, though a liberal andcultivated man, severe disappointment. At times he was even disposed toplace a compulsory check upon his son's artist proclivities; but thesoft, persuasive voice of the gentle, refined, clear-sighted motherinterposed. She had made the most loving study of her child's character, and had faith in his fitness for the vocation he desired to adopt. Shepleaded that his obvious gift might be tested, and proved spurious orgenuine, before it was trampled under foot as unworthy of recognition;and her heart-wisdom finally prevailed. Ronald was sent to Paris to study under a distinguished master. Duringthree years he had made golden use of his opportunities. He wasremarkable among his fellow-students for his indomitable perseverance, and his power of concentrating all his thoughts upon his work. Heexperienced a desire to attain excellence for _its own sake_, not forthe petty ambition of _excelling others_. Thus he became very popularamong his associates, and excited their admiration without everawakening the jealousies of wounded self-love. Though he had determinedto devote his life to art, from the conviction that it was the vocationfor which he came commissioned from the Creator's hand, there wasnothing morbid in his passion for his profession. It was a healthy loveof the beautiful in outward form, springing from the love of all whichthe beautiful typifies, combined with a strong impulse to represent andperpetuate the haunting images of varied loveliness which constantlyfloated through his brain. The young Carolinian was called an enthusiast even by his Frenchfellow-students, with whom enthusiasm is an inheritance; but hisenthusiasm was allied to a severely critical taste, --a rare combination;and being grafted upon the tree of _practicability_, indigenous to thesoil of his young country, it brought down his ideal conceptions intoactual execution. The philosopher of the present day scouts at _enthusiasm_; but whatagent is half so mighty in giving the needful spur to genius? Enthusiasmkindles a new flame in the chilled soul when the ashes of disappointmenthave extinguished its fires; enthusiasm reinvigorates and braces thespirit that has become weary and enervated in the oppressive atmosphereof uncongenial _entourage_; enthusiasm is the cool, refreshing breeze ofa warm climate and the blazing log of a cold. Ronald's unexhaustedenthusiasm was the secret fountain whose waters nourished laurels forhim in the gardens of success. M. De Bois, when he had concluded his letter, found the art-student atthe bedside of Maurice. "I will post your letter, if you please, " said Ronald; "then I will makea moment's descent into the studio, or some of those noisy madcaps willbe rushing here after me. I will return, however, before long, if youhave no objection. " Hardly waiting for M. De Bois's courteous, but rather slowly-expressedacknowledgment, he hurried away. For a couple of hours Gaston sat beside Maurice, listening to hisindistinct ravings, and tracing out that striking likeness to acountenance he had studied too closely for his own peace. Now and thenhe exchanged a word or two with the good "sister, " as she moistened thelips, or bathed the brow of the sufferer. The doctor came, but pronounced his patient no better, and threw out ahint that he had some fears the fever was taking the form of typhus;adding a warning in regard to the danger of infection. That intelligencehad no influence upon Gaston, who resolved to pass as many hours aspossible with his friend. Nor did it affect Ronald Walton, when hereturned and heard the physician's verdict. The two young men for the next four days alternately shared the dutiesof the holy "sister. " The postal arrangements between Paris and Rennes chanced, at thatmoment, to be very imperfect; the letter of Dr. Dupont never reached itsdestination, and that of M. De Bois was delayed on its route. It was notuntil the fifth day after it was posted that Count Tristan, who obeyedthe summons with all haste, arrived in Paris. His son had never onceevinced sufficient consciousness to recognize Gaston de Bois, but, theinstant the count was ushered into the room, was seized with a fit offrenzy, and broke forth in a torrent of reproaches, upbraided his fatherwith the ruin and death of Madeleine, charged him with having wroughtthe destruction of his own son, and warned him that he had brought utterdesolation upon his ancestral home. Dr. Dupont, who entered the room during this paroxysm, suggested to thecount the propriety of withdrawing. The latter, although every wordMaurice uttered inflicted a deadly pang, could not, at first, be inducedto tear himself away. The doctor was resolute in pronouncing hissentence of banishment, and declared that the viscount's life might bethe sacrifice if he were subjected to further excitement. We will not attempt to portray the poignant sufferings of the count, who, in spite of his wiliness and worldliness, was passionately attachedto his only child, --the central axis upon which all his hopes, hisschemes, his whole world moved. Several times, while the invalid was sleeping, his father ventured tosteal into the chamber; but, by some strange species of magnetism, hisvery sphere seemed to affect the slumberer, who invariably awoke, andrecognized, or partially recognized him, and burst out anew in violentdenunciations, to which respect would never have allowed him to giveutterance, except under the stimulus of delirium. The count writhed andshrank beneath the fierce stabbing of those incisive words, and, in hisungovernable grief, flung himself beside the son, whom he feared deathwould shortly snatch from his arms, pouring forth assurances Mauricewould once have hailed as words of life, but which now fell powerlessupon his unheeding ears. While Count Tristan's overwhelming anguishlasted, there was no promise he would not have made to purchase hisson's restoration, and no promise he would not have broken, if interestprompted, when the peril was past. After one of these agitating interviews, the doctor's edict entirelyclosed the door of the patient's chamber against the count, who wasforced to admit the wisdom of the order. Gaston de Bois and Ronald Walton, between whom a pleasant intimacy wasspringing up, continued to watch by the bed of Maurice. Anotherfortnight passed, and though he lay, as it were, in a grave of fire, thedoctor's prediction of typhus fever was not verified. At the expirationof this period, Ronald was the first to notice a favorable change, andto discover that the invalid had lucid intervals which showed his reasonwas reascending her abdicated throne. But he abstained from pointing outthe improvement to Gaston, fearing that, in his joy, he mightcommunicate the consolatory intelligence to the count, who would theninsist upon seeing his son, and possibly reproduce the evil results bywhich his former visits had been attended. Maurice had ceased to moan and mutter, and lay motionless as onethoroughly exhausted. He slept much, waking for but a few moments, andsinking again into a species of half-lethargy. There was somethinginexpressibly sweet and pleasant in his present calmness; his mindseemed to have been mysteriously soothed and satisfied; the turbulentwaves, that dashed him hither and thither against the sharp rocks ofdoubt and fear, had subsided. His features, especially when he slept, wore an expression of the most serene contentment. The _soeur de bon secours_, who had watched him through the night, hadyielded her place to the "sister, " who assumed the office of nurseduring the day. Gaston entered soon after, and, finding the patientgently slumbering, sat down beside his bed. After a time, Mauricestirred, drew a long breath, and slowly opened his eyes. They met thoseof his watcher. For some time the invalid gazed at him without speaking, and then said, in a tone that was hardly audible, -- "M. De Bois. " "My dear Maurice--dear friend--you are better, --you know me at last, "exclaimed Gaston, joyfully. "I knew you before; you have been the most faithful of friends andnurses. I knew you quite well, and I knew _her_ too!" Gaston bounded from his chair, breathing so hard that he could scarcelystammer out, "Her! who--o--o--om do you me--e--ean?" "Madeleine, " replied Maurice, confidently. "Mademoiselle Mad--ad--adeleine; you are dream--eaming!" "No! I thought so at first, and the dream was so sweet that I would notbreak it by word or motion, fearing that I should discover it was notreality. But it was no _dream_. Night after night, --how many I do notknow--I could not count, --I have seen Madeleine beside me! When the good'sister' moved about the room, in the dim light of the _veilleuse_, inspite of her coarse, unshapely garb, I recognized the outlines ofMadeleine's form; notwithstanding the uncouth bonnet, and the whitebandage that concealed her hair and brow, and, passing beneath her chin, almost hid her face, I recognized the features of Madeleine. I watchedher as she glided about the room, and with her delicate, noiseless, rapidly moving touch created the most perfect order around her. I heardher as she softly sang sweet anthems, and I could not mistake the voiceof Madeleine. I felt her hand, her cool, fresh, velvety hand, upon myburning forehead, and it soothed me deliciously. I lay with closed eyesas she bathed my temples, and passed her fingers through my hair toloosen its tangles. I was afraid of frightening her away, or finding Isaw but a vision. The water she held to my lips was nectar; when shesmoothed my pillow, all pain passed from the temples that rested uponit, throbbing with agony before, and I sank into a sweet slumber, --notunconscious slumber: I knew that I was sleeping; I knew that Madeleinesat there, filling the place of the sister of charity; I knew that whenI opened my eyes I should see her, --_and I did_, again and again. Inever once spoke to her; I feared some spell would be broken if Ibreathed her name. In the morning she disappeared; but I knew she wouldcome again at midnight, when all was quiet, and the light was carefullyshaded. M. De Bois, my dear Gaston, I tell you _I have seen Madeleine!_" M. De Bois sat still, looking too much astounded to utter a word. "I see you cannot believe me, " Maurice continued. "She never came whileyou were here, and so you think it is a dream. A happy dream! a dreamfull of the balm of Gilead! for she has cured me! My brain was a burningvolcano until her hand was laid upon my brow, and I gazed in her face, and knew it was no phantom. Do not look so much distressed, my dearGaston. I am perfectly in my senses. " M. De Bois did not contradict him. Perhaps he remembered the good ruleof never opposing a sick man's vagaries. After a pause he said, -- "Maurice, since you are quite yourself, would you not like to see yourfather?" The wan face of Maurice flushed slightly. "Is he here?" "Yes, he has been here for more than a fortnight. The doctor forbade hisentering. Will you not see him now?" The invalid assented languidly. He had perhaps spoken too much andovertaxed his strength. The joy of Count Tristan was deep and voiceless when he was once morepermitted to embrace his son. He was so fearful of touching upon somepainful chord, and of again hearing those frantic ravings, that he hadno language at his command. Maurice, in a faint tone, inquired after hisgrandmother and Bertha, and then seemed too weary to prolong theconversation. Glad at heart, as the count could not but feel, at thewonderful improvement in his son, he was ill at ease in his presence, and seemed always to have some haunting dread upon his mind. It was arelief when the doctor forbade his patient to converse, and hinted thatthe count should make his visits very brief. The next day, when M. De Bois entered, Maurice greeted him in a mournfultone. "She did not come last night. I watched for her in vain. The 'sister, 'yonder, went as usual at midnight, and came back in the morning; but, during the night, a stranger took her place. " What could M. De Bois answer? He gave a sigh of sympathy, but did notattempt to make any comment. "She knows perhaps that my father is here, and she will come no more forfear of being discovered. But I have _seen her_, Gaston! I know I haveseen her! I could not have lived if I had not. And her countenance wasnot sad, --it wore a look of patient hope that lent a glory to her face. The very remembrance of that saint-like expression put to shame thedespair to which I have yielded. " "I--I--I--am"-- M. De Bois could get no further. If he meant to use any argument topersuade Maurice that it was only a vision, conjured up by his feveredimagination, which he had seen, the attempt would have been vain. Maurice clung to the belief that he had really beheld Madeleine, andthat conviction soothed, strengthened, and reanimated him. CHAPTER XIII. WEARY DAYS. Up to this period of his life the vigorous constitution of Maurice hadsuffered no exhausting drain. His habits had been so regular, his modeof life so simple, that his fine _physique_ had been untrifled with, uninjured. As a natural sequence, the first inroads made upon itsstrength were rapidly repaired. The fever once conquered, in a week hewas sufficiently convalescent to walk out, leaning on the arm of Gastonde Bois, or Ronald Walton. His gait was feeble, his form attenuated, hiscountenance had lost its ruddy glow, --the lines had sharpened untiltheir youthful, healthful roundness was wholly obliterated; but thenervous, untranquil expression had passed away from his face, and therestless glancing from side to side had left his eyes. Through thestimulating medium of fresh air and gentle exercise he gathered newvitality, and the promise of speedy restoration was daily confirmed. His favorite resort was the _atelier_ of the celebrated master underwhose direction Ronald was studying his art. Seated in the comfortablearm-chair devoted to the use of models, Maurice often remained forhours, watching the busy brushes and earnest faces, among which thegenius-lighted countenance of the young Carolinian shone conspicuously. On one of these occasions, after sitting for some time lost in thought, when he chanced to turn his head Ronald surprised him by crying out, -- "My dear fellow, don't move! Keep that position another moment, --willyou? I am making a sketch of your head. It has just the outline I wantfor my Saxon Knight after the battle. " Maurice could not but smile at this evidence of the national trait ofthe young American, who seized upon every material within his reach forthe advancement of his art. Ronald's words, too, struck him, --"After thebattle!" Well might he resemble one who had passed through a severeconflict; but it was also one who was prepared to fight valiantly anew, and not disposed to succumb to the army of adverse circumstances arrayedagainst his peace. It was not possible for a young man, endowed with the impressibletemperament of Maurice, to be thrown into constant communication withan associate as full of vigorous activity as Ronald Walton, withoutbeing stirred and inspired by the contact. The force, decision, aptitude, promptness, which distinguished Ronald, had constituted him asort of prince among his fellow-students, who gave him the lead in alltheir united movements, without defining to themselves his claim tosupremacy. Ronald's character was not free from imperfections; but itsvery faults were essentially national, --were characteristics of that"fast-running nation" which is "indivertible in aim, " and incredulous ofthe existence of the unattainable. His dominant failing was aself-dependence, which, in a weaker nature, would have degenerated intoself-sufficiency, but just stopped short of that complacent, puerileegotism, which narrows the mind, and rears its own opinions upon ajudgment-seat to pronounce verdicts upon the rest of the world. He neverdoubted his ability to scale any height upon which he fixed his eyes; helaughed at obstacles; he did not believe in impossibilities; what anyother man could accomplish, that he had an internal conviction he mightalso achieve; and he held the faith of the poet-queen that all men werepossible heroes. These attributes were precisely those most calculated to impress andcharm Maurice, and he regarded Ronald with unbounded admiration, mingledwith a sickening sense of regret when he reflected upon the trammelswhich reined in the ready impulses and crushed the instinctiveaspirations which were wrestling within himself. Count Tristan, as soon as his son was sufficiently restored to travel, suggested that he should return with him to Brittany; but Mauricebetrayed such uncompromising reluctance to this proposal that his fatherthought it wise not to press the point. Though the count had escaped a calamity, which even to contemplate hadalmost driven him out of his mind, --though his son's life was spared, and his restoration to vigorous health assured, --at times the fatherfelt as if that son were lost to him forever. An inexplicable reservehad risen up and thrust them asunder. In the count's presence Mauricewas always abstracted and pensive; he uttered no complaints, made nopetitions. He had come to the conclusion that both were useless; but hisopinions and wishes were no longer frankly, boldly, iterated. He and hisfather stood upon different platforms, with an invisible, but aninsurmountable barrier looming up between them. Count Tristan, albeitirritated, galled, grieved, could discover no mode of reëstablishing theolden footing. After spending a month in Paris, he returned toBrittany, his mind filled with discomforting forebodings, to which hecould give no definite shape. Maurice was once more left in the great, gay capital, his ownmaster, --at liberty to plunge into whatever sea of dissipation, to floatidly down whatever tide of pleasure lured him. But he wronged himselfwhen he warned his father, some months previous, that if he weredebarred from studying a profession, he might seek excitement, oroblivion, in impure channels, and waste his exuberant energies indegrading pastimes. He spoke on the spur of some vague, restless impulsewithin him, that clamored for an outlet; but he misjudged himself inimagining that he could be compelled to drown the memory of hisdisappointment in the wine-cup, the vortex of the gaming-table, or themore fearful maelstrom of siren allurements. To a young heart which hasnot been sullied by familiar contact with evil, there is no ægis soinvulnerable to the assaults of those deadly enemies, who make theirattacks in the fascinating garb of licentious liberty, as a strong, pure, life-absorbing attachment. He who wears the shield of a first, stainless affection, carries Ithuriel's spear in his hand, and, at asingle touch, the sensual enchanter in his path, however resplendent itsdisguise, drops the fair-featured mask and shining mantle, and standsrevealed in native hideousness. The image of Madeleine, ever present toMaurice, drew around him a protecting circle which nothing vile couldenter, and, wherever his own eyes turned, it seemed to him that herheavenly eyes followed. Could he profane their holy gaze by fixing hisupon scenes of captivating degradation and rose-crowned vice? Day after day, as his strength returned, it was but natural that heshould grow more and more weary of monotonous indolence, and more andmore impatient to escape from its depressing, deadening thraldom. Thehappy change, which a settled occupation had effected in Gaston de Bois, seemed to add to the discontent of his friend. Sometimes he was on thepoint of starting for Brittany, and making a fresh appeal to his father;then he was withheld by the dread that an angry discussion would be theonly sequence. He knew that his father's pride, sustained by that of hisgrandmother, was unconquerable, and that the sentence, which condemnedhim to a dreary, inert, and profitless existence, would only bepronounced upon him anew. Since his illness he had entirely abandoned his vain search forMadeleine. He always felt as though he had seen her, albeit, when heattempted to reflect upon the likelihood that she had actually satbeside his couch, and watched over him during his illness, reasonessayed to efface the impression which could hardly have been made bythe fingers of reality. Even granting that Madeleine, on leavingBrittany, had joined the sisterhood, and proposed to devote her life toholy offices, for which she was richly dowered by nature, was there nota novitiate to be passed? How could she so soon have entered upon hersacred duties? And if by some mysterious dispensation she had beenabsolved from the probation of a novice, how could she have learned thathe was ill? How could she have come to him so promptly? Was it probablethat Mr. Walton, an entire stranger, had, by mere accident, selected anurse from the very society which she had joined? These questions, andothers equally difficult to answer, sprang up constantly in his mind, and found no satisfactory solution. Yet the conviction that he hadactually beheld her remained unshaken. Bertha had been apprised by her aunt of the dangerous illness ofMaurice, and had written to him when he was unable to read her letters. As soon as he was convalescent, they were placed in his hands. "My dear Gaston, write a line to my cousin for me, " begged Maurice, feeling that he had not strength to reply, and little dreaming what athrill of joy ran through Gaston's frame at that request. M. De Bois wrote, --wrote with an eloquence that could never have foundutterance through his tongue. If we may judge from the number of times Bertha perused that letter, orif we may draw an inference from her wearing it about her person(probably that she might be able to refresh her memory with itsinformation concerning her cousin), the epistle was either verydifficult of comprehension, or it had some witching spell which drew hereyes irresistibly to its cabalistic characters. She had not recovered her wonted buoyancy. Beneath her uncle's roof shepined for Madeleine hardly less than at the Château de Gramont. The Marquis de Merrivale, her guardian, was a bachelor. The chief objectof his existence was an endeavor to "take life easy, " and guard himselffrom all vexations and discomforts. His next aim was to pamper thecravings of an epicurean appetite, but always with such judiciousministry that his digestive organs might not be impaired thereby. He wasgood-natured on principle, because it was too much trouble to getexcited and vexed. His equanimity was seldom disturbed, save by hiscook's failure in the concoction of a favorite dish. Count Tristan had drawn largely on his invention when he informed theMarchioness de Fleury that Bertha's uncle was exceedingly tenacious ofhis rights, and jealous of the interference of his niece's relatives inregard to any future alliance she might form. The marquis never dreamedof troubling his brain with such a minor matter as matrimony. He wasinclined to be governed entirely by Bertha's predilection, --to leave theaffair wholly to her, throwing off the trouble with the responsibility. He could have no objection to see her affianced to the Duke deMontauban, --he would have had none to her union with Maurice de Gramont. He found it sufficient pleasure to have his bright-faced niece sittingopposite to him at table, so long as she was gay and had a goodappetite. If he had thwarted her wishes he would have accused himself ofmaking a base, unkinly attempt to injure her digestion by causing herannoyance. He considered himself quite incapable of so unworthy, soharmful so cruel an action. When she returned from the Château de Gramont, he was discomposed atfinding that she brought back a clouded visage, and seemed perfectlyindifferent to the choicest dainties which he caused to be set beforeher as the most striking mark of his affection. Indeed, he became souncomfortable when she rejected these delicate attentions day after day, that his mind was gradually prepared to look favorably upon aproposition which Bertha had resolved to make. She had been at home about a month; they were dining, --that is, heruncle was enjoyingly partaking of the meal that rounded his day, whileBertha's fork played with the oyster _paté_ on her plate, dividing itinto tiny bits, but never lifting one to her mouth. The marquis, afterdescanting warmly upon the excellence of the _paté_, which he highlyrelished, interrupted his eulogium by saying, -- "My dear child, you have not tasted a morsel of this incomparable_paté_! It is a triumph of culinary art! If you will just oblige me bytouching a small piece to your lips; the paste is so light it willmagically melt! Really, you _must eat_!" "I cannot, uncle. " "Try, try; it disturbs me greatly to see you sitting there looking sogloomy. It will really hurt my digestion, and that would be a frightfulcalamity. Don't you like Lucien's cooking? I think him a treasure; butif you cannot relish what he prepares he shall receive his dismissal. " "I dare say I should like the cooking in Paris better than any other, "remarked Bertha, treacherously assailing her uncle in his vulnerablepoint. "Paris! what are you talking about? We cannot have our dinners sent fromParis and kept warm on the road, --can we?" "But we might go to Paris and take our dinners, " she rejoined, coaxingly. "Bless my heart! What an idea! It is a day's journey! Think of thetrouble and discomfort of getting there!" "Think of the new inventions of the Parisian _cuisine_; for they inventnew dishes, my Cousin Maurice has told me, as often as they originatenew fashions for dress. There are abundance of novel dishes every dayissuing from the brains of accomplished cooks, --dishes of which you havenever even heard. You really ought to taste some of them. " "That's a consideration, --positively it is. I must reflect upon it!"replied her uncle. "And Maurice seems to cling to the idea that my CousinMadeleine"--continued Bertha. "There, there, my dear; that will do! don't touch on that unpleasantsubject, especially at dinner; it will certainly injure your digestiveorgans, and give you the blues for the rest of the day. I assure you, mychild, all low spirits come from indigestion. I am convinced indigestionis one great cause of all the sadness and sorrow, and, I dare say, ofall the sin in the world. " "It seems to me change of air must be very beneficial, " replied Bertha, recovering from the false step she had been on the point of making. "Very wisely remarked! Change of air is beneficial, and gentle exerciseis beneficial: both stimulate the digestive faculties and keep up theirhealthy action. And you really think, my dear, you would like to tastesome of those new Parisian dishes?" "I should indeed!" "Then you shall. I look upon it as criminal, in the present low state ofyour appetite, to thwart its faintest craving. Of course we cannotprocure anything fit to sustain nature on the road to Paris, but I canmake Pierre pack up a basket of refreshments, and a bottle of old wine, so that we shall not be poisoned on the way. If we can only make thejourney comfortably, I have no objection to investigate the gastronomicnovelties of which you have heard. I could take Lucien with us, that hemight learn some new mysteries in his art. " "To be sure you could. When shall we start, dear uncle? I am so anxiousto go! When shall we start?" "There! there! Don't get excited about it; that will interfere with thegastric juices. Let us conclude our dinner quietly. Try a wing of thatpheasant, while we discuss the matter with wholesome calmness. " Bertha allowed herself to be helped to the wing, and tried to force downa few morsels for the sake of humoring the generously inclined _bonvivant_, who grew more and more genial and amiably disposed as he sippedhis Château Margaux. Fine wine invariably had a softening, expansiveeffect upon his character, and, after a few glasses, he honestly lookedupon himself as one of the most tender-hearted, soberly inoffensive, andmorally disposed of mortals. If Bertha had openly proposed to him that they should spend a few weeksin Paris for the gratification of any praiseworthy intention of her own, or of any harmless whim, he would have unhesitatingly refused, andopposed any number of objections to the proposition; but she hadintroduced the subject in its most favorable light, and was sure of avictory. A few days later, the Marquis de Merrivale and his niece, attended byher maid, his valet and cook, were on their way to the metropolis. Themarquis, having instituted many inquiries with the view of discoveringwhat hotel rejoiced in the possession of the most scientific cook, concluded to engage a suite of apartments at the hotel _des TroisEmpereurs_. The meeting between Bertha and Maurice was as full of tenderness asthough they had been in reality what their strong family resemblancecaused them to appear, brother and sister. "No word from Madeleine yet?" was Bertha's first inquiry, --hardly aninquiry, for she knew what the answer must be. Then Maurice told her of the _soeur de bon secours_ who had sat by hisbed night after night. "Could it really have been Madeleine?" she asked, breathlessly. "M. De Bois seems to think not; yet I am unshaken in my conviction thatit was she herself. " "But why did you not speak to her?" "A feeling which I can scarcely define withheld me. At first I thought Iwas dreaming, and that the dream would be broken if I spoke or moved. Then I felt sure Madeleine was there, but that she believed herselfunrecognized, and if I showed that I knew her she would leave me, --leaveme when I could not follow, and must again have lost all trace of her. It was such a luxury, such a joy to feel her by my side! It was herpresence and not the skill of the physician which restored me. " "And you never once betrayed yourself?" "No. What seems most singular is that from the very day I mentioned toM. De Bois that I had seen her, she came no more. Yet how could she havelearned, or divined, that I knew her?" "That circumstance, dear Maurice, makes it all look like a dream. Assoon as the fever left you the phantom it conjured up disappeared. " Maurice shook his head, unconvinced, and Bertha was too willing to bedeceived herself to attempt to persuade him that he was in error. The Marquis de Merrivale now entered. Maurice, whom he had only knownslightly, rose in favor when the epicure found that the young Parisiancould give all requisite information concerning the best restaurants inParis; and the viscount reached a higher summit of esteem, when hepromptly promised to put Lucien _en train_ to familiarize himself withcertain valuable culinary discoveries. Maurice knew enough of thecharacter of the marquis to be confident that his stay in the metropoliswould be determined by the amount of comfort he enjoyed, and the qualityof the dinners set before him. Bertha's next visit was from M. De Bois, and could she have banishedfrom her mind a vague impression that he loved Madeleine, or was belovedby her, the interview would have afforded her unmitigated happiness. M. De Bois had not yet gained sufficient mastery over himself to commandhis utterance in the presence of the woman who had most power to confusehim. He still stammered painfully; but he could not help remarking that, even as Madeleine had said, Bertha finished his broken sentences, apparently unaware that she was doing so. And her greeting, surely ithad been far from cold. And did she not say, with a soft emphasis whichit almost took away his breath to hear, that it seemed an age since theymet? Had she then felt the time long? And did she not drop someinvoluntary remark concerning the dulness of Brittany after he andMaurice left? Had she not coupled him with her cousin? Might he not dareto believe that Madeleine was right, and Bertha certainly did not scornhim? CHAPTER XIV. DIAMONDS AND EMERALDS. "I wish you would go, Maurice. Do, for my sake!" pleaded Bertha, twisting in her slender fingers a note of invitation. "The Marquis deFleury was one of the first persons who called upon my uncle, and hemade a very favorable impression. Then Madame de Fleury has nearlycrushed me beneath an avalanche of sweet civilities. I fancy that ahumming-bird drowned in honey must experience sensations very similar tomine in her presence. Is it not the Chinese who serve as the greatest ofdelicacies a lump of ice rolled in hot pastry? The condiment with whichshe feeds my vanity reminds me of this singular and paradoxical dainty. If you penetrate the warm, sugared, outer crust, you find ice within. But, as my uncle does not anticipate Chinese diet at the table of themarchioness, he desires me to accept her invitation; and, as you areinvited, I wish _you_ to do the same, that I may have some familiar facenear me. " "Gaston de Bois will be there, " returned Maurice, "and so will the youngAmerican student, Ronald Walton, whom I presented to you; they are mydearest friends; pray let them represent me, little cousin. " But Bertha was obstinate; her character had a strong tincture ofwilfulness, the result of invariably having her pleasure consulted, andalways obtaining her own way. She did not relinquish her entreatiesuntil Maurice, who had not lived long enough to be skilled in the art ofsuccessfully denying the petition of a person who will take no refusal, or of plucking the waspish sting out of a "no, " consented to be presentat the dinner. The Marquis de Fleury had learned, through his secretary, thatMademoiselle Merrivale and her guardian were in Paris. Though thematrimonial proposition of the marchioness on behalf of her brother, theDuke de Montauban, had been so unfavorably received by Bertha'srelatives in Brittany, and though Bertha herself, when she met the dukeat the Château de Tremazan, had treated him somewhat coldly, the youngduke was too much enamored of the fair girl herself, --to say nothing ofa tender leaning towards her attractive fortune, --to be discouraged by apassing rebuff. His relatives hailed the anticipated opportunity ofmaking the acquaintance of Bertha's guardian, and were prompt in payingtheir devoirs. An invitation to dine followed quickly on the footstepsof the visit. We pass over the days that preceded the one appointed for the dinnerparty; they were unmarked by incidents which demand to be recorded. The bond of intimacy between Ronald and Maurice was drawn closer andcloser each day. Little by little the latter had communicated thehistory of his own trials; his father's determined opposition to hisembracing a professional career; his attachment to Madeleine; herunaccountable rejection of his hand; her sudden disappearance, and themad pursuit, which terminated by casting him insensible at Ronald'sdoor, and brought to his succor one who not only watched beside him withall the devotion of a brother, mingled with the tenderness of womanhooditself, but whose buoyant, healthy tone of mind had infused new hope andvigor into a broken, despondent, prostrate spirit. Ronald Walton was placed in an advantageous position in Paris by thevery fact of being an American. His intellect, talents, manners, person, fitted him to grace the most refined society; and, coming from a landwhere distinctions of rank are not arbitrarily governed by the accidentof birth, but where men are assigned their positions in the social scalethrough a juster, higher, more liberal verdict, the young Caroliniangained facile admission into the most exclusive circles abroad, and eventook precedence of individuals who made as loud a boast of noble bloodand hereditary titles as though the concentrated virtues of all theirancestors had been transmitted to them through these dubious mediums. Ronald, as the intimate friend of Maurice de Gramont, had received aninvitation to the dinner given by the Marchioness de Fleury to therelatives of the viscount. The young men entered Madame de Fleury's drawing-room together, and, after having basked for a few seconds in smiles of meridian radiance, and been inundated by a flood of softly syllabled words, moved away tolet the beams of their sunny hostess fall upon new-comers. Maurice glanced around the room in search of his cousin. "She has just entered the antechamber, " said Ronald, comprehending hislook. "Her Hebe-like face this minute flashed upon me. " While he was speaking, Bertha and her uncle were announced, and advancedtoward their hostess. The low genuflection of the marchioness had been responded to byBertha's unstudied courtesy, and the lips of the young girl had justparted to speak, when she suddenly gave a violent start, and uttered acry as sharp and involuntary as though she had trodden upon somepiercing instrument. As she tottered back, her dilated eyes were fixedupon Madame de Fleury in blank amazement. "What is it, my dear? Are you ill?" asked her uncle with deep concern. Bertha did not reply, but still gazed at the marchioness, or rather hereyes ran over the lady's toilet, and she clung to her uncle's arm asthough unable to support herself. "I am afraid you really are ill, " continued the Marquis de Merrivale. "Something has disagreed with you; it must have been the truffles withwhich that pheasant we had for _déjeuner_ was stuffed. I toyed with themvery timidly myself. " "Pray sit down, my dear Mademoiselle de Merrivale, " said Madame deFleury, leading her to a chair which stood near. "Sit down while I orderyou a glass of water. " She turned to address a servant, but Bertha stretched out her hand, almost as though she feared to lose sight of her. "Don't go! Don't go!Let me look! Can they be hers? Let me look again!" Madame de Fleury, as unruffled as though these broken exclamations wereperfectly natural and comprehensible, bent over Bertha caressingly, laying the tips of her delicately gloved fingers on her shoulder. Berthawistfully examined the bracelet on the lady's arm, then fixed her eyesupon the necklace, brooch, and ear-rings, and lastly upon the tiara-likecomb, about which the hair of the marchioness was arranged in adexterous and novel manner. Madame de Fleury was gratified, without being moved by the faintestsurprise that her toilet had produced such an overpowering sensation. Bertha's emotion did not appear to her in the least misplaced orexaggerated. "You admire this set of diamonds and emeralds very much, then?" sheasked, complacently. "The _fleur-de-lis_ and shamrock, " faltered Bertha, "where--where didthey come from?" Interpreting the unceremonious abruptness and singularity of thequestion into a spontaneous tribute paid to her costly ornaments, themarchioness graciously answered, -- "This _parure_ was a delicate attention from M. De Fleury. Not longafter he presented these diamonds to me, by a very strange coincidenceVignon sent this dress for my approval. You observe how dexterously thedevice of the necklace is imitated. Can anything be more perfect thanthese lilies and shamrock leaves?" Bertha hastily glanced at the rich white silk robe, trimmed with_revers_ of pale violet, upon which the lilies and shamrock wereembroidered with some species of lustrous thread, which counterfeitednot only the design but the sparkle of the gems. The marchioness wenton, -- "Was it not odd that Vignon, famed as she is for novelties, should havechanced upon a dress which so exactly matched my new set? It quite makesme a convert to the science of animal magnetism. My mind, you see, was_en rapport_ with hers. Indeed she says so herself, for she could nototherwise explain the sudden inspiration which caused her to plan thistrimming. M. De Fleury wanted me to have these jewels set anew; but Iwould not allow them to be touched, --this old-fashioned setting is soremarkable, so unique. Probably there is not another like it to be foundin Paris: _that_ is always vantage ground gained over one'sjewel-wearing adversaries. " The marchioness, once launched upon her favorite stream of talk, wouldhave sailed on interminably, had not the announcement of new guestsfloated her upon another current. "I hope the spasms are going over, my dear, " said the Marquis deMerrivale, who was really distressed by Bertha's supposed illness. "Itwas very clever to divert observation by talking about dresses andjewels; but the truffles did the mischief. I knew well enough what wasthe matter with you. " "No--no; it was those jewels, " replied Bertha, who had not yet recoveredher self-possession. "Those diamonds and emeralds were Madeleine's!" "Madeleine's!" ejaculated Maurice, who had approached her on witnessingher unaccountable agitation. "Good heavens! is it possible?" "Yes, they were Madeleine's, --they were her mother's jewels and had beenin her family for generations. Madeleine showed them to me only a fewnights before she left the Château de Gramont. I am sure of them. Iwould have recognized them anywhere. " "Then at last--at last, oh thank God--we shall trace her! She must havesold those jewels for her support. We must learn from whence Madame deFleury purchased them, " returned Maurice, with a voice trembling withexultation. "Madame de Fleury said they were a _cadeau_ from the marquis, " repliedBertha. "Come, let us find him, --let us ask him at once. " Bertha rose with animation and took her uncle's arm. "Where are you going, my dear? Pray do not excite yourself again, "pleaded her solicitous guardian. "Pray keep cool. Dinner must shortly beserved, and you will not be in a fit state to do justice to thesumptuous repast which I have no doubt awaits us, --some of those novelinventions, perhaps, which you were so anxious to taste. I see peopleare not scrupulously punctual in Paris, --it is ten minutes after thetime. Possibly we are waiting for some guest who has not sufficient goodtaste to remember that viands may be overdone through his culpability. " "I must speak to M. De Fleury, " said Bertha. "Let us get nearer to him, that I may seize the first opportunity when he ceases talking to thatpompous-looking old gentleman who has the left breast of his coatcovered with decorations. " "Well, well, take it quietly--keep cool--don't get your blood into aferment, --that's all I ask. " Her uncle led her across the room, accompanied by Maurice. Diplomat and courtier were inscribed on every line of the wrinkledcountenance of the Marquis de Fleury. He never took a step, or gave alook, or scarcely drew a breath, by which he had not some object toaccomplish, some interest to promote. An oppressive suavity of manner, an exaggerated politeness encased him in an impenetrable armor, andprevented the real man from ever being reached beneath this smoothsurface. Impulses he had none. The slightest motions of his wiry framewere studied. When he walked, he slid along as though he could not beguilty of so positive an action as that of planting his feet firmly uponwhat might prove "delicate ground. " When he bowed, a contraction ofsinews worthy of an _acrobat_ allowed his head to obtain an unnaturalinclination, suggestive of a complimentary deference which humbleditself to the dust and kissed the garment's hem. Straightforwardness inword, thought, or action was to him as incomprehensible as it wasimpossible. He was a great general, ever standing on the political orsocial battle-field; skilful manoeuvres were the glory of hisexistence, and flattery the magical weapon never laid aside by which hegained his victories. Madame de Fleury was thirty years his junior. He had purposely selecteda young, pretty, harmless, well-dressed doll, as the being best suitedto further his ends in the great world. He admired her sincerely. Shereached the exact mental stature and standard which he looked upon asperfection in womanhood, and her absolute despotism in ruling the modesand creeds of the _beau monde_ were to him the highest proof of hersuperiority over the rest of her sex. Though he was engaged in a conversation with the emperor's grandchamberlain, which seemed deeply interesting to both parties, M. DeFleury broke off instantly when Bertha, with her uncle and Maurice, approached. "You are so radiant to night, Mademoiselle de Merrivale, " remarked thecourtier, "that all eyes are fixed upon you. It is cruel of you todazzle the vision of so many admirers!" Bertha, without paying the slightest attention to these fulsome words, replied, "Will you pardon me, M. De Fleury, if I ask an impertinentquestion?" "How could any question from such sovereign lips become other than acondescension? The queen of beauty commands in advance a reply to themost difficult problem which she can propound. " Bertha, with an impatient toss of her head, as though the buzz of thisnonsensical verbiage stung her ears, plunged at once into the subject. "That set of diamonds and emeralds which Madame de Fleury wears to-nightwere presented to her by you. Will you have the goodness to tell me fromwhence you procured them?" For M. De Fleury to have given a direct answer, even in relation to suchan apparent trifle, would have been contrary to his nature; besides, itwas one of his rules not to impart information without learning for whatobject it was sought. "You admire them?" he replied, evasively. "I am delighted, I am charmedwith your approval of my taste. I shall think more highly of it foreverafter. The setting of the jewels is old-fashioned; but Madame de Fleuryfound it so novel that I could not prevail upon her to have itmodernized. " "But you have not told me how the jewels came into your possession. " "Oh, very naturally, very naturally, lovely lady! They were not a fairygift; they became mine by the very prosaic transaction of purchase. " Maurice could restrain himself no longer. "My cousin is particularly desirous of learning through what source youobtained them. She has an important reason for her inquiry. " This explanation only placed the marquis more upon his guard. "Ah, your captivating cousin thinks they look as though they had ahistory? Yes, yes; jewels of that kind generally have. Does the designstrike you as remarkable, Mademoiselle de Merrivale?" "Very remarkable, --and I have seen it before. I could not forget it. Iwished to know"-- Dinner was announced at that moment, and the Duke de Montauban cameforward and offered his arm to Bertha. M. De Fleury, with lavish apologies for the interruption of aconversation which he pronounced delightful, begged the Marquis deMerrivale to give his arm to Madame de Fleury, named to Maurice a younglady whom he would have the goodness to conduct, glided about the roomto give similar instructions to other gentlemen, and, selecting anelderly lady, who was evidently a person of distinction, led the way tothe dining-room. Maurice stood still, looking perplexed and abstracted, and quiteforgetting that he had any ceremonious duty to perform. Ronald, who fromthe time he had watched beside the viscount's sick-bed had notrelinquished his friendly _surveillance_, noticed his absence of mind, and, as he passed him, whispered, -- "My dear fellow, what is the matter? You are dreaming again. Rouseyourself! Some young lady must be waiting for your arm. " "Ronald, " exclaimed Maurice, "something very singular has happened. Madame de Fleury is wearing Madeleine's family jewels!" "Bravo! That is cheering news, indeed! You will certainly be able totrace her now, --never fear! But you must get through this dinner first;so pray collect your scattered senses as expeditiously as possible. " Elated by these words of encouragement, and the hilarious tone in whichthey were uttered, Maurice shook off his musing mood, and proffered hisarm to the niece of Madame de Fleury, whom he now remembered that themarquis had desired him to conduct. During the dinner this young lady pronounced the handsome cavalier, whohad been assigned to her, tantalizingly _distrait_, and secretly wishedthat the artistic _maître d'hôtel_ of her aunt had decorated the tablewith a less novel and attractive central ornament; for it seemed to herthat the eyes of Maurice were constantly turned upon the miniaturecherry-tree, of forced hot-house growth, that rose from a mossy moundin the centre of the festive board. The diminutive tree was covered withsuperb fruit, and girdled in by a circle of Liliputian grape-vines, eachseparate vine trained upon a golden rod, and heavily laden with lusciousgrapes, bunches of the clearest amber alternating with the deepestpurple and richest crimson. Among the mosses of the mound were scatteredthe rarest products of the most opposite seasons; those of the presentseason being too natural to pamper the artificial tastes of luxury. Truly, the arrangement was a charming exemplification of nature madesubservient to art; but was it this magnet to which the eyes of Mauricewere so irresistibly attracted? He chanced to be seated where his viewof the hostess was partially intercepted by the hot-house wonder, and hewas seeking in vain to catch a glimpse of those jewels which had beenMadeleine's. Bertha was placed nearer the marchioness, and the Duke de Montaubancould not help noticing that her gaze was frequently fixed upon hissister; but being one of those men who are thoroughly convinced thatwhat the French term "_chiffons_" is the most important interest of awoman's life, he consoled himself with the reflection that Mademoisellede Merrivale was deeply engrossed by a contemplation of Madame deFleury's elaborate toilet, and that her absent manner had this veryfeminine, reasonable, and altogether to be tolerated apology. When Madame de Fleury and her guests swept back into the drawing-room, Monsieur de Fleury and the grand chamberlain were again closely engagedin some political battle. Maurice, after waiting impatiently for afavorable moment when he might come between the wordy belligerents, whispered to Ronald, -- "I am tortured to death! I shall never get an opportunity to ask themarquis about those jewels. My cousin was questioning him on the subjectwhen dinner was announced; but he seemed to treat her inquiries as of solittle importance that she was quite baffled in obtaining information. " "Why not attack him in a straightforward manner?" answered the positiveyoung American. "Walk up to him and ask plainly for a few moments'private conversation. Give him the reason of your inquiries, and demandan answer. Bring him to the point without any fancy fencing about thesubject. " "I fear it will look very strange, " replied Maurice, hesitating. "What matter? Are you afraid of _looking strange_ when you have a worthyobject to accomplish? The information you need is of more importancethan mere looks. It thoroughly amazes me to see the awe in which agenuine Parisian is held by the dread of appearing singular! One wouldimagine that all originality was felony, and that to catch the samekey-note of voice, to move with the exact motion, and tread in theprecise footprints in which every one else speaks, moves, walks, was theonly evidence of honesty. What is a man's individuality worth, if it isto be trodden out in the treadmill tramp of senseless conventionality?" Maurice glanced at his friend admiringly. He had observed on more thanone occasion that although Ronald was thoroughly versed in all thenicest rules of etiquette, he had a way of breaking through them at hispleasure, and always so gracefully that his waiving of ceremony couldnever be set down to ignorance or ill-breeding. The viscount literally, and without delay, followed his friend's advice, and soon succeeded in drawing M. De Fleury aside. "Permit me to explain to you Mademoiselle de Merrivale's anxiety aboutthose jewels, " said Maurice. "You have, perhaps, heard the name ofMademoiselle Madeleine de Gramont, my cousin on my father's side. Somesix weeks ago she suddenly left the Château de Gramont, and has notcommunicated with her family since. Those jewels were hers. She musthave sold them. We are exceedingly anxious to discover her presentresidence and induce her to return to my grandmother's protection. Ifyou could inform me from whence the jewels came, it would facilitate mysearch. " The marquis had no definite motive for concealment beyond the dictatesof his habitual caution. This explanation satisfied him in regard to thereasons which prompted inquiry; and being desirous of getting rid ofMaurice, and of resuming the conversation he had interrupted, replied, with an assumption of cordiality, -- "It gives me great pleasure to be the medium of rendering the slightestservice to your illustrious family. Those diamonds were brought to me bythe Jew Henriques, from whom I now and then make purchases. I did notinquire in what manner they came into his possession; but, not intendingto be cheated as to their precise worth, I had them taken to Kramer, inthe Rue Neuve St. Augustin, and a value placed upon them. I paidHenriques the price those trustworthy jewellers suggested, instead ofthe exorbitant one he demanded. This is all the information I am able toafford you on the subject. " "May I beg you to favor me with the address of this Henriques?" "Certainly, certainly, with pleasure; but I warn you that you will notget much out of him. He is the closest Israelite imaginable; and agolden ointment is the only '_open sesame_' to his lips. " M. De Fleury wrote Henriques' street and number on his card, and handedit to Maurice. Meantime Gaston de Bois, in spite of the pertinacious attentions of theDuke de Montauban, had approached Bertha, and would have drawn her intoconversation had she not exultingly communicated to him the discoveryshe had made concerning Madeleine's jewels. Was it the sudden mention ofthat name which threw M. De Bois into a state of almost uncontrollableagitation? Why did he flush, and stammer, and try to change the subject, and, stumbling with suppressed groans over his words, as though they hadbeen sharp rocks, talk such unmitigated nonsense? Why did he so soonsteal away from Bertha's side? Why did he not approach her again for therest of the evening? Could it be that her first suspicion was right, andthat he loved Madeleine? If not, why should her name again have causedhim such unaccountable emotion? CHAPTER XV. THE EMBROIDERED HANDKERCHIEF. Maurice lost no time, the next morning, in seeking out the crafty oldJew. Henriques was a vender of jewels that came into his hands throughprivate sources. There was considerable risk in his traffic; for it wasjust possible some of the precious stones transferred to him might havebeen acquired in a manner not strictly legal. Perhaps it was not part ofhis policy to acquaint himself with the history of gems which he boughtat a bargain and reaped an enormous profit in selling; for, when Mauriceendeavored to extract some information concerning the diamonds purchasedby the Marquis de Fleury, the Jew protested entire ignorance in regardto their prior ownership; stating that they were brought to him by oneof his _confréres_, of whom he asked no questions, --that he hadpurchased them at a ruinous price, and resold them to the marquiswithout a centime's benefit: a very generous proceeding on his part, heasserted; adding, with a ludicrous assumption of importance, that hehighly esteemed the marquis, and now and then allowed himself thegratification of favoring him in business transactions. "But the name of the person from whom your friend received the jewels iscertainly on his books, and, however numerous the hands through whichthey may have passed, they can be traced back to their original owner, "observed Maurice. "Not so easily, monsieur, not so easily. Purchaser has nothing to dowith original owner. Jewels worth something, or jewels worthnothing, --that's the point; names of parties holding the articles of noconsequence. " "But you certainly inquire from what source the jewels offered youproceed?" "Never make impertinent inquiries, --never: would drive away customers. If monsieur has any jewels for sale, shall be happy to look at them;disposed to deal in the most liberal manner with monsieur. " "Thank you. My object is simply to discover a friend to whom the jewelsyou sold to the Marquis de Fleury once belonged. It is indispensablethat I should learn through whose hands they came into your possession. " "Ah!" said the cunning Jew, placing his skinny finger on one side of hishooked nose, as if reflecting; then glancing at Maurice out of thecorners of his searching eyes, he asked, "Party would like to bediscovered?--or would said party prefer to remain under the rose?" "Possibly the latter. " "Just so; that gives interest to the enterprise. But when party objectsto being traced, difficulties spring up; takes time to overcome them;always a certain cost. " "If you mean that I shall offer you compensation for your trouble, I amready to make any in my power: name your price. " "Price? price? not to be named so hastily; depends upon time consumed, amount of labor, obstacles party concerned may throw in the way. Otherparties will have to be employed to seek out party who presented himselfwith the jewels; enumeration requisite to induce communicativeness; mayturn out party had the jewels from another party, who obtained them fromanother; shall have to track each party's steps backward to party whowas the original possessor. " "Take your own course. I am unskilled in these affairs, " answeredMaurice, frankly; "all I ask is that you learn for me _where_ the ladywhose family jewels passed through your hands now resides. Name the costof your undertaking. " The wily Jew fastened his keen, speculative eyes upon his anticipatedprey, as he replied, slowly, "Cost?--can't say to a certainty; thousandfrancs do to begin. " He heard the faint sigh, of which Maurice was himself unconscious, anddrew a correct inference. From the hour that the viscount had been made aware of the true state ofCount Tristan's finances, he had reduced all his own expenses, allowedhimself no luxuries, no indulgencies, nothing but the barestnecessities, that his father's narrow resources might not be drainedthrough a son's lavishness. The young nobleman had not at that moment ahundred francs at his own command. He had no alternative but to apply toCount Tristan for the sum required by the Jew. "My means are very limited, " returned Maurice, with a great waste ofcandor. "I must beg you to deal with me as liberally as possible. Theamount you demand I hope to obtain and bring you in a few days. In themeantime you will commence your inquiries. " "Assuredly, --just so; commence putting matters in train at once;possibly may have some clew between thumb and finger when monsieurreturns with the money; nothing to be done without golden keys: unlockall doors; carry one into hidden depths of the earth. Shall be obligedto advance funds to pay parties employed. Have the goodness to writeyour name in this book. " Maurice wrote down his name and address, and took his leave, once moreelated by the belief that he was on the eve of discovering Madeleine'sretreat. The letter to his father written and dispatched, he sought Bertha, andgave her full particulars of his interview with the Jew, delicatelyforbearing to mention the compensation he expected. Bertha, as sanguine of success as her cousin, was gayly discussingprobabilities, when the Marquis de Merrivale entered. "Young heads laid together to plot mischief, I wager!" remarked thenobleman, jocosely; for he was in a capital humor, having just partakenof an epicurean _dejeuner à la fourchette_ at the celebrated "Madrid's. " "We are talking about our Cousin Madeleine. Maurice has a new plan forprosecuting his search, " said Bertha. "Ah, dear Madeleine! Why did sheforsake us so strangely? How could she have had the heart to cause us somuch sorrow?" "My dear child, it was probably her _liver_ not her _heart_ that was infault. Her heart, I dare say, performed its grave duties properly, andshould not be aspersed; some bilious derangement was no doubt at thebottom of her singular conduct. The greatest eccentricities may all betraced back to _bile_ as their origin. Regulate the bile and youregulate the brain from which mental vagaries proceed. If some judiciousfriend had administered to your cousin Madeleine a little salutarymedicine, and forced her to diet for a few days, she would have actedmore reasonably. Talking of diet, that was a princely dinner the Marquisde Fleury set before us. He is really a very able and estimable memberof society, --understands good living to perfection. I cordiallyreciprocate his wish that a lasting bond of union should exist betweenus. His brother-in-law, the young Duke de Montauban, is enchanted withmy little niece. I say nothing: arrange between yourselves; but, by allmeans, marry into a family which knows how to value a good cook; take ayoung man who has had his taste sufficiently cultivated to distinguishof what ingredients a sauce is composed. Don't despise a blessing thatmay be enjoyed three hundred and sixty-five times every year, --that'smy advice. " Bertha had not attached any importance to the attentions of the youngduke; but her manner of receiving this suggestion, --the "half disdain Perched on the pouted blossom of her lip, "-- convinced Maurice that, if she favored any suitor, her inclinations didnot turn towards the duke. "The Duke de Montauban is not ill-looking, " Maurice remarked, to decoyher into some more open expression; "and he is sufficientlyagreeable, --do you not think so?" "I never thought about him, " she replied, somewhat petulantly. "If Ichance to look at him I never think of any one but his tailor and hishairdresser, without whom I verily believe he would have no tangibleexistence. " "An accomplished tailor and a skilful _coiffure_ are all very well intheir way, " observed her uncle; "but a scientific _cook_ is the grandnecessity of a man's life, --a daily need, --the trebly repeated need ofeach day; and the education of a cook should commence in the cradle. Ifthis point received the attention which it deserves from sanitarians, there would be fewer digestive organs out of order, and consequentlyfewer police reports, and a vast diminution of eccentric degradation, and moping madness and suicide, and horrors in general. " Bertha and Maurice did not dispute this sweeping assertion; for theyknew it would entail upon them the necessity of encountering a battalionof arguments, which the marquis delighted to call into action to defendthe ground upon which he took up his favorite position. Count Tristan's reply to Maurice, enclosing a check for the thousandfrancs, was received a few days later. Maurice returned to the Jew withthe money. The latter rejoiced him by vaguely hinting that there was aprospect of successful operation; but the matter would occupy time. Theviscount would be good enough to call again in a week. Maurice was too unsuspicious and too unskilled in transactions of thisnature to doubt that the Jew was dealing with him in good faith. Insteadof a week, he returned the next morning, and repeated his visitsregularly every day. The Jew diligently fanned his hopes, assuring himthat old Henriques was not to be baffled, though the parties throughwhose hands the jewels had passed were almost unapproachable. Very soonthe merciless Israelite notified the young nobleman that further fundswould be requisite, and Maurice writhed under the cruel compulsion whichforced him to make a second application to his father. Bertha had been a fortnight in Paris when the anniversary of herbirthday, which for the first time had been forgotten, was in a singularmanner recalled to her mind. A small package had been received for herat her uncle's residence in Bordeaux, and had been promptly forwarded toParis. The outer cover was directed in the handwriting of her uncle's_concierge_; on the inner, a request, that if Mademoiselle de Merrivalewere absent the parcel might be immediately forwarded to her, waswritten in familiar characters. Bertha had no sooner caught sight ofthem than she cried out, -- "Madeleine! It is the handwriting of Madeleine!" She tore open the paper with trembling hands. There was no note, --not asingle written word, --but before her lay a handkerchief of the finesttexture, and embroidered with the marvellous skill which belonged aloneto those "fairy fingers" she had so often watched. Vainly might we attempt to convey even a faint idea of her tumultuousrapture, --of the tears of ecstasy, the hysterical laughter, the dancingdelight, with which she greeted her uncle and Maurice, who entered a fewmoments after the package was received. She kissed the handkerchiefmoistened with her tears, waved it exultingly over her head, kissed itagain, and wept over it again, while the marquis and her cousin stoodlooking at her in speechless astonishment. "Madeleine! Madeleine! it is from Madeleine!" at last she found voice toejaculate. "See, that is her handwriting, " pointing to the paper cover;"and this is her work; her 'fairy fingers' send me a token on mybirthday. I am seventeen to-day, and no one has remembered it butMadeleine. She thinks of me still; she never forgets any one; she hasnot forgotten me!" Maurice caught up the paper in which the handkerchief had beenenveloped, and with throbbing pulses eagerly examined the handwriting. "See, Maurice, " Bertha continued, joyfully, "in the corner she hasembroidered my name, surrounded by a wreath of forget-me-nots, --for_she_ does not forget. The crest of the de Merrivales is in the oppositecorner; and this, --why this looks like the bracelet I gave her on herlast birthday. How wonderfully she has imitated the knot of pearls thatfastened the golden band! And this corner, Maurice, look, --this is inremembrance of you, --of your birthday token to her. Do you not see thedesign is a brooch, and the device a dove carrying an olive-branch inits mouth, and the word 'Pax' embroidered beneath?" Maurice looked, struggling to repress the emotion that almost unmannedhim. Pointing to the stamp upon the envelope which had contained thehandkerchief, he said, -- "It is postmarked Dresden. " "Dresden? Dresden? Can Madeleine be in Dresden?" returned Bertha. "Ah, uncle, can we not go there at once? We shall certainly find her. Yes, --we must go. I am tired of Paris, --let us start to-morrow. " "Dresden, my dear!" cried her uncle, in a tone of unmitigated disgust. "Why, the barbarians would feed us upon _sour kraut_, and give uspudding before meat! Go to Dresden? Impossible! Not to be thought of!Paris was a wise move, --we have enjoyed the living amazingly; but trustourselves to those tasteless German cooks? We should be poisoned in acouple of days. Keep cool, my dear, or you will make yourself ill bygetting into such a violent state of excitement just after breakfast. How do you suppose the important process of digestion can progressfavorably if your blood is agitated in this turbulent manner?" Bertha was about to answer almost wrathfully, but Maurice interruptedher. "_I_ will go, Bertha. Madeleine must be in Dresden. At last she has sentus a token of her existence, a token of remembrance, thank Heaven!" "Go! go! go at once!" was Bertha's energetic injunction. Maurice pressed her hand tightly, and bowing to the marquis, withoutattempting to utter another syllable, took his leave, carrying with himthe envelope which bore Madeleine's handwriting. After having his passport _viséd_, he returned to his apartment to makerapid preparations for starting that evening. Very soon Gaston de Boisentered, evidently in a state of ill-concealed perturbation. "Mademoiselle Bertha tells me you are going to Dresden. " "Yes, to seek my cousin. Look at the post-stamp upon that envelope. Madeleine is in Dresden. " "How can you be sure of that?" asked Gaston. "She writes from Dresden; can anything be clearer?" returned Maurice, confidently. "It is not clear to me that she is there. I wish I could persuade youagainst taking this jour--our--ourney. " "That is out of the question, Gaston; so spare yourself the trouble ofthe attempt. " "But the journey will be use--use--useless, " persisted M. De Bois. "How can you know that?" inquired Maurice, quickly. "I think so; it is my impression, my conviction. " "It is not mine, and nothing can prevent my making the experiment, "answered Maurice, decidedly. Gaston looked as thoroughly vexed as though he were responsible for therash actions of his friend; but he knew that Maurice was inflexiblewhere Madeleine was concerned, and that all entreaties would be thrownaway unless he could sustain them by some potent reason; and _that_ itwas not in his power to proffer. He made no further opposition, butremained fidgeting about the room in the most distracting manner, hindering the preparations of Maurice, stumbling over articles scatteredon the floor, now and then stammering out a broken, unintelligiblephrase, and altogether seeming wretchedly uncomfortable, yet unwillingto leave until he saw the obstinate traveller in the _fiacre_ whichdrove him to the railway station. CHAPTER XVI. A VOICE FROM THE LOST ONE. A few days after the departure of Maurice for Dresden, the Duke deMontauban made a formal proposal for the hand of Mademoiselle deMerrivale. French etiquette not allowing a suitor the privilege ofaddressing the lady of his love, except through some kindred or friendlymedium, his pretensions were of course made known to Bertha by heruncle. She received the communication with a fretful tapping of herlittle foot, and a toss of her gamboling, golden ringlets, which borewitness to her undisguised vexation and saucy disdain. Theuncompromising manner in which she declined the proposed honor, threwher guardian, who had strengthened himself to enact the part of Cupid'smessenger, by a somewhat liberal repast, into a state of astonishmentwhich threatened alarming disturbance to his laboring digestivefunctions. "Really, my dear, you speak so abruptly that you make me feel quitedyspeptic. What possible objection can you have to the young duke?" "A very slight one, according to the creed which governs matrimonialalliances in our enlightened land, " returned Bertha, pouting through hersarcasm. "My objection is simply that he is not an object of theslightest interest to me. " "But the match is such a suitable one that interest will come after itis consummated, " answered her uncle. "I do not intend to marry upon _faith_, " retorted Bertha; then she brokeout petulantly, "In a word, uncle, I do not intend to marry a man who isso insipid that I could not even quarrel with him; whom I could notthink of seriously enough to take the trouble to dislike; to whom I amso thoroughly indifferent that for me he has no existence out of myimmediate sight. " "There, there; keep cool, my dear. Nobody intends to force you to marryhim. I did not know that it was necessary to be able to dislike a man, and to have a capacity for quarrelling with him, to fit him for theposition of a husband. A very unwholesome doctrine. Emotion isparticularly prejudicial to the animal economy. I thought the cultivatedtaste which the de Fleurys so evidently possess might have some weightwith you. That dinner they gave us was unsurpassable, and"-- "If I am to marry to secure myself superlatively good dinners, I hadbetter unite myself to an accomplished cook at once, " replied Bertha, demurely. "That's very tart, my dear. All acids disagree with me, and youracidulated observations are giving me unpleasant premonitory symptoms. " Bertha noticed that the _bon vivant_ had in reality began to puff andpant as though he were suffering from an incipient nightmare. Being sothoroughly habituated to his idiosyncrasy that she had learned to regardit leniently, she made an effort to recover her good humor, andanswered, -- "I know my kind uncle will not render me uncomfortable by pressing thissubject; but, in the most courteous manner, will let the Duke deMontauban understand that I do not intend to marry at present. " "Make you uncomfortable, " rejoined the marquis, struggling for breath;"of course, I would not for the world! Do you take me for an old brute?And I have just made arrangements to drive you to the _Bois de Boulogne_and dine at Madrid's this evening. A pretty state you would be in to dojustice to a dinner which promises to place in jeopardy the laurels evenof M. De Fleury's cook. " "We will strike a bargain, " returned Bertha, with her wonted gayety. "Ifyou will agree not to mention the Duke de Montauban, I will agree to dojustice to the dinner at Madrid's. " "I am content; we will drop the duke and discuss the dinner. " The attentions of Madame de Fleury's brother to the heiress had been toomarked and open for his suit and its rejection to remain a secret. Gaston de Bois heard Bertha's refusal commented upon, and there was abuzz in his ears of idle speculations concerning the origin of hercaprice. Was it some blissful, internal suggestion, which diffused sucha glow of happiness over his expressive countenance when he next sawBertha? Was it some hitherto uncertain ground of encouragement made surebeneath his feet, which so wondrously loosened his tongue from its direbondage? Was it some aerial hope, taking tangible shape, which impartedsuch an air of ease and elation to his demeanor? Gaston stammered lessevery day, --his impediment disappearing as his self-possessionincreased. On this occasion he was only conscious of a slight difficultyin utterance to rejoice at its existence, for it rendered delightfullyapparent Bertha's thoughtfulness in catching up words upon which hehesitated, and concluding sentences he commenced, as though she readtheir meaning in his eyes. Gaston had not seen her in so buoyant a moodsince they parted at the Château de Gramont. But the tide of herexuberant gayety suddenly ebbed when she noticed the look of pain withwhich he involuntarily responded to one of her chance questions. She hadasked if he thought it probable Maurice would find Madeleine in Dresden. Again that singular expression on his countenance; again that suddenchange of color at Madeleine's name; again that involuntary startingfrom his seat, with a return of the olden habit which placed fragilefurniture in danger! Was it the remembrance that Madeleine was lost tothem which occasioned M. De Bois's sudden depression? Was it anoverwhelming sense of doubt concerning the result of Maurice's mission, which made his response to Bertha's inquiry so vague, his sentences sodisjointed? Once more Bertha asked herself whether he were not, afterall, the lover Madeleine had refused to mention. Yet, if this were thecase, how could Gaston have appeared so much less anxious and lessconcerned at her flight than Maurice, who loved her with unquestionableardor? Why had M. De Bois aided so little in the search for her presenthabitation? The young girl could not reconcile such apparentcontradictions, and while she sat perplexing herself by futile effortsto unravel these mysteries, M. De Bois was equally puzzled to rightlyinterpret her silence and abstraction. The interview which, at its opening, had been as bright as a springmorning, closed with sudden April shadows; and there was an Aprilmingling of smiles and tears upon Bertha's countenance when she retiredto her chamber, after M. De Bois's departure, and pondered over hisstrange expression when her cousin was mentioned. Why, if Madeleine washis choice, was his manner toward herself so full of tenderness? Why wasit that she never glanced at him without finding his eyes fastened uponher face? Why had he so much power to draw her irresistibly towards him?Why did his step set her heart throbbing so tumultuously? Why did hiscoming cause her such a thrill of delight, and his departure leave sucha sense of solitude?--a void that no one else filled, a pain that noother presence soothed. Meantime Maurice had reached Dresden and was searching for Madeleine, almost in the same vague, unreasonable manner that he had sought her inParis. But the mad course upon which he had again started, and whichmight have once more unbalanced his mind, met with a sudden check. Theday after his arrival in Dresden he received a note, which ran thus:-- "Madeleine is not in Dresden. She entreats Maurice to discontinue a search which must prove fruitless. Should the day ever come, as she prays it may, when her place of refuge can become known to him, no effort of his will be required for its discovery. Will not Maurice accept the pains of the inevitable present and wait for the consolations the future may bring forth with the hope and patience which must sustain her until that blessed period shall arrive?" Maurice was almost stupefied as he read these lines. He crushed thepaper in his nervous fingers to be certain that it was tangible; hecompared the writing with the one upon the envelope which he had takenfrom Bertha. If that were Madeleine's hand, so was this. He looked for apostmark; there was none; the letter had been brought by a privatemessenger, and yet Madeleine was not in Dresden! How could this be?That, in some mysterious manner, she became acquainted with hismovements was unquestionable. Her thoughts then were turned to him, --herinvisible presence followed him. It was some joy, at least, to know thathe lived in her memory. Maurice, without a moment's hesitation, without letting his own personalsuffering weigh in the balance of decision, without allowing his mind todwell upon the probabilities of tracing Madeleine through this new clew, resolved to comply with her request. When he returned to Paris and placed her letter in Bertha's hands, andtold her his determination, she impetuously urged him not to be guidedby their cousin's wishes. She pleaded that Madeleine was sacrificingherself from a mistaking sense of duty; that, if her place of abodecould only be revealed, Bertha's own supplications might influence herto abandon her present project, and to accept the home which Bertha, with the full consent of her uncle, could offer. Maurice listened not unmoved, but unshaken, in his selected course. Hefelt that a woman of Madeleine's dignity of character, --a woman of hercalm judgment, --a woman who could look with such steady, tearless eyesupon life's realities, --a woman who would not have trodden in floweryways though every pressure of her foot crushed out some delicious aromato perfume her life, if the "stern lawgiver, duty, " summoned her to aflinty road, and pointed to a glorious goal beyond, --such a woman, having deliberately chosen her path, having tested her strength to walktherein, having pronounced that strength all-sufficient, deserved thetribute of confidence, and an even blind respect to her mandates. Besides, compliance with her wishes was a species of voiceless, wordlesscommunication with her; it was sending her a message through someunknown and mysterious channel. Maurice presented this in its most vivid colors before Bertha's eyes;but in vain. She was too wayward, too unreasonable, too full ofpassionate yearning for the presence of Madeleine, too sensible of aninnate weakness that longed to lean upon Madeleine's strength, to seethe justice and wisdom of the conclusion to which Maurice had arrived. As soon as their painful interview was closed by the entrance of themarquis, Maurice sought the old Jew and ordered him to prosecute hissearch no further. Henriques, who had already extracted a considerablesum from the young nobleman, and looked upon the transaction as a safeinvestment calculated to yield a certain profit for some months to come, was very unwilling to relinquish his promised gain. He assured theviscount that he had lately received information of the greatestimportance; the party to whom the jewels had originally belonged had atlast been tracked; the undertaking was on the very eve of success. Toabandon it was a refusal to grasp the prize almost within their clutch. Whether the cunning Jew spoke the truth, or fiction, mattered little;for Maurice, in spite of these alluring representations, did not allowhimself to be tempted to violate Madeleine's express command. He had, asit were, accepted his fate, and cast away the arms with which men warwith so-called "destiny;" struggle and rebellion were over. To "_wait_"in patience was all that remained. But what was to be done with his existence? In the plenitude of youthfulhealth and strength, was his life to ebb away, like an unreplenishedstream, flowing into nothingness? His days became more and morewearisome; the hours hung more and more heavily upon his hands; the feetof time sounded with iron tramp in his ears, yet never appeared to moveonward. "In his eyes a cloud and burthen lay;" a shadowy sorrow dropped its pallof darkness over his mind and obscured his perception of all awakening, quickening inspirations; a smouldering fire within him withered up everyvernal shoot of impulse and turned all the spring-time foliage ofthought and fancy sere. His voice, his look, his mien, betrayed that anever-living woe encompassed him with gloom. Ronald fruitlessly strove to rouse him from this state of supinedespondency. The active employment, the all-engrossing interest whichwould have medicined his unslumbering sorrow, were remedial agentsdenied by his father's unwise decree. As a substitute, though of lesspotency, Ronald strove to inspire him with his own strong love forliterature. The young American had a passion for books which were thereflex of great minds. His quick hearkening to the voices breathing fromtheir pages, and made prophetic by some sudden experience; the readyplummet with which he sounded their depths of reasoning; the sentienthand with which he plucked out their truths and planted them in his ownrich memory, to grow like trees filled with singing-birds: these hadrendered his communings with master-spirits one of the noblest and moststrengthening influences of his life. What wonder, when literature wasso bounteously distributed over his native land that it made itselfvocal beneath every hedge, --enriched the humblest cottage with alibrary, --found its way, in the inexpensive guise of magazines, awelcome visitant at every fireside, --poured out its treasures at thefeet of rich and poor, liberally as the liberal sunshine, freely as thefree air? Maurice, educated in a different atmosphere, at the same age as Ronald, was a stranger to the companionship of written minds, save those towhich his college studies had formally presented him; and his darkunrest rendered it difficult for him to follow his friend into theteeming Golconda of literature, and to gather the gems spread to hishands. And when, at last, Ronald's enthusiasm proved contagious andkindled Maurice to seek out some great author's charm, it too oftenchanced that he stumbled upon passages that irritated him, and increasedhis moody discontent. We instance one of these occasions as illustrativeof many others. Ronald, whose busy brush had been brought to a stand-still by anunusually dark day, when he returned to his apartments, found his friendreading Bulwer's "Caxtons. " Maurice was leaning with both elbows uponthe table, his fingers plunged through his disordered hair, his browsalmost fiercely contracted, and his wan face bent over the volume beforehim. "I found some grand pictures in that book, " remarked the young artist. "Which are you contemplating?" "No pictures. I have not your eye for pictures, " answered Maurice, withsomething more than a touch of impatience. "I am moved, haunted, tormented by truths which have more power than all the ideal picturespen ever drew, or brush ever painted. You place me here before yourlibrary, you lure me to read, and every book I open utters words thatmake my compulsory mode of existence a reproach, a disgrace, a misery tome. Read this, for instance: 'Life is a drama, not a monologue. A dramais derived from a Greek word which signifies _to do_. Every actor in thedrama has something to do which helps on the progress of thewhole, --that is the object for which the author created him. _Do yourpart_ and let the _Great Play_ go on!' _Do? do?_" continued Maurice, inan excited tone as he finished the quotation; "it is a torment worthy ofa place in Dante's Inferno to know that there is nothing one ispermitted to _do_! I too am an actor in the Great Drama; but I have nopart to play save that of lay figure, motionless and voiceless; yet, unhappy, not being deprived of sensibility, I am goaded to desperationby inward taunting because I can do nothing. " "The play is not ended yet, " answered Ronald, with as much cheerfulnessas he could command, for his friend's depression affected hissympathetic nature. "We may not comprehend our _rôles_ in the beginning;we may have to study long before we can thoroughly conceive, thenidealize, then act them. " "I could bear that mine should be a sad, if it were only an active one, "returned Maurice, again fixing his eyes upon the book. Ronald could make no reply to a sentiment so thoroughly in accordancewith his own views. He constantly pondered upon the possibilitiesthrough which his friend might be freed from the shackles that bound himto the effeminate serfdom of idleness; but the magic that could unrivetthose fetters had not yet been revealed. Still he was sometimes stirredby a mysterious prescience that they would be loosened, and through hisinstrumentality. Ronald's nature was essentially practical without being prosaic. Therich ore of poetry, inseparable from all exquisitely fine organizations, lay beneath the daily current of his life, like golden veins in the bedof a stream, shining through the crystal waters that bore the mostcommonplace objects on their tide. He thoroughly accepted thatinterpretation of the Ideal which calls it a "divine halo with which theCreator had encircled the world of reality;" but while he instinctivelylifted all he loved into supernal regions and contemplated them in theglorious spirit-light that heightens all beauty, he lost sight of noneof the stern actualities of their existence. His imagination hadfashioned a hero out of Maurice, and he had thrown his person in heroicguise upon canvas; yet he clearly beheld and mourned over the morbidtendency that was weakening his mind and threatened to render hischaracter and his life equally unheroic. Only a few days after the conversation we have just narrated, whenMaurice entered Ronald's sitting-room he found the student with an openletter in his hand. As he lifted his eloquent, brown eyes from the papera glittering moisture beaded their darkly fringed lashes, and anexpression of ineffable tenderness looked out from their lustrousdepths. The letter was from his mother, --one of those messengers of deepaffection which transported him into her presence, placed him, as he hadso often sat in his petted boyhood, at her feet, to listen to her holyteachings, and be thrilled to the very centre of his being by her wordsof love. During his three years of separation, at a period when theexpanding mind is most impressible, these letters, weekly received, hadsurrounded him with a heavenly aura which seemed breathed out through amother's ceaseless prayers, and had kept his life pure, his spiritstrong, his heart uplifted; had preserved him from being hurried by thewild, ungoverned impulses of youth, rendered more infectuous by thevolcanic fires of genius, into actions for which he might blushhereafter. It was one of the undefined, unspoken sources of sympathy between Ronaldand Maurice, that the guarding hand of _woman_, influencing them from adistance, preserved the bloom, the freshness, the pristine purity ofboth their souls, even in the polluted atmosphere of a city whereimmorality is an accepted evil. Maurice, who had never known a mother'shallowing affection, gained his strength through his early attachment toa maiden whom no man could love without being ennobled thereby; andRonald, whose heart had never yet awakened to the first pulse oftenderness which drew him towards one he would have claimed as a bride, owed his powers of resistance to as strong, as passionate devotion to amother who united in her person all the most glorious attributes ofwomanhood, and whose idolizing love for her child was tempered by wisdomwhich placed his spiritual progress above all other gain. While he wasstruggling to win laurels in art's arena, she strove to bind upon hisbrow a crown whose gems were heavenly truths, --a crown the pure inspirit alone could wear. Blessed the son who has such a mother! Safe and blessed! His foot shalltread upon the serpent that lies hidden beneath the tempting flowers inhis path, ere the reptile can sting him; his hand shall resolutely putaway the cup of pleasure from his lips when there is poison in thechalice; he shall walk through the fire of evil lusts unscathed! Nolaurel that wreaths his brow shall render it too feverish, or too proud, to lie upon that mother's bosom with the glad, all-confiding, satisfiedsense which made its joy when it lay there in guileless boyhood. Thatmother's love shall smooth for him the rough ways of earth, and place inhis hand the golden key that opens heaven. As Maurice took his seat beside Ronald, the latter, hastily sweeping hishandkerchief across his eyes, said with a vehement intonation, -- "I have come to a sudden determination! I am going back to America. Thetrip is nothing, --ten days over and ten back, --a mere trifle! I canspend a couple of months with my parents and be back in time for autumnwork. Instead of sending my picture, which is nearly completed, I willpresent it in person. " Maurice sighed as he answered, "They will be proud of your work! Happyare they who have work to do, and who do it faithfully!" "That is a sentiment worthy of an American, " rejoined Ronald; "indeed, you have unconsciously stolen it from one of our most distinguishedAmerican writers, who says, 'To have something to do and _to do it_ isthe best appointment for us all. '[Footnote: Hillard's "Italy. "] Theextent to which I have insensibly Americanized you is very evident. Athought has just struck me: you are weary and melancholy, and seem togrow much paler and thinner every day. It will revive and strengthen youto accompany me. Come, let us go together!" "Let us fly to the moon!" answered Maurice, half scornfully. "Ronald, _why_ do you always forget that although we have lived precisely thesame number of years, and I may be said to have lived so much longerthan you, if we count time by sorrows that make long the days, --thoughwe have both passed our twenty-first anniversary, you, as an American, have obtained your majority, and are a free agent, while the law ofFrance renders me still a minor for four years? You know I cannot stirwithout my father's consent; and, of course, that is unattainable. " "Unattainable if you choose to imagine that it is, and will not seek forit, " answered Ronald, rebukingly. "The wisest poet that ever penned hisinspiration, says, -- 'Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt!' Do not let your traitorous doubts frighten you from the trial. " Maurice smiled away his rising irritability, and replied, "I think, Ronald, your mind is so full of poetic arrows that one could not take astep, or lift a finger, or draw a breath, without your being able to hithim with a verse. " "A verse may hit him who a sermon flies!" retorted Ronald, laughingly. "And a man is easy to hit who sits down with folded hands, like him ofwhom my rhythmic shaft has just made a target. But, to speak seriously, do you wonder that true thoughts, beautiful thoughts, which have beenthrown into the music of verse, keep their haunting echoes in somestronghold of memory, and surge up to the lips when a stirring incidentcauses the gates of the mind to vibrate? Why, the very proof of thepoet's genuine inspiration, his chiefest triumph lies in this, that hespeaks a familiar truth, a common word of hope, a little word ofcomfort, a simple word of warning, with such potency that it strikesdeeper into the soul than any other adjuration can reach; it defies usto forget; it takes the sound of a prophecy, and thrills our hearts andgoverns our actions in spite of ourselves. So much in defence of mypoetic memories. Now be generous enough to admit that poetry is usuallymingled with a large proportion of prosaic common sense which resolvesitself into action. My scoffed-at poetry interprets itself into thismatter-of-fact prose: unless you have the courage, the energy to askyour father's consent to your accompanying me to America, you will notget it; and if you ask you _may_ get it; and if you accompany me it mayprofit you. Come, --what say you? I shall be ready to start next week. " "So soon?" ejaculated Maurice, who, often as he had witnessed thepromptitude with which the young American moved, could not yetfamiliarize himself with his national rapidity of action and decision. "You call it _soon_? Why, if I had said day after to-morrow it mighthave been termed _soon_; but it seems to me a week is time enough toprepare for a journey around the world. Come, you have half an hourbefore the post closes, --dash off your letter and let it go at once. " As he spoke, he cleared his writing-table of the books and papers bywhich it was encumbered, and placed a chair for Maurice. The latter, whowas always carried onward by the rushing current of his friend's strongwill, wrote, on the spur of the moment, a letter more calculated toimpress his father than any deliberately studied epistle. The restlessand gloomy state of mind under which Maurice labored, revealed itself inthis impulsive effusion with a force which might not have found its wayinto a calmer communication. The frequent applications for money which Maurice had been compelled tomake, that he might meet the demands of the old Jew, were not withouttheir influence in preparing Count Tristan to look favorably upon hisson's solicitation. The count imagined that the sums so constantlydemanded were squandered in the manner habitual to gay young men inParis. He had experienced much difficulty in complying with his son'slast request, and became painfully aware that it would not much longerbe in his power to supply him at the same extravagant rate. As a naturalconsequence, he hailed the proposition to travel, which might break offany unfortunate connections, or _liaisons_, he might have formed inParis, and without their aid, divert his troubled mind. Then, thepresent would be a favorable opportunity for Maurice to visit his estatein Maryland, and to learn something further of that railway companywhich seemed of late to have suspended its operations. Maurice was not less astounded than overjoyed upon receiving hisfather's prompt and unconditional consent to his proposed trip. He atonce carried the letter to Bertha. She was too generous to oppose a stepwhich promised to be advantageous to her cousin, yet she could notcontemplate their inevitable separation without sincere sorrow. "I wish I were going with you!" she sighed. "It seems to me everybody isgoing to America. Have you not heard that the Marquis de Fleury has justreceived the appointment of ambassador to the United States? I wish myuncle would let me travel to some foreign country. I am weary of thisParisian, ball-going life. " "Has Monsieur de Fleury received his appointment at last? I had notheard of it. Who told you?" inquired Maurice. "M. De Bois, this very morning. " "Gaston goes with him, I presume?" "Yes, he said so. " "That is an unexpected pleasure, --that is really delightful!" exclaimedMaurice, enthusiastically. Bertha did not reply; but she certainly looked inclined to pout, and asthough she had no very distinct perception of the delight in question. In a few days Maurice and Ronald were on the great ocean. A fortnight later the Marquis and Marchioness de Fleury, and thesecretary of the former, M. De Bois, were also on their way to the NewWorld. Bertha worried her uncle by her sad face, listless manner, and lowspirits, to say nothing of her loss of appetite (to his thinking themost important feature of her _malaise_), until he was convinced thatshe had lost all interest in Paris, and that her sadness would beincreased by a longer sojourn in the gay capital. When she admittedthis, he kindly inquired if she desired to travel. "Yes, _very much_, " was her reply. Whither would she go? To Italy? To England? To Russia? "No, --to America!" _America!_--land of savages!--land of Pawnees and Choctaws!--land wherecooking must be in its crude infancy! Her uncle would not listen to sucha barbarous proposition; and, finding that he could obtain no otheranswer from his wilful and incomprehensible ward, he carried her back toBordeaux, consoling himself with the reflection that although the visitto Paris had not been permanently advantageous to his niece, theculinary knowledge acquired by Lucien was a full compensation. CHAPTER XVII. "CHIFFONS. " "Chiffons!" "_talking chiffons!_" "_writing chiffons!_"--will any onehave the goodness to furnish us with a literal yet lucid interpretationof this enigmatical form of speech so incessantly employed in theParisian _beau monde_? Among the translatable words of the Frenchlanguage, --among the expressive terms which cannot be rendered byequally significant expressions in our own more copious tongue, --amongthe phraseology invented to convey ideas which the phrases themselvescertainly do not suggest, --the common application of this curt littleword "_chiffons_" holds a distinguished place. Look for "_chiffons_" inthe dictionary, and you will see it simply defined as "_rags_;" yet"_chiffons_" represent the very opposite of rags feminine, and conjureup a multitudinous army of feminine fashions, fripperies, fancies, follies, indispensable aids and adjuncts of the feminine toilet. We have headed this chapter "_chiffons_, " and given an imperfectdefinition of the term, as a sign-post of warning to masculinereaders, --a hint that this is a chapter to be lightly skimmed, oraltogether skipped, for it unavoidably treats of "_chiffons_, " which thenecessities of the narrative will not allow us to suppress. The Marquis de Fleury had been appointed ambassador from the court ofNapoleon the Third to the United States of America. Madame de Fleury's state of mind, in spite of the consolation affordedby a number of strikingly original costumes, which she innocentlyflattered herself would prove very effective during a sea-voyage, wasdeplorable. Terror inspired by the perils of the deep was only surpassedby intense grief excited by her compulsory banishment to a land where, she imagined, the invading feet of modiste and mantua-maker had nottrodden out all resemblance to the original Eden; a land where the womenprobably attired themselves with a leaning to antediluvian simplicity, or in accordance with strong-minded proclivities, and the men were, doubtless, too much engrossed by politics and business to be capable ofappreciating the most elaborate toilet that could be fashioned tocaptivate their eyes; a land, in short, where taste was yet unborn, andwhere it was ignorantly believed that the chief object of apparel was toperform, on a more extensive scale, the use of primitive fig-leaves andfurs. To prevent her from falling into the clutches of American barbarians, Madame de Fleury secured two French maids as a _bodyguard_. Into thehands of one, skilled in the intricate mysteries of hair-dressing, herhead was unreservedly consigned; the other, versed in more varied arts, had entire charge of the rest of her person. But these _aides-de-camp_of the toilet were deemed insufficient for the guardianship of hercharms. The moment her sentence of exile was pronounced, she hadsummoned the incomparable Vignon to her presence, and piteously paintedthe difficulties which must beset her path when she was remorselesslytorn from within reach of the creative fingers of the artist_couturière_. Vignon had unanticipated comfort in store: the mostaccomplished of her assistants, --one who had exhibited a skill in designand execution positively marvellous, --had several times expressed astrong inclination to establish herself in America, and would gladlymake her _debut_ in the New World under the patronage of themarchioness. This information threw Madame de Fleury into suchecstasies that all the waves of the Atlantic, which had been ruthlesslytossing their wrecks about her brain, were suddenly stilled, and shedeclared that Mademoiselle Melanie must make her preparations to sail inthe same steamer; for the knowledge that she was on board would renderthe voyage endurable. The marchioness complacently added that she feltso much strengthened by these tidings, that she could now look forwardto meeting, with becoming fortitude, the trials incident upon herresidence among a semi-civilized nation. We need hardly relate how soon, after reaching Washington, the fairParisian discovered that civilization had made astounding progress if itmight be estimated by the deference paid to "_chiffons_;" nor need weportray her astonishment at finding that American women "_of fashion_"were not merely close copyists of extreme French modes, but that theyexaggerated even the most extravagant, and hunted after the neweststyles with the national energy which their countrywomen of a noblerclass expended upon nobler objects; and were more ready to deform orignore nature, and swear allegiance to the despotic rule of theCrinoline Sovereign, than any Parisian belle under the sun. Madame de Fleury's royal sway over the empire of "_chiffons_" was soonas thoroughly established in Washington as it had been in Paris. Dress, or head-dress, bodice, bonnet, mantle, gaiter, glove, worn by her, multiplied itself in important imitations, and every feminine chrysalissent forth its ballroom butterfly in a livery to match. Whatever style, shape, color, she adopted, however extraordinary, became the rage forthat season, and disappeared from sight, totally banished by her regalcommand, at the inauguration of the next. At one period no skirt could sweep the pavement, or lie in rich folds atthe bottom of a carriage, unadorned by an imposing flounce that almostcovered the robe; a little later, the one sober flounce was driven intoobscurity by twenty coquettish small ones; and these were displaced byprimly puffed bands; which gave way to fanciful "keys" running up thesides of the dress (where they seemed to have no possible right); andthose vanished when double skirts commenced their brief reign; to bedethroned by a severe-looking quilted ruffle marching around the hem ofthe dress and up the centre to the throat; and this grave adornmentsuddenly found its place usurped by an inundation of fantastictrimmings, jet, bugles, _passementerie_, velvet or lace. So much forskirts! Then the bodices:--_now_ nothing was to be seen but the "square cut"which revealed the fine busts of beauties in the days of CharlesII. , --now graceful folds _a coeur_ sentimentally ruled the day, --nowinfant waists became a passion, and the most maternal forms aped thejuvenility borrowed from their babies. Then for sleeves: at one timethey were wide and long and cumbrous, forbidding every trace of the mostrounded member beneath; then they took the form of antique drapery, disclosing the arm almost nude, save for the transparent lace of theundersleeve, --then the close, tight fit of the Quaker left all but adistorted outline to the imagination. And bonnets: at one moment the tiniest bird's-nest of a hat, emboweredin feathers and buried in lace, was perched on the back of the head, reminding one of Punch's suggestion that it could be more convenientlycarried upon a salver by a domestic walking behind; a little later, theonly bonnet admissible closed around the face like a cap, laces andfeathers had disappeared, a few tastefully disposed knots of ribbon, ora single flower, were the only adornments: but hardly had Good Sensenodded approvingly at the graceful simplicity with which heads werecovered, when, lo! the bonnets shot up like bright-hued coal-scuttles, over which a basket of buds and blossoms had been suddenly upset, andwent through a variety of fantastic transformations whollyindescribable. So with other articles of attire. Mantles that had established forthemselves a natural and convenient length suddenly grew down to the hemof the dress; basques, high in favor, were routed by Zouave jackets;girdles were at one moment drawn down with tight pressure until theybarely surmounted the hips, the next were allowed to take an almostnatural round (as far as their fitting locality went), and next were putwholly to flight by pointed Swiss belts, with enormous bows, and long, flowing ends, --while these, in turn, were chased from the field bypicturesque scarfs. Then as regards the disposition of that native veil of unsurpassablebeauty which adorns the head of woman: now, all locks were braided lowat the back of the head, almost lying upon the neck; now they surmountedthe crown and rose in stories higher and higher; now they sprang into apair of wings from either side of the temples; now they were clusteredin a tuft of disorderly curls above the brow; now smoothed andbandolined close to the face and knotted with an air of quiet simplicitybehind the ears. Whichever of these modes the Parisian queen of "_chiffons_" renderedgraceful in her own person, every fair one, with the slightestaspiration to _style_, strengthened her claims to be thought fashionableby scrupulously assuming. What wonder that Mademoiselle Melanie, primeminister to the absolute sovereign, could scarcely receive the crowd ofclients that thronged her doors? She hired a spacious mansion, near the capitol, and furnished it withconsummate taste. She combined the vocation of mantua-maker with that ofmilliner, and supplied all the materials she employed from an assortmentof her own selection. This was one secret of her astonishing success, for it gave her control over the entire apparel of her customers. Regarding herself as responsible for the _tout ensemble_ of each toiletthat issued from her hands, and her reputation as at stake if anydefective touch marred the general result of her adorning, she exerted athoroughly despotic sway over those whom she undertook to dress, andrefused, in the most positive, yet most courteous manner, to allow themto follow the dictates of their own faulty fancies. As a skilful artistexamines a picture in the best light, that all its beauties may berevealed, she placed each one of her subjects in the most favorableaspect, studied her closely, searched out every fine point which mightbe heightened, and pondered over every defect which might be concealed. She had the rare gift of knowing how to embellish nature, how to bringforth all the capacities of a face and form, and how to modify thefashion of the day to the requirements of the wearer, instead ofslavishly following an arbitrary mode, and thereby sacrificing allindividuality of beauty. Dress became high art in her hands. Wondrouslyharmonious were the effects produced. Blondes looked softer and purerthan ever before, without becoming insipid; brunettes grew more_piquante_ and brilliant; nondescripts gained force and character;pallid faces caught a reflection of rose tints; too ruddy complexionswere toned down by paling colors, and sallow skins found their ochre huemysteriously neutralized. Angular shapes were draped so gracefully thatunsymmetrical sharpness disappeared; too ample forms exchanged their airof uncouth corpulence for a well-defined roundness; low statures seemedto spring up to a nobler altitude, and women of masculine height sunkinto feminine proportions. In short, Mademoiselle Melanie was not amantua-maker, or milliner, --she was the genius of taste, the artfulembodier of poetry in outward adorning. Her own person was strikingly attractive; but the severest simplicitycharacterized her attire. Her manners, though affable, were exceedinglyreserved; without any apparent effort, she repressed the familiarity ofthe vulgar, and rebuked the patronizing airs of the assuming, winninginstinctive deference even from the ill-bred. By her workwomen she was almost worshipped. Young herself, she impressedthem with the sense that notwithstanding her lack of advantage over themin point of years, her superior skill and knowledge entitled her to betheir head. She sympathized with their griefs, inquired into theirneeds, sometimes ignored their short-comings, but never theirsufferings, and took care that the thread which helped fashion a lady'srobe should not be drawn with such weary and overworked hands that, inthe language of Hood, it sewed a shroud at the same moment. She was seldom seen in the streets; and, when her duties called her, shewent forth closely veiled. But her distinguished air, the simpleelegance of her apparel, and the dignified grace of her movements couldnot escape admiration. She soon found a carriage of her own indispensable, and selected anunostentatious equipage; but allowed herself the indulgence of a pair ofsuperb horses, because she chanced to be an appreciating judge of thosenoble animals: a rather unusual knowledge for a _couturière_. She seldom walked or drove alone. She was usually accompanied by one ofher assistants, a young Massachusetts girl, with whom she had beenthrown into accidental communication shortly after her arrival in theUnited States. The history of Ruth Thornton is one every day repeated, but not lesstouching because so far from rare. Born and bred in affluence whichemanated from the daily exertions of her father, his death left hiswidow and three orphan daughters destitute. The eldest early assumed theburdens of wifehood and maternity. Ruth was the second child. A girl ofhigh spirit, she quickly laid aside all false pride, and earnestlysought to earn the bread of those she loved by the labor of her fairyoung hands, until then strangers to toil. But where was remunerativeoccupation to be found? Needy womanhood so closely crowded the few openavenues of industry that it seemed as though there was no room foranother foot to gain a hold, another hand to struggle. To become ateacher, or governess, was Ruth's first, most natural endeavor; but, month after month, she sought in vain for a situation. She possessed aremarkable voice and very decided musical talent. The idea of theconcert-room next suggested itself; but her naturally fine organ lackedthe long cultivation that could alone fit her to embark upon the careerof a singer. Her mind then turned to the stage; but, setting aside thedifficulty of obtaining engagements, even to fill some position in thelowest ranks of the profession, she had no means, no time, to go througha long course of requisite study, or to procure herself the costlywardrobe indispensable to such a profession. She pondered upon thepossibility of entering that most noble institution, the New York Schoolof Design for Women. Here was meet work, hope-fanning, life-saving workfor feminine hands: engraving on wood or steel; coloring plates forillustrated works; sketching designs for fashions to be used inmagazines, or patterns for carpets, calicoes, paper-hangings, etc. But, on inquiry, she learned that a year's study would be needful before shecould hope to gain a modest livelihood through the medium of thesimplest of these pursuits. From whence, in the meantime, could hermother, her sister, and herself derive their support? Next, she resolvedto resort to her needle; yet how small was the likelihood of keeping itemployed! and how poor the pittance it could earn as an humbleseamstress! True, she might learn a trade; but how was she to existmeantime? She stood erect in the midst of this desert of difficulties, perplexedbut undismayed, and still believing in, and steadfastly seeking for, thework allotted to such weak hands as hers. There is something magnetic in unflagging energy, and untiring hope;they mysteriously attract to themselves the materials which they mostneed. By a seeming accident, Ruth heard that an assistant housekeeperwas required at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York. Her high-bornrelatives learned with horror that one of their kin, the daughter of agentleman who had held an honorable position in their community, contemplated filling this menial position. But, in spite of theirdisapproval, Ruth presented herself as an applicant for the post, andthough her youth (for she was hardly twenty) was an objection, herservices were accepted; and she entered forthwith upon her lowly duties. We need not dwell upon the manifold and humiliating trials to which shewas subjected, --trials to which the loveliness of her person largelycontributed. Like a true American maiden, well-disciplined, self-reliant, and of strong principles, she found protection withinherself, and bade defiance to dangers which might have proved fatal toone whose early training had been less productive of strength. It was while Ruth was meekly discharging these humble duties that shebecame acquainted with Mademoiselle Melanie. On arriving in New York, Madame de Fleury had taken up her residence fora few days at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and, as though she feared to losesight of Mademoiselle Melanie, requested her to do the same. A severeindisposition, which caused the latter to seek feminine aid, threw herin communication with the housekeeper of the hotel and her youngassistant. Mademoiselle Melanie quickly became interested in the sweet, pale, patient face hovering about her bed, and did not fail to note theair of refinement which seemed at variance with her position. In lessthan four and twenty hours the young French _couturière_ had learned thehistory of the young American housekeeper, and resolved, if sheprospered in America, to remove this lovely girl from her presentperilous position to one less exposed. Six months later Ruth received a letter from Washington making her anoffer to become one of the assistants of Mademoiselle Melanie, andgratefully accepted the proposal. Mademoiselle Melanie found her young_employée's_ health too delicate for an exhausting apprenticeship to theneedle, and employed Ruth in copying and coloring sketches of costumeswhich the accomplished _couturière_ herself designed. As she became moreand more conversant with the noble character of her _protegée_ thespontaneous attachment she had conceived for her grew stronger, and RuthThornton became her constant companion. CHAPTER XVIII. MAURICE. On their arrival in America Ronald took Maurice to his southern home, where he was received with a cordial hospitality that strengthened andconfirmed the tie of brotherhood between the young men. We will not attempt to portray the meeting between Ronald and hisparents, --a meeting so full of joy that its throbs quickened into thepulse of pain, as though clay-compassed hearts were hardly large enoughto endure the ecstasy of such a reunion. Nor will we dwell upon theproud elation with which Ronald's first ambitious attempt in art wascontemplated by his parents. Their praises might simply have testifiedthat love appreciates; the hand that wrought might have sanctified evena feeble work to their sight; but colder judgments pronounced Ronald'sinitiatory achievement a pledge of power, and all the more decisivebecause the execution of the youthful hand obviously had not kept pacewith the strong conception of the fervid brain. We pass on to the effect produced upon Maurice by his sojourn inRonald's transatlantic home. Many a pang did the youthful Frenchman endure as he noted the thoroughand genial understanding which seemed to exist between the southernyouth and his father. Maurice was amazed by Mr. Walton's unfailingrecognition that his son was a responsible being; by the confidence hereposed in him; by the unequivocal manner in which he placed him upon afooting of equality, even while guiding him by his counsels, --counselsoffered as the results of a larger experience, yet never so compulsorilyurged as to check his son's freedom of decision. Maurice, marked, too, the earnest interest with which Mr. Walton entered into all Ronald'sprojects, albeit some of them appeared too wild and high-reaching to beeasy of accomplishment; beheld how readily the paternal hand wasstretched out to soften the ordeals through which the neophyte mustinevitably pass, and was moved by the touching frankness with which thenoble-minded parent repeatedly congratulated himself that he had notpermitted his own predilections to force Ronald into a field of actionrepugnant to his tastes. When Maurice instinctively compared this liberal, high-toned father'smode of influencing his son with the tyrannous control of the haughtycount, and contrasted Ronald's untrammeled position with his own stateof dependent nonentity, he felt that unstruggling submission to thecruel decree which doomed him to waste those fresh, strong, aspiringyears of his life in hopeless idleness was a weakness rather than avirtue. He was only spared from passing a judgment upon his father, more correctthan filial, by throwing the blame of his conduct upon the shacklingcustoms, and false opinions, and arbitrary laws of his native land. Hecould not but be forcibly struck by the wide dissimilarity between theusages and views of life which distinguished the two nations. InAmerica, he saw men, self-made and self-educated, at an age when youngFrenchmen have scarcely begun to be aware that they have any independentexistence, rising to prominent and honorable positions, taking a boldpart in public affairs, and asserting by their achievements the maturityof their brains. He saw men, who had been forced by circumstances tocommence their lives of toil and self-support at fifteen and eighteen, afew years later not only gaining their own livelihood, but contributingto the maintenance of their families, and laying the foundation offuture fortune. He saw artistic tastes, literary talents, professional, legislative, and military abilities, brought to opulent fruition in menbut a few years his senior; and though every one seemed to work at highpressure, every one appeared to live rapidly, crowding each day withactions, still men _lived_, lived _consciously_, planting along thepathway of their pilgrimage the landmarks of positive deeds; and theysowed, and reaped, and rejoiced in their harvests, and if some of themgrew old faster than their European brethren, their age was at leastenriched by varied memories, vast experiences, manifold mental gains, that testified to the value of their lives. And was it imperative, Maurice asked himself, that the accident of nobleblood should paralyze a man's volition, and that the bearing of a noblename should render his life inertly ignoble? He recognized that, in theseeming curse which condemned man to "work, " God had hidden the richestblessing, even as he buried golden veins in the dark bosom of the earth. "Labor was privilege, " and gave its sweetest flavor to the daily cup oflife. As for Ronald, though he loved his country with the enthusiasm whichcharacterized all his affections, he had never been fully cognizant ofthe advantages it possessed over the land in which he had latelysojourned until he saw them through the eyes of Maurice. Nothing is more true than that _we can render no service to another bywhich we are not served ourselves_, served spiritually, therefore_actually_, and in the highest sense; and not merely in his newappreciation of the land of his birth, but in numerous other ways, Ronald was the unconscious gainer by the helpful influence he exertedover his friend. The youthful Mentor confirmed himself in grand andvital truths while imparting them to Maurice; his own noble resolveswere quickened into activity while he sought to infuse them into themind of another; his own spirit acquired strength while he wasendeavoring to render his companion strong of soul. Ronald's characterwas perhaps more affluent and expansive, had more force and fixedness ofpurpose, than that of Maurice, yet it derived fresh vigor from the lesshopeful, less confident nature upon which it acted. Though Maurice owed much to the young art-student, he soon owed more tothat gentle but potent hand by which Ronald had been moulded, refined, and spiritualized. Ronald's mother opened wide her large heart and herloving arms to take in the motherless youth thrown by an apparentaccident within her sphere. Mrs. Walton was one of those beings to whom life is a poem, read it insorrow or gladness, read it whatever way you will, because all things toher mind had a divine significance; she knew that nothing had either its_end_ or _origin_ here, and felt that the very day-dreams andaspirations of impulsive youth descended by influx from those supernalregions in which all _causes_ exist, though we darkly behold themthrough _effects_ ultimated upon our earthly plane. Her eyes were neverbent upon the ground, to search out stumbling-blocks of doubt, butlooked up Godward until the heavens grew less distant, and earth'sperplexing mysteries were solved; and daily joys and daily pains onlyacquired importance through their bearing upon the joys and pains ofeternity; and celestial light, flowing through her pure thoughts, reflected its mellow glory upon her humblest surroundings, and tingedthem with ineffable beauty. Maurice, who had been so deeply impressed by Ronald's attributes andaims, quickly recognized the fountain-head from whence flowed the livingwaters he had drank, and, humbly bending to quaff at the same stream, became conscious that his whole being was vitalized and renewed. Thegreat ends of existence, for the first time, became apparent to him; andas he learned to look upon the present and temporal as only of momentthrough their effect upon the future and eternal, --as he renounced asenseless belief in the very names of _chance_ and _accident_, andyielded to the conviction that the simplest as the gravest occurrencesall tend to lay some stone in the great architectural edifice whichevery man is building for his own dwelling-place in the hereafter, --histrials, by some wondrous transmutation, wore a holy aspect, and gentlyinto his unfolding spirit stole the comforting assurance that those verytrials might be the fittest, the strongest, the _appointed_ instrumentsto hew out the pathway he panted to tread, and carve for him a futurewhich could never have been wrought by such tools as the velvety handsof prosperity hold in their feeble grasp. The morbid melancholy into which Maurice had fallen, and which deepenedwith his vain pondering over the mysterious fate of Madeleine, rolledfrom his spirit before the breath of hope, --hope breathed throughsunshine, from the lips of a woman whose sympathetic voice, tenderlooks, and quick comprehension of his emotions insensibly melted awayreserve, and drew out all his confidence. He could talk to Mrs. Waltonof Madeleine with an absence of _reticence_, an unchecked gush offeeling, which would not have been possible when he conversed withRonald, or with any one but a woman, _and such a woman_. Far from advising him, as a worldly-wise counsellor would have done, tostruggle against a passion which did not promise to prove fortunate, shebade him cherish the image of the one he so ardently loved with perfecttrust, that if that woman were indeed his _other self_, --that _separatehalf_ which makes man's full complement, --he would, in spite of alladverse circumstances, be drawn to her, by mysterious and invisiblecords, until their union was consummated. Mrs. Walton entertained the not irrational belief that as "either sexalone is _half_ itself, " and "each fulfils defects in each, " there wascreated for every male soul some feminine spirit, whose heart wascapable of responding to the finest pulses of his; one who could meethis largest requirements; one who could alone render his being perfect, his true manhood complete; one whom he might never meet on earth, andyet who lived for him. This great truth (for as such he accepted it) wasa glorious revelation to Maurice. He cast out the remembrance thatMadeleine had said she loved another, or only recalled her declarationto feel certain that she had mistaken her own heart, or that he hadmisconstrued the language she had used. She became more vividly presentthan ever to his mind, and the constant thought that now confidently andhappily wound itself about her seemed to him to annihilate materialdistances and bring their spirits into close communion. Maurice passed two delightful months beneath the hospitable roof of Mr. And Mrs. Walton. The period which Ronald had allowed himself for aholiday drew to a close. The sense of unoccupied power had begun torender him restless, and it was with elation which might have appearedtinctured with ingratitude by those who did not comprehend themysterious workings of his untranquil ambition, that he prepared for hisreturn to that foreign land where he could enjoy advantages for theprosecution of his art-studies unattainable in a young country. When Maurice embarked for America with Ronald, it was understood thatthey were to return to Europe together; but one morning, when the lattercasually announced his intention of securing their passage on board of asteamer about to sail from New York, Maurice turned to him and saidabruptly, -- "Ronald, one berth will be sufficient. " "My dear fellow, what do you mean?" inquired Ronald, only halfsurprised. "It is impossible for me, " replied Maurice, "to return to my life ofindolence and _supposed gayety_. A snake might more easily crawl backinto his cast-off skin. I have breathed this free, exhilarating, vitalizing atmosphere, and the convention-laden air of Paris wouldstifle me. I have written to my father and announced that I proposeremaining in Charleston. That is not all: he forbade my studying law inParis, because his sapient Breton neighbors would have been scandalizedby a viscount's taking so sensible a step; but possibly I may preparemyself for the bar at this distance, without subjecting my father to theannoyance of their disapproval. The period required for study isshorter, and I shall have a wider field in which to practise. I cannotbe prepared to enter upon the duties of my profession much before thetime when, according to the laws of France, I shall reach my majority;meanwhile I study, we will say, _for amusement_. I study as other menhunt, fish, boat, skate. What do you think of my plan?" Ronald grasped him warmly by the hand. "It is just what I expected of you, Maurice! When we first met, and Iwas so strongly attracted to you, an internal prescience whispered thatyou had within you the very qualities which are asserting theirexistence to-day. " "They might have been _in_ me, Ronald, " answered Maurice with emotion;"but I fear they would never have been brought _out_ but for youragency. I never can be grateful enough that we have been throwntogether! I never can sum up the good you have done me! I stood in suchgreat need of just the influence you and your mother"--The voice ofMaurice trembled, and he was unable to proceed. Ronald broke the somewhat embarrassing silence by saying, -- "In short, you have come to the conclusion that my mother is right inher faith, and whatever we actually need for our spiritual advancementis invariably sent, if we will but preserve ourselves in a state ofreception. All that you still lack will be supplied in the same way, ifyou can but believe. " "_I do believe_, " answered Maurice, in a tone of greater solemnity thanthe occasion seemed to demand; but there was a world of meaning in thosethree words. We should be obliged to employ many if we attempted toexpress a tithe of what he had recently learned to _believe_ throughthe instrumentality of a noble thinker. A week later, Ronald folded his mother to his throbbing heart, andtenderly bade her adieu; but, without feeling that he should be partedfrom her by their material separation. Strange to say, his farewell tohis father and Maurice was shadowed by a nearer approach to sadness anda more definite sense of sundering. Possibly their spirits had lesspower than his mother's to annihilate space and follow him whithersoeverhe went. Maurice was induced to linger a few days longer as the guest of his newfriends, and his presence prevented the void left by the departure of abeloved and only son from being too keenly felt. At the commencement ofa new week the young viscount removed to Charleston. That city was onlya few miles distant from the residence of Ronald's parents. Mr. Waltonhad made his visitor acquainted with an eminent lawyer, who consented toreceive Maurice de Gramont as a student. Count Tristan at first violently opposed his son's step, but he couldnot, with any show of reason, forbid his studying law as a _pastime_. The count's affairs became more and more entangled, and he grew moredesirous than ever that his son should contract a wealthy marriage. Thehope that Maurice might woo and win one of those numerous heiresses, who, Frenchmen imagine, abound in the Southern El Dorado, alonereconciled the haughty nobleman to his son's sojourn in America. CHAPTER XIX. THE ARISTOCRATS IN AMERICA. While Maurice was applying himself to study with a zeal and sense ofenjoyment wholly new to him, Bertha was passing through various stagesof ennui, and testing the patience, or rather the digestive powers, ofthat sorely discomforted _bon vivant_, her uncle. Day after day she grewmore capricious, unreasonable, unmanageable. The distressed marquis came to the conclusion that his disturbed animaleconomy could only be restored by an amicable separation from his niece. But in vain he bestowed his smiles, and his _dinners_, upon themultitudinous suitors by whom the young heiress was besieged; herautocratic decree condemned him to the cruel duty of closing thesumptuous repasts by the _dessert_ of a dismissal to each lover in turn, without extending to any the faintest hope that his sentence might bereversed. Finally the marquis became a confirmed dyspeptic; the joy ofhis life was quenched when his appetite failed, beyond the resuscitatinginfluence of _absenthe_ and other fashionable stimulants; the glory ofhis festive board had departed, and he was haunted by the convictionthat the unnatural conduct of his niece would bring his whitening hairs, through sorrow and indigestion, to the grave. A small but dearly prized respite from his trials was granted him whenBertha paid her yearly visit, of four months, to her relatives inBrittany. Her stay, however, was never extended beyond the wontedperiod, for she found her sojourn at the Château de Gramontunmitigatedly dull. The reception of letters from Maurice, addressed tohis father, alone relieved the tediousness of the hours; but thesewelcome messengers were infrequent, brief, and somewhat cold. They leftBertha so unsatisfied that before the close of the first year of hercousin's absence she opened a correspondence with him herself. Theinitiative letter was suggested by pleasant tidings, which she hastenedto send. It was written immediately after the eighteenth anniversary ofher birthday, and communicated the agreeable intelligence that upon thatday she had again received a token of remembrance from their belovedMadeleine. A yearly gift, bearing the impress of those "fairy fingers, " was theonly sign Madeleine gave that she lived and remembered. Three years passed on, and upon each birthday, wherever Bertha chancedto be, in Bordeaux, in Paris, in Brittany, a small parcel wasmysteriously left with the _concierge_ of the house where she wasresiding. The package was always addressed in Madeleine's handwriting, and contained some exquisite piece of needle-work, but no letter, and itbore no mark of post or express. It was invariably delivered by privatehand. At least, it rendered certain the consolatory facts, not only thatBertha was unforgotten, but that Madeleine was cognizant of all hermovements. No sooner had the heiress reached her majority than she prepared tocarry into execution a plan which for a long period had been silentlyforming itself in her mind. Her earnest desire to visit America had beensecretly, but systematically, strengthened by Count Tristan. He wellknew that the Marquis de Merrivale would never be induced to become herescort; and, what was more likely than that she should seek thecountenance and protection of her other relatives? He played his cards so adroitly that Bertha, without once suspecting hismachinations, wrote to him, on the very day that closed her twenty-firstyear, and invited the countess and himself to accompany her upon anAmerican tour. She took care delicately to make a stipulation that theexpenses of the projected trip should devolve upon her. The countconcealed his exultation under an air of well-acted reluctance, andrequired much persuasion before he could be taught to look with favorupon this _unexpected_ and _sudden_ proposition. There was no simulation in the dismay, the horror with which Bertha'sproposal was greeted by the countess. How was she to breathe in a landwhere hereditary claims to rank were unknown?--where distinctions of_brains_ not _blood_ were alone recognized?--where a man might rise tothe highest position, as ruler of the realm, though his father chancedto be a mechanic, and his grandfather's existence was untraceable? For atime, Bertha's entreaties and the count's representations were equallyimpotent; the countess was inexorable. But her son was not to bebaffled; he found an avenue through which her heart could be reached, and her resolution undermined. It lay in the suggestion that Bertha'sstrong inclination to visit America sprang from a desire again to beholdMaurice, and that the result of their meeting, after so long aseparation, might be in the highest degree felicitous. Bertha, he urged, during the absence of Maurice, had probably learned that he was dearerto her than she imagined; and, if Maurice had reason to believe that shecrossed the ocean for the sake of rejoining him, could he remaininsensible to such a proof of devotion? The countess bowed her haughtyhead to a sacrifice which vitally compromised her dignity. One of the objects of the count's visit to America was to learnsomething further of the railroad company with which he was connected. For a time its operations had been suspended, owing to a financialcrisis, --a sort of periodical American epidemic that, like cholera, sweeps over the land at intervals, making frightful ravage for a season, and departing as mysteriously as it came. The elastic nation, never longprostrate, had risen out of temporary difficulties and depression with asudden bound, and prosperity walked in the very footprints of the latedestroyer. Mr. Hilson had lately announced to Count Tristan that the railwayassociation was again in full activity, and that the mooted question ofthe direction which the road ought to take would, ere long, be decided. He added that, according to his judgment, the left road was indubitablythe more desirable. Should that road be chosen, it would pass throughthe property owned by the Viscount de Gramont. We have already alludedto the immense difference in the value of the estate which the advent ofthe railroad would insure. Bertha had no difficulty in obtaining the Marquis de Merrivale'sapproval of the contemplated trip. Early in the spring the party embarked upon one of those superb steamersthat sweep across the ocean like floating cities, pulsating withmultitudinous life. The passage was so smooth that Bertha thoroughly enjoyed the strange, new existence, and found such ever-varying beauty in the gorgeoussunsets, and the resplendent moonlight, that she even forsook her berthto see "Aurora draw aside her crimson curtain of the dawn;" in short shewas in an appreciating mood throughout the voyage, and her happy stateallowed her to ignore all the _désagreméns_ of the sea. The countessalso, as she sat upon the deck in a comfortable arm-chair, --which sheoccupied as though it were a throne, and received the homage offellow-passengers, who were obviously struck and awed by her majesticdeportment, --pronounced the transit more endurable than she anticipated. Maurice had gone to New York to welcome the voyagers, and when thesteamer neared the land he was the first person who bounded upon thedeck. Bertha caught sight of him, and as she sprang forward and threwherself into his arms, weeping with joy and heartily returning his warmembrace, the countess and her son exchanged looks of exultation whichshowed that they had not reflected upon the vast distinction between thefrank greeting of brother and sister, and the meeting of possiblelovers. A slight, irrepressible shadow passed over the beaming countenance ofMaurice as he turned from Bertha to welcome his father and grandmother. The cloud flitted by in an instant, and only betrayed that the past wasunforgotten; while the look of manly confidence and self-possession, bywhich it was replaced, told that the present and the future could not besubject to by-gone storms. After the first salutations were over, the countess scanned Maurice fromhead to foot, to note what changes had been wrought by his residence ina country which she held in such supreme contempt. The slight curl andquivering of the lip, which accompanied her survey, bespoke that it wasnot entirely satisfactory. In the first place, his apparel displeasedher. The care that he had once bestowed upon his toilet betrayed aslight leaning to the side of foppishness; _now_, his attire gave himthe air of a man of business, rather than of mere pleasure. His bearingwas more confident than in former days, his movements more rapid, histone more animated and decisive, his whole manner more energetic. Hisface was slightly careworn, his brow had lost something of its unruffledsmoothness, and the fresh carnation tints had faded out of hiscomplexion; but the wealth of expression his countenance had gainedmight atone for heavier losses. In repose, his features wore a shade ofhabitual sadness; but that disappeared the moment he spoke, and wasrather an air of reflection than of sorrow. Indeed, all gloom hadvanished from his spirit soon after his arrival in America. Thehope-inspiring ministry of Ronald's mother, first and engrossing study, and ceaseless occupation next, had effectually medicined his growingmelancholy. Maurice had not felt himself a homeless exile during hisfour years' sojourn in a foreign land. The Château de Gramont was lessdear to him than the quiet, unpretentious, but affection-brightened homewhere he was always welcomed as a son. When his stately grandmother, after so long a separation, once moreappeared before him, the cold dignity, repelling hardness, andself-venerating pride of her demeanor struck him all the more painfullybecause it conjured up, in contrast, a vision of soft humility, --thegentle strength, the intellectual power, the refined tenderness of thelovely woman who realized his ideal of maternity. It almost seemed as though the countess had some internal perceptionthat Maurice weighed her in the balance of a new judgment, and found herwanting; for she shrank beneath his gaze, and turned from him with asense of sickening disappointment. Bertha, while she was struck by the marked alteration in Maurice, notedthe change with undisguised admiration. To _her_ eyes he was a thousandtimes more attractive than ever, and she told him so without a shadow ofbashful hesitation. The young French demoiselle had made up her mind to be charmed withAmerica, and little is required to satisfy those who are determined tobe pleased. How much of her enthusiasm was legitimately excited, and howmuch was the spontaneous kindling of her own bright spirit, we will notattempt to describe. Be it enough to say, that she frequently declaredher most sanguine expectations were far surpassed. The countess, on the other hand, looked through a distorted medium whichfilled her with disgust. She was horrified at the publicity ofhotel-life in New York. She could not tolerate the careless ease of thepersons with whom she was thrown into accidental communication, --theconfidence with which the very servants ventured to accost her. Theabsence of awe, the lack of head and knee bending, in her augustpresence, appeared a tacit insult. She was puzzled to reconcile thefreedom with which she was constantly addressed with the great deferencepaid to her _sex_. While her _rank_ was almost ignored, the mere fact ofbeing _a woman_ commanded an amount of consideration unsurpassed by theveneration paid to titled womanhood in her own land. Nothing, however, shocked her more than the liberty accorded to young American maidens. She found it impossible to comprehend that, educated as responsiblebeings, the strict _surveillance_ over girlhood's most trivial actions, which is deemed indispensable in France, ceased to be a matter ofnecessity in America. Immediately upon his arrival in New York the count had placed himself incommunication with Mr. Hilson; and, a few days later, received a letterinforming him that at a recent meeting of the managers of the ---- ----Railway Association a committee of nine had been chosen to decide uponthe most suitable direction of the new road. The committee was to givein its decision at the end of a fortnight. Mr. Hilson regretted to addthat he feared the majority were in favor of the road to the _right_. Heconcluded by suggesting that it might be well for the count to visitWashington, and exert over members of the committee any influence, thathe could command, to secure a majority of votes in favor of the roadwhich would prove so advantageous to his son's property. The count resolved to act at once upon Mr. Hilson's suggestion. When heproposed to his mother and Bertha that they should start the very nextday for Washington, the countess, for the first time since her arrival, expressed herself gratified. At the seat of government she would meetthe French ambassador and his wife (the Marquis and Marchioness deFleury), and possibly, in the circle in which they moved, she mightencounter foreigners with whom it would not be repugnant to associate. Bertha heard Count Tristan's announcement with such bright gleamings ofthe eyes, such happy flushings of the cheeks, that the sudden radiancewhich overspread her countenance set Maurice wondering over the emotionsthat caused her to so warmly welcome this unanticipated change oflocality. The revery into which he had fallen was broken by his father. The countlaunched into a discussion upon the management of property in America, then glided into the subject of the Maryland estate, and finallysuggested that it would be advisable for his son to grant him a power ofattorney which would place him in a situation to act as hisrepresentative in any case of emergency. Maurice unhesitatinglyexpressed his willingness to comply with this request, and the legalinstrument was drawn up without delay. Upon receiving the document, thecount assured his son that there was no probability that the power wouldbe required, and voluntarily pledged himself not to make use of itwithout apprising Maurice. Count Tristan's words and intentions were wholly at variance. Hisaffairs in Brittany had become so frightfully entangled, that it wasabsolutely necessary for him to be able to command a considerable sum toredeem his credit; and he saw no means by which this desirable end couldbe obtained, except by a mortgage upon his son's estate. One of hisstrongest motives in visiting America was to effect this purpose; but heearnestly desired to conceal from Maurice the step he projected, trusting to his own skill in under-hand management for the smoothingaway of difficulties before there was a necessity for explanation. Maurice accompanied the count, his mother, and Bertha to Washington, andthere bidding them adieu returned to Charleston. His preparatory studies being now completed, he was received as juniorpartner by the gentleman who had initiated him into the mysteries of hisprofession. It chanced that Mr. Lorrillard had large possessions in certain ironmines in Pennsylvania, which gave promise of yielding an immense profit. He had conceived a high esteem for the young viscount, and, with a viewof promoting his interests, represented to him the advantage ofpurchasing a few shares, which could at that moment be favorablysecured. Maurice had no funds at his command; but Mr. Lorrillardsuggested that the viscount could easily procure the ten thousanddollars needful by a mortgage upon his Maryland estate, and even offeredto give him a letter to Mr. Emerson, --a personal friend residing inWashington, --who, as the estate was wholly unembarrassed, wouldwillingly loan the money upon this security. It was hardly possible forMaurice to have resided so long in America without being slightly bittenby the national mania for speculation, and he gladly accepted the offerof his principal, and retraced his steps to Washington. CHAPTER XX. THE INCOGNITA. Maurice arrived in Washington without having apprised his father of hispurposed visit. Count Tristan received him with ill-concealedembarrassment; but the young viscount was too ingenuous himself, andtherefore too unsuspicious of others, for him to attribute his father'sdiscomposure to any source but surprise at his unexpected appearance. IfMaurice noted an absence of pleasure in the count's constrainedgreeting, he was too much accustomed to the formal and undemonstrativemanners of the aristocracy to dwell upon the lack of warmth. The count had taken up his residence at Brown's hotel. He chanced to besitting alone when his son was ushered into the drawing-room. Theopportunity was a favorable one for Maurice to communicate to his fatherthe object of his visit. After the first salutations were over, he inquired, rather abruptly, "Have you seen Mr. Hilson? What does he say in regard to theprobabilities that the railroad will take the direction which we so muchdesire?" "Our prospects are tolerably good, " returned the count; "but we need toexert ourselves, and, possibly, you may be of service. The committeethat has the decision in its hands consists of nine persons. Out ofthese, four have declared their preference for the road to the right, and are immovable. Our friends, Meredith and Hilson, who are on thecommittee, vote, of course, for the left road; then there are two rivalbankers, Mr. Gobert and Mr. Gilmer, who are bitterly opposed to eachother, and generally vote in opposition one to the other; we must bringsome agency into play which will induce them, for once, to vote alike. " "That seems indispensable; but is it possible?" questioned Maurice. "I trust so. Mr. Gobert is the banker of the Marquis de Fleury, whoexerts unbounded power over him. One word from the marquis, and Gobert'svote is secured. The marquis, as every one is aware, can always beapproached through Madame de Fleury. Obtain _her_ promise that we shallhave Mr. Gobert's vote, and it is ours! The marchioness, I fear, may nothave forgiven Bertha's rejection of her brother's suit; but, as bothparties are still unmarried and unengaged, if she can only be convincedthat Bertha's refusal was mere girlish caprice, and that there is stillhope of the young duke's success, she will be ready enough to serve us. " "But is there hope?" inquired Maurice, quite innocently. The wily schemer replied by a glance half-angry, half-contemptuous; but, without making any other answer, went on. "The other banker, Mr. Gilmer, I am seeking the means to influence. Ihave no doubt that I shall find them. The ninth member of the committeeis Mr. Rutledge, quite a young man, the only son and heir of aWashington millionnaire. I learn, from M. De Bois, that Rutledge isdeeply enamored of the sister of Lord Linden. " "I beg pardon, but you have not yet told me who Lord Linden is; and itis so unusual to hear _lords_ mentioned in this country that my ears arequite unattuned to the sound of a title. " Another hasty look from the count might have been interpreted into oneof slight disgust. His son was far more Americanized than he could havedesired. He went on, with increased haughtiness. "The English ambassador to the United States married a sister of LordLinden, and his lordship and a younger sister accompanied them toWashington. Mr. Rutledge aspires to the hand of this young lady, --sosays M. De Bois, who is intimately acquainted with her brother. If shecan be interested in our plans the vote of Mr. Rutledge is easilysecured. " Maurice could not help laughing. "It is, _in reality_, the votes of _women_, then, that are to determinethe direction of this road? I ought hardly to be surprised at _that_;for, if they have feeble voices in other lands, they have very decidedones in America. But how is the young lady in question to be reached?" "That is what I am pondering upon, " resumed his father. "I shall formsome plan, you may be sure; and no time must be wasted in carrying itinto execution. I have already ventured to touch upon the subject toLord Linden, but have not said anything definite. It is a difficultaffair to conduct delicately; yet the obtaining of these votes is ofsuch vital importance that we must strain every nerve to secure them. " "Certainly, since it will more than treble the value of the property, "observed Maurice, placidly. "By the by, I presume you have had nooccasion to use the power of attorney which I gave you? Just at thismoment it is very fortunate for me that the estate is whollyunencumbered. " The count grew ashy pale; but Maurice did not observe his change ofcolor, nor mark the hesitating tone in which he replied, "Veryfortunate, of course, --very fortunate, indeed;" and then, looking at hiswatch, he added, "It is time for your grandmother and Bertha to return. Lord Linden and M. De Bois escorted them to the capitol. You must beimpatient to see them. " "In regard to this property, Mr. Lorrillard informs me, " resumedMaurice; but the count interrupted him. "A visit to Madame de Fleury is now the first step to be taken; _there_you may be useful; you are such a decided favorite of hers, that youradvocacy may be inestimable. Suppose you call at once, and learn at whathour she will receive your grandmother, Bertha, and myself. A visit fromyou will open the way. " "I will call with pleasure, " answered Maurice. "I have a letter from Mr. Lorrillard to his friend Mr. Emerson, which I should like to deliverwithout delay. It is a matter of business. Mr. Lorrillard thinks that, as my estate is wholly unencumbered"-- "We can talk of that at another time, " replied the count, hurriedly. "Suppose you pay your visit to the marchioness at once. It is hardlyworth while waiting for the ladies; no one can tell when they mayreturn. " Maurice, though he could not interpret the count's singular manner, could not even remotely divine the meaning of its abruptness andconfusion, felt himself checked in his proposed communication. Heexperienced no uneasiness; he had not the faintest conception that thecount was dealing doubly with him, and that his very first act, onreaching Washington, had been to mortgage the estate of his son for solarge amount that, but for the advent of the railroad, upon which heconfidently calculated, the mortgage must prove ruinous to theinterests of the landholder. Had Maurice been aware of this fact, he would not for a moment havecontemplated delivering to Mr. Emerson Mr. Lorrillard's letter, in whichit was distinctly stated that the property of the viscount was withoutlien. Further discussion between the father and son was prevented by theentrance of the countess, accompanied by Lord Linden, and followed byBertha and Gaston de Bois. Maurice, as he saluted his grandmother, was gratified to observe that, albeit her air was by no means less stately, it was more satisfied andcomplacent. Though titled nobility had no native existence in thesemi-civilized land, she rejoiced to find that it was sometimes_imported_. She had at last encountered an individual with whom shecould associate without derogation. The French, as all the world knows, have a national antipathy towards the English; but a nobleman, eventhough he chanced to be an Englishman, was hailed by the Countess deGramont, upon American soil, as a God-send. Lord Linden was not aware ofthe compliment implied by the unwonted graciousness of her demeanor, andthe tone of _almost_ equality in which she addressed him. Maurice comprehended the altered expression that softened hisgrandmother's countenance, but was struck and amazed by the wonderfulradiance of Bertha's face. Her eyes shone as though a veritable sunlived behind those azure heavens, and almost annihilated their color byits brightness; her lips were eloquent with a voiceless happiness theydid not care to hide, yet could not speak; the laughing dimples playedperpetually about her softly suffused cheeks; her elastic feet almostdanced, so airy was their tread; about her whole presence there was abuoyant glow that seemed to encompass her with an atmosphere of lightand warmth. She had not attempted to disguise her joy on again meeting Gaston deBois; and, though he had paid them repeated visits during their sojournin Washington, there was always the same deepening of the hue uponBertha's cheek; the same flood of sunshine brightening over her face;the same softening of the tones of her voice; the same quickened riseand fall of her fair bosom when he approached. And he, --did he not note these betraying indications of his own power?Did they strike no electric thrill through his rejoicing soul? If theydid, he was too much bewildered by a happiness so unexpected to searchout calmly the hidden meaning of these precious signs. The change in the deportment and character of M. De Bois, which wedescribed at its commencement, was now fully confirmed; and though theblood still sprang too rapidly into his face, and his breathing grewlabored with emotion, and his manner, especially in Bertha's presence, was slightly confused, it was the confusion of elation rather thanembarrassment. The self-control he had acquired had almost overcome hispropensity to stammer, and Bertha was unreasonable enough to half regretthat she could no longer finish his sentences, and thus prove howinstinctively she divined his thoughts. Maurice greeted her, as was his cousinly wont after a separation, with akiss on either cheek; but, for the first time, she shrank from histouch, and her ingenuous eyes involuntarily glanced toward Gaston, thenwere quickly cast down; and the mutinous ringlets that had, as usual, escaped from bondage, were a welcome veil, as they fell over her face. "Why, little Bertha, has an absence of four years made you forget thatwe are cousins?" asked Maurice, in surprise at her manner. "No--no, " she answered, shaking back the curls, and looking up brightlyin his face; "and I am rejoiced that you have come to Washington: it isa delightful place; I am charmed with everything I see. " Did Bertha reflect how much the charm of a locality depends upon our owninternal condition? Was she aware that any place, however tame and dull, becomes delightful through the presence of one who creates in us a statereceptive of enjoyment? Maurice expressed his intention of calling upon Madame de Fleury; LordLinden and M. De Bois proposed to accompany him. The three gentlementook their departure together. But soon after they left the hotel, Maurice changed his mind; and, telling his companions that he had somebusiness to transact which required immediate attention, apologized forleaving them, adding that he would call upon Madame de Fleury an hourlater, and hoped he might have the pleasure of meeting them there. M. De Bois proposed to Lord Linden that they, also, should postponetheir visit. "As you please, " answered his lordship, languidly. "I am perfectly atleisure. I will go wherever you are going, --it does not matter where; Iam indifferent to place. " Lord Linden always _was_ at leisure, and always indifferent, and notunfrequently attached himself to Gaston de Bois, and seemed disposed toaccompany him wherever he went. His lordship was one of that vast race of _blasé_ young noblemen whoseopportunities of enjoyment had never been circumscribed, except by theabsence of the capacity to enjoy, and who, as a natural sequence, werecontinually oppressed with a sense of satiety, enervated by the noondaysunshine of unbroken prosperity, and thoroughly weary of their ownexistence. When his brother-in-law had been appointed ambassador toAmerica, he had accompanied him to the United States with a vague ideathat he would be thrown in contact with warlike tribes of Indians, theaborigines of the soil, whose novel and barbarous usages might affordhim some mediocre measure of excitement. We need hardly picture hisdisappointment. The ambassadors from foreign courts and their suites were as a matter ofcourse, thrown into constant communication with each other, and thesecretary of the French ambassador and the brother-in-law of the Englishformed an acquaintance which ripened into an approach to intimacy. Therewas no particular affinity between them, but Lord Linden liked M. DeBois's society because he was a patient listener, and Lord Linden wasthe opposite to taciturn; and Gaston, though he sometimes, as in thepresent instance, felt his lordship an encumbrance, had too often been avictim to ennui not to sympathize with a fellow-sufferer. "Mademoiselle de Merrivale has a remarkably attractive face, " said LordLinden. "I do not particularly fancy blondes; there is too muchmilk-and-water and crushed rose-leaves in their general make-up; but, ifa blonde could, to my eyes, enter the charmed circle of the positivelybeautiful, I would give her admission. " Gaston, who had fallen into a pleasant revery, was quickly roused bythis observation, and exclaimed, with an indignant intonation, "Notadmit a _blonde_ into the circle of the beautiful? Can anything belovelier than the countenance you have just looked upon?" "Yes, " replied the nobleman, musing in his turn. "I think I could show you a face that would make Mademoiselle deMerrivale's sink into the most utter insignificance. " "Is your beauty a Washington belle?" inquired Gaston, half-scornfully. "I do not know, --I do not know anything about her. I merely spokefiguratively when I said _I could show you_, --for I certainly could_not_, at this moment; but I allude to the most peerless being that evercaptivated the eyes of man. In her, indeed, one could realize the poet'sthought, -- "'All beauty compassed in a female form. '" "And who is this incomparable divinity?" asked Gaston, still with atouch of sarcasm in his voice. "Who is she? That is more than I know myself. We were thrown together byan accident, --quite an every-day occurrence in this headlong-rushing, pell-mell, neck-breaking land, where the people contemplate railroadcatastrophes and steamboat explosions with as cool indifference asthough they were a necessary part of a traveller's programme. " "You were thrown in contact with your beauty, then, by a railroadcollision, or were blown together through the bursting of a boiler?"remarked Gaston interrogatively, and more because civility seemed todemand the question than because he took any especial interest in thenarrative. "Yes, quite a stirring incident. I felt alive for a month after. I wastravelling from New York to Washington, in such a listless and used-upstate that, in my desperation, I seriously pondered upon the amount ofemotion that could be derived from jumping off the train, at the risk ofone's neck. As I was glancing restlessly around, suddenly a face rosebefore me that riveted my eyes. It was a countenance unlike any I hadever seen. Though features and outline were faultless, in these theleast part of its beauty was embodied. There was an eloquence in therapid transitions of expression that melted one into another; there wasa dreamy thoughtfulness in the magnificent hazel eyes. They were notexactly hazel either, --they reminded one of a topaz. I hardly know whatname to give to their hue. But it is useless to attempt to describe sucha face and form. I might heap epithet upon epithet, and then leave youwithout the faintest conception of the bewildering loveliness of theirpossessor. " "You succeeded in becoming acquainted with the lady?" inquired Gaston, now really interested. "That good fortune was brought about by one of those ill winds, which, for the proverb's sake, must blow good to some one. It could not havebeen accomplished by any effort of my own, for there was an air of quietdignity about the lady that no gentleman could have ventured to ruffleby too marked observation, far less by presuming to address even apassing remark. We were about half way between Philadelphia andBaltimore, when suddenly a terrific shock was felt, followed by adashing of all humanity to one side of the cars, and a great crash. Wehad run into another train, were thrown off the track, and, in a momentmore, upset. " "Since you were longing for excitement, " observed Gaston, "thisagreeable little variety must have gratified you. " "Yes, it was well enough in its way, not being positively fatal toexistence. You may conceive the confusion and the difficulty of gettingupon one's feet. How the people scrambled out of the cars I do notexactly know; for a short time I was too much stunned to see anythingdistinctly. I remember nothing clearly until somebody helped me up, and, in trying to move my left arm, I discovered that it was broken. " "How unfortunate! And you lost sight of the lady?" "It would have been unfortunate if I _had_ lost sight of her; but I didnot. The passengers were huddled together in a most primitive inn by theroad-side. There I beheld her, moving about, quite unharmed, quieting achild here, assisting a young mother there, doing something helpfuleverywhere. There chanced to be a surgeon in the cars, who, happily, wasuninjured. He saw my predicament, for I was suffering confoundedly, and, upon examining my arm, said that it must be set at once. He called uponseveral persons to aid him. Some were too much occupied with their owndistress; some too bewildered; and some shrank from the task. But, to mysupreme joy (it was worth breaking an arm for such a piece of goodluck), the lady I just mentioned came forward, and offered her services!She tore my handkerchief and her own into bandages, produced needle andthread from her little travelling reticule, and sewed them together. Sheassisted the surgeon in the most skilful but the calmest manner. Whatcould I do but express my gratitude? This was the opening to aconversation. We were detained several hours at the inn before a trainarrived to take us on our journey. I had always detested these Americancars, where all the travellers sit together in pairs; but now I rejoicedover them, for I managed to obtain a seat beside her. We conversed, without pause, during the whole way to Washington; and what proprietyand good sense she evinced! Her beauty had deeply impressed me, but herconversation struck me even more. Such elevated thoughts droppedspontaneously from her lips, and so naturally, that she did not seem tobe aware that there was anything peculiar about them. It was enough todrive a man distracted; I confess that it did me!" "She came to Washington then?" "Yes; and here we were forced to part. I begged that she would allow methe privilege of calling to thank her. In the most suave, lady-like, butresolute manner, --a manner that silenced all pleading, --she declined. But she had inadvertently admitted that she resided in Washington. _That_ has kept me here ever since. I have been searching for her thesesix months. " "And you have never met her again?" "No, I have sought her in the highest circles; for, from herdistinguished and even aristocratic air, her exceeding cultivation andgood-breeding, I infer that she is a person of standing. It was somewhatsingular that a lady of her unmistakable stamp should have beentravelling alone; but that is not unusual in this country. In spite ofall my efforts, I have never been able to encounter her again. Iexamined the strips of the fine cambric handkerchief with which my armwas bound, hoping to find a name. Upon one strip the letter 'M' wasdaintily embroidered. I have those strips yet carefully preserved. " "Do you think she was an American lady?" "No, assuredly not. Though she spoke the English language very purely, and as only a scholar could have conversed, a slight accent betrayedthat she was a foreigner; French, or Italian, I imagine. If I could onlybehold her once again, I should not be so miserably tired of everythingand so bored by my own existence. Washington is killingly dull. By theway, the de Fleurys give a grand ball on Monday. I hear that there isgreat anxiety prevalent in the _beau monde_ on the score of invitations. Of course, Mademoiselle de Merrivale will be there. Her face must createa sensation. What a piece of good fortune it would be if I could see it, at this very ball, contrasted with that of my lovely incognita! _There_is a day-dream for you! I never attend a ball, or any large assembly, without a vague anticipation of finding her in the crowd. I should liketo hear _your_ candid opinion if you saw those two faces placed side byside. " The response which Gaston made to this remark, and which expressedcertain convictions of his own, was not uttered aloud. It is one of love's happy prerogatives that the countenance best belovedgains to the lover's eye a charm beyond that with which any other faceis endowed, even when he is forced to admit _that_ dearest visage issurpassed in point of positive, calculable, tangible beauty. "A man may love a woman perfectly, And yet by no means ignorantly maintain A thousand women have not larger eyes: Enough that she alone has looked at him With eyes that, large or small, have won his soul. " CHAPTER XXI. THE CYTHEREA OF FASHION. Maurice had so unceremoniously parted from Lord Linden and M. De Boisbecause he suddenly remembered that Mr. Lorrillard had impressed uponhim the necessity of making his arrangements with Mr. Emerson withoutdelay, as the present was a peculiarly favorable moment for purchasingshares in the mines whose iron he hoped to convert to gold. The viscount presented himself at Mr. Emerson's office, and deliveredMr. Lorrillard's letter. This latter gentleman was held in such highesteem that an introduction of his was certain of meeting with theutmost consideration. Mr. Emerson, after only a brief conversation withMaurice, informed him that he was ready to make the desired loan uponthe security offered, and begged that he would call the next morning, when the necessary formalities would at once be gone through. Gratified by his visit and elated by the prospect of effecting abusiness transaction of so much importance, never dreaming of the fatalsequence which might be the result, Maurice drove to the residence ofthe French ambassador. It was not Madame de Fleury's reception-day, butby some mistake he was ushered into her drawing-room. In a few minutes, Lurline, a confidential _femme de chambre_, whom Maurice had often seenin Paris, --a being all fluttering ribbons and alluring smiles andgraceful courtesies and coquettish airs, --made her appearance. "Madame has received the card of monsieur _le vicomte_, " she began, witha sugary accent and soft manner, which reminded one strongly of thetones and deportment of her mistress. "Madame would not treat monsieuras a stranger, and therefore sent _me_, "--here, with her head on oneside, she courtesied again, bewitchingly, --"to say that we have a newvalet, --an ignorant fellow, for it is impossible to procure a decentdomestic in America, --and this untrained creature has to be drilled into_les usages_: he has forgotten that madame only receives on Saturday. Madame, however, would see _M. Le vicomte_ at any time that waspossible. " "I am delighted to hear you say so, " returned Maurice, "for I am verydesirous of having the pleasure of paying my respects. " "Madame is preparing for a _matinée_, at the Spanish Embassy. She isjust _coiffé_, and monsieur should see what a magnificent head I havemade for her. Notwithstanding my success with her head she is at thismoment in deep distress: her dress has not yet arrived; we expect itevery moment! Madame's agitation is overpowering. She is quite unequalto encountering a disappointment of this crushing nature. She begsmonsieur will excuse"-- Before she could finish the sentence, the marchioness herself appeared, wrapped in a delicate, rose-colored _robe-de-chambre_, prodigallyadorned with lace and embroidery. "My dear M. De Gramont, I meant to excuse myself; but as I am forced towait for that tantalizing dress, a few moments with you, _en attendant_, will divert my thoughts. I had heard from M. De Bois, that the Countessde Gramont and her son, with Mademoiselle de Merrivale, are honoringWashington by their presence; but I was informed that _you_ were nothere. You see I paid you the compliment of inquiring. " As she spoke, she glanced at the mirror opposite, and arranged the longsprays of feathery flowers that were mingled with her braided tresses. "I am highly flattered at not being forgotten, " replied Maurice. "I onlyarrived this morning, and hastened to pay my respects. " "And you ought to be very much flattered that I can spare you aninstant, at such a critical moment. Here is my toilet for this _matinée_at a dead stand-still, because that tiresome dress has not come. It isone I ordered expressly for the occasion, and, I assure you, it is aperfect triumph of art, --a victory gained over great obstacles. Let metell you, nothing is more difficult to manage than an appropriatecostume for a _matinée_. One's toilet must be a delicate compromisebetween ball attire and full visiting dress, but Mademoiselle Melaniehas hit the _juste milieu_; and succeeded in carrying me through all theperils of Scylla and Charybdis. Oh, dear! oh, dear!" (stamping her tinyslippered foot) "will that dress never come?" "It must be very trying!" said Maurice, endeavoring to assume a tone ofsympathy. "Trying? it is _killing_! Imagine my state of mind. I cannot go_without_ this dress: all my other toilets have been seen more than oncein public; and this one was sure to create a sensation, --was planned forthis very occasion!" "I fear my visit is inopportune, and ought to be shortened, " repliedMaurice, for the agitated manner and troubled look of Madame de Fleurymade him feel that he must be an intruder. "I will only remain longenough to know if you will receive my grandmother, my father, and mycousin, Mademoiselle Bertha, to-morrow; they are very"-- "Hush!" cried Madame de Fleury, raising her finger and listening with aneager countenance. "Was that not a ring? Patrick is opening the door. Hush! let me listen! It is the dress, --it must be the dress!" and shemade several rapid steps toward the door, but returned to her seat asthe servant passed through the entry with empty hands. "This isterrible! I have not my wits about me; I do not know what I am doing orsaying!" "I am truly concerned, " observed Maurice, who had risen to depart. "MayI tell the Countess de Gramont that you will receive her to-morrow?" "To-morrow? Yes, certainly. I do not remember any engagement, but I canthink of nothing at this moment. If that tormenting dress would onlyarrive! I fear it will never be here! It is the first time MademoiselleMelanie ever disappointed me; she is punctuality itself. This waiting istorture, and completely upsets me, --turns my brain; it will throw meinto a nervous fever. You, insensible men, cannot feel for such aposition; you do not know the importance of a toilet. " "We must be very dull if we do not know how to appreciate those ofMadame de Fleury, " replied Maurice, bowing courteously. "Pray, do notinclude me in the catalogue of such sightless individuals. I will bidyou adieu until to-morrow, when you will allow me to accompany mygrandmother?" "You are always welcome. Pray tell the countess I shall be charmed tosee her, and say the same to that cruel Mademoiselle Bertha, --though Iought not to forgive her treatment of my brother. Say to her that he isyet unconsoled. Good gracious! That dress certainly is not coming! If itwere to arrive at this moment I should be obliged to hasten; and to givethe _finishing_ touches to a toilet in a hurried and discomposed manneris to run the risk of spoiling the general effect. What _can_ havehappened to Mademoiselle Melanie? Hark! is not that some one? Did younot hear a ring? I am not mistaken; some one _did_ come in. It is thedress at last!" The marchioness started up joyfully, with clasped hands, and anexpression of deep gratitude. A servant entered with a note; shesnatched it petulantly and tossed it into the card-basket unopened. "How vexatious! Only a note! It is _too_ cruel! I shall never, neverpardon Mademoiselle Melanie if she disappoints me. But that's easyenough to say, difficult enough to carry into execution. In reality Icould not exist without her; and Mademoiselle Melanie knows _that_ aswell as I do. She is so sought after that her exhibition-rooms arecrowded from morning until night. It is now a favor for her to receiveany new customers, and I believe she has some thirty or forty workwomenin her employment. Of course, you have heard of Mademoiselle Melanie?" "I have not had that pleasure; she is a mantua-maker, I presume, "returned Maurice, repressing a smile. "I suppose that is what, strictly speaking, we must call her; but she isthe very Queen of Taste, the Sovereign of Modistes. She has a geniusthat is extraordinary, --it is magic, --it is inspiration! A touch of herhand transforms every one who approaches her. What figures she has madefor some of these American women! What charms she has developed in them!What an air and grace she has imparted to their whole appearance! Shemakes the most vulgar look elegant, and the elegant, divine! Anotherring. Now Heaven grant it may be the dress at last!" The marchioness was again disappointed: it was only another note, whichshared the fate of the former. "Oh, I shall not survive this!" she ejaculated, dropping into anarm-chair; "and that horrid little Mrs. Gilmer will triumph in myabsence. You know Mrs. Gilmer?" "I have not that honor, " returned Maurice, who, impatient as he was totake his leave, found it impossible to depart while the marchionesschose to detain him. "She attempts to pass herself off for a belle, and even tries to takeprecedence of _me_, ignoring all the customs of good society; but, doubtless, the poor thing is actually ignorant of them, and should bepardoned and pitied for her ill-breeding. She is the wife of Gilmer, therich banker. It is to Mademoiselle Melanie that she is indebted for allher social success. Mademoiselle Melanie positively _created_ her, andshe never wears anything made by any one else. It is all owing toMademoiselle Melanie that the men surround her as they do, and try topersuade themselves that she is pretty. Pretty! with her turn-up nose, and colorless hair and eyes. Her husband is immensely rich; and, aswealth rules the day in this country, she takes good care that the depthof his purse shall be known; for that purpose she loads herself withdiamonds, --always diamonds. She has not the least idea of varying herjewels; even Mademoiselle Melanie could not make her comprehend thatart. I wonder she does not have a dress contrived of bank-notes! _That_would be novel, and it would also prove a capital way of announcing heropulence!" "A rather dangerous costume!" returned Maurice, laughing. "At all events it would be original; and, as originality is sure toproduce an effect, the saucy little _parvenue_ might afford to follow myadvice, even though it came from an enemy. " Maurice could not help exclaiming with a comical intonation, --for therewas something irresistibly ludicrous in the puny fierceness of thedressed doll, --"An enemy!" "Oh, there is no concealment about it!" exclaimed Madame de Fleury withthe air of a Liliputian belligerent. "It is open warfare; we are atswords' points, and all the world knows our animosity. And Mrs. Gilmerhas the impertinence to pretend that our _styles_ are quite similar, andthat the same modes become us. She even declares that such has beenMademoiselle Melanie's verdict, and from the judgment of MademoiselleMelanie nobody dares to appeal. " "This Mademoiselle Melanie is a Parisian, I presume?" asked Maurice, more because it seemed polite to say something, than from any interestin the answer to his question. "Could she be anything else?" replied Madame de Fleury, with enthusiasm. "Could a being gifted with such wondrous taste have been born out ofParis? She is a _protegée_ of Vignon's; and, when I was exiled, Mademoiselle Melanie came to America with me. She instantly becameknown. There is a Mr. Hilson here, to whom she probably brought letters, for he has taken the deepest interest in trumpeting her fame. She hascreated a perfect furor. " "Hilson?" repeated Maurice, musingly. "A gentleman of that name visitedBrittany before I left. I wonder if it can be the same person. " "Very likely, for he has been abroad. I have heard him mention Brittany. Well, this Mr. Hilson was so infatuated with--hush! That is a ring!" While Madame de Fleury listened in breathless expectation, Lurlineopened the door and announced, "The dress of madame has arrived!" "Ah! at last! at last! What happiness! I am saved, when I had almostgiven up all hope! Monsieur de Gramont, you will excuse me! _Aurevoir!_" Before Maurice could utter his congratulations upon the advent of thedress, she had glided out of the room. CHAPTER XXII. MEETING. The tangled web Count Tristan had woven for others began to fold itsmeshes around himself, and to torture him with the dread that he mightbe caught in his own snare. From the moment Maurice arrived inWashington, --an event the count had not anticipated, --his covert use ofthe authority entrusted to him was menaced with discovery. To a frank, straightforward character, the very natural alternative would havesuggested itself of explaining, and, as far possible, justifying thestep just taken; but to a mind so full of guile, so wedded to wilyschemes as the count's, a simple, upright course would never haveoccurred. The fear of exposure threw him into a state of nervousirritability which allowed no rest, and he was compelled to pay theprice of deception by plunging deeper into her labyrinths, though everystep rendered extrication from the briery mazes more difficult. On the morrow Maurice accompanied his grandmother, Bertha, and CountTristan to the residence of the Marchioness de Fleury. Count Tristan's_malaise_ evinced itself by his unusually fretful and preoccupiedmanner, his querulous tone, and a partial forgetfulness of those politeobservances of which he was rarely oblivious. He allowed his mother tostand, looking at him in blind amazement, before he remembered to openthe door; was very near passing out of the room before her, and scarcelyrecollected to hand her into the carriage. His abstraction was partiallydissipated by her scornful comment upon the contagious influences of aplebeian country; but to recover himself entirely was out of thequestion. On reaching the ambassador's mansion, the visitors were disconcerted bythe information that Madame de Fleury "_did not receive_. " "She will receive us!" answered Maurice, recovering himself. "We arehere by appointment. " And, passing the surprised domestic, he usheredhis grandmother into the drawing-room. Bertha and Count Tristanfollowed. The servant, with evident hesitation, took the cards that were handed tohim, and retired. The door of the _salon_ chanced to remain open, andrendered audible a whispered conversation going on in the entry. "I dare not disturb madame at this moment; she would fly into a terriblerage. You know she never allows her toilet to be interrupted!" These words, spoken in a female voice, reached the ears of the visitors. "But the gentleman says it is an _appointment_. What's to be done? Whatam I to answer?" was the rejoinder in rough male tones. "You are a blockhead, --you have no management, " replied the first voice. "I will arrange the matter without your stupid interference. " Lurline now courtesied herself into the room, and, after bestowing anarch glance of recognition upon the viscount, addressed the countess. "I am _desolée_ to be obliged to inform madame that Madame de Fleury isat this moment so much absorbed by her toilet that I fear I shall haveno opportunity of making known the honor of madame's visit. My mistresshas made an engagement to go to the capitol to hear some distinguishedorator. It is madame's _débût_ in spring attire this season. Madame'sdress, bonnet, and mantle have this moment been sent home. A moredelicately fresh toilet _de printemps_ cannot be conceived; it willestablish the fact that spring has arrived. But madame has not yetessayed her attire and assured herself of its effect. I trust _madame lacomtesse_ will deem this sufficient apology for not being received. " As she concluded, Lurline simpered and courtesied, and seemed confidentthat she had gracefully acquitted herself of a difficult duty. "Not receive us when we are here by invitation?" ejaculated thecountess, angrily. "Is Madame de Fleury aware that it is the Countess deGramont and her family who are calling upon her?" "There must be some mistake, " interposed Maurice; then, turning to the_femme de chambre_, he added, "I beg that you will deliver these cardsto the marchioness and bring me an answer. " "How am I to refuse monsieur?" replied Lurline, hesitating, yetsoftening her unwillingness to comply by a volley of sidelong glances. "Monsieur is not aware that he is placing me in a most delicateposition. It is against madame's rules to be disturbed when her toiletis progressing: it requires her concentrated attention, --her whole mind!Still, if monsieur insists, I will run the risk of madame's displeasure. Monsieur must only be kind enough to wait, and allow me to watch for afavorable moment when I can place these cards before madame. " With a low salutation, and a coquettish movement of the head that setall her ribbons fluttering, the _femme de chambre_ made her exit. "Not receive us? Make us wait?" exclaimed the countess, wrathfully;"truly, Madame de Fleury has profited by her sojourn among savages! Thisis not to be endured! Let us depart at once!" "My dear mother, " began Count Tristan, soothingly, "it will not do to beoffended, or to notice the slight, if there be one; but, I am sure, noneis intended. It is absolutely _indispensable_ that I should see thecountess, and get her to present this letter to the Marquis de Fleury, and also that I should obtain her promise that she will influence him tosecure the vote of Mr. Gobert. Pray, be courteous to the marchionesswhen she makes her appearance, or all is lost. " "What degradation will you demand of me next? How can you suppose itpossible that I can be courteous? I tell you I am furious!" "But you do not know all that depends upon obtaining these votes. Thinkof this railroad, --of the vital importance of the direction it takes!Think of the Maryland property, which is almost all that is left tous"-- "Have I not again and again begged you not to meddle withrailroads, --not to occupy yourself with business matters which anobleman is bound to ignore?" "And by obeying you, as far as I could, and only acting in secret, Ihave nearly ruined myself, " answered the count, with growing excitement. At this moment the loud ringing of a bell was heard, accompanied by thevoice of Lurline, speaking in tones of great tribulation. "Patrick! Patrick! do you not hear the bell? Come here quickly! What'sto be done? Such a calamity! It's dreadful! dreadful!" Count Tristan started up, and went to the door to question the _femme dechambre_, fearing that the calamity in question might be of a naturesufficiently serious to prevent the much-desired interview. Lurline was standing in the hall; she wore her hat and shawl, and wasgiving directions to a domestic in the most rapid and flurried manner. "Will Madame de Fleury receive us?" inquired the count, anxiously. "I told monsieur that I could not promise him, and, now that thismisfortune has befallen us, it is thoroughly impossible even to makeyour presence here known to madame. Who could have anticipated such a_contretems_? Never before has Mademoiselle Melanie allowed a dress toissue from her hands which did not fit _à merveille_, and there are twoimportant alterations to be made in this before it can be worn. Madameis in despair; she will go out of her senses; it will give her a brainfever!" "Can we not have the pleasure of seeing her for a few moments, when hertoilet is completed?" inquired Maurice. "Ah, there it is! _When_ her toilet is completed? Will it be completedin time for her to reach the senate at the hour proposed? Monsieur willpardon me, but I have not a moment to spare. " Turning to Patrick, she added, "I am forced to go out to purchase someribbons. I have left madame in the hands of Antoinette. Madame is insuch a state that one might weep to see her! Take care not to admit anyone, except the Countess Orlowski, who accompanies your mistress to thesenate. I will be back presently. " The Countess de Gramont rose up majestically. "Let us depart, my son! Never more will I cross this threshold, --neverenter this house where I have been insulted!" "No insult was intended, " replied Count Tristan, nervously. "Even if itwere, we are not in a position to be cognizant of insults; we should beforced to ignore them. I cannot leave without entreating the marchionessto deliver this letter to Monsieur de Fleury, herself: it _must_ bedone, --and _to-day_. There is not an instant to lose. " "And you can stoop so low, --you can demean yourself to such a degree?What a humiliation!" "Humiliations are not to be taken into consideration where _ruin_ staresus in the face!" he answered, violently. "Is it _so very important_?" inquired Bertha, struck by the count'sangry manner. "Of more importance than I can explain to you!" "Oh, then let us stay, aunt! We must make allowances for Madame deFleury's ruling passion. Her toilet first, all the world afterward!" A carriage just then drove to the door, and attracted the attention ofBertha, who was standing by the open window. "What magnificent horses! and what a neat equipage! All the appointmentsin such admirable taste! A lady is descending. I suppose it must be theCountess Orlowski. What a dignified air she has! What a gracefulbearing! I wish I could see her face. She must be handsome with such aperfect figure. Yes, --I am right, --it _is_ the Countess Orlowski, forthe servant has admitted her. " As the lady was passing through the hall, she said to the domestic, "No, you need not announce me; I will go at once to the chamber of Madame deFleury. " At the sound of that voice, the shriek of joy that broke from Bertha'slips drowned the amazed exclamation of Maurice. In another instant, Bertha's arms were around the stranger, and her kisses were mingled withtears and broken ejaculations, as she embraced her rapturously. Maurice stood beside them, struggling with emotion that caused his manlyframe to vibrate from head to foot, while his dilated eyes appearedspellbound by some familiar apparition which they hardly dared tobelieve was palpable. There is a joy which, in its wild excess, paralyzes the faculties, makesdumb the voice, confuses the brain, until ecstasy becomes agony, and allthe senses are enveloped in a cloud of doubt. Such was the joy ofMaurice as he stood powerless, questioning the blissful reality of thehour, yet in the actual presence of that being who was never a momentabsent from his mental vision. "Madeleine! Madeleine! My own Madeleine! Have we found you at last? Isit really you?" sobbed Bertha, whose tears always flowed easily, but nowpoured in torrents from their blue heavens. And Madeleine, as she passionately returned her cousin's embrace, dropped her head upon Bertha's shoulder, and wept also. "Madeleine!" At that tremulously tender voice her face was lifted and turned towardMaurice, --turned for the first time for nearly five long years; and yet, at that moment, he felt as though it had never been turned away. Bertha involuntarily loosened her arms, and Madeleine extended her handto Maurice. He clasped it fervently, but his quivering lips gave forthno sound. One irrepressible look of perfect joy from Madeleine'sluminous eyes had answered the impassioned gaze of his; one smile ofineffable gratitude played over her sweet lips. For an instant the eyeswere raised heavenward, in mute thanksgiving, and then sought theground, as though they feared to reveal too much; and the smile oftransport changed to one of grave serenity, and the wonted quietude ofher demeanor returned. The countess and Count Tristan had both risen in speechless surprise, but had made no attempt to approach Madeleine, whom Bertha now drew intothe room. "Madeleine! I cannot believe that I am not dreaming, " cried the latter;"I cannot believe that I have found you!--that it is really you! And youare lovelier than ever! You no longer look pale and careworn; you arehappy, my own Madeleine, --you are happy, --are you not? But why have youforgotten us?" "I have never forgotten--never--never _forgotten_!" faltered Madeleine, in a voice that had a sound of tears, answering to those that glitteredin her eyes. Maurice had not released her hand, and, bending over her, made an effortto speak; but at that moment the stern voice of the countess broke inharshly, -- "How is it that we find you here, Mademoiselle de Gramont? Where haveyou hidden yourself? What have you done since you fled from myprotection?" "Yes, what have you done?" chimed in Count Tristan. "How is it that wefind you descending from a handsome equipage and elegantly attired?" "I have done nothing for which I shall ever have to blush!" answeredMadeleine, with a dignity which awed him into silence. "It was needless to say _that_, dear Madeleine, " cried Maurice, whosepowers of utterance had returned when he saw Madeleine about to beassailed. "No one who knows you would _dare to believe_ that you evercommitted an action that demanded a blush. " Madeleine thanked him with her speaking countenance. Perhaps it was onlyfancy, but he thought he felt a light, grateful pressure of the hand heheld. "But tell us where you have been!" continued Bertha, affectionately. "You look differently, Madeleine, and yet the same; and how this richattire becomes you! You are no longer poor and dependent then, --areyou?" "I am no longer poor, and no longer dependent!" answered Madeleine, in atone of honest pride. "Is it possible?" exclaimed the count and his mother together. "But how has all this happened?" Bertha ran on. "Oh! I can divine: youare married, --you have made a brilliant marriage. " At those words a suppressed groan, of unutterable anguish, struck onMadeleine's ear; and the hand Maurice held dropped from his grasp. "Speak! do speak! dear Madeleine!" continued Bertha. "Tell us all yoursufferings, --for you must have suffered at first, --and all your joys, since you are happy now. And tell us how you chance to be here, --here inAmerica, as we are; and how it happens that you are calling upon theMarchioness de Fleury, at the same time as ourselves; and why you expectto be received by her, though she will not receive us. " Before Madeleine could reply, and she was evidently collecting herselfto speak, Lurline, who had just returned from executing her commission, passed through the hall. The door of the drawing-room stood open; shecaught sight of Madeleine, and ran toward her, exclaiming joyfully, -- "Oh, what good fortune! How rejoiced my poor mistress will be! She didnot dare to hope for this great kindness! I am so thankful! I will flyto announce to her the good news!" She hurried away, leaving Madeleine's relatives more than ever amazed bythese mysterious words. Count Tristan was the first to break the silence. Ever keenly alive tohis own interest, he saw a great advantage to be gained if he hadinterpreted the language of the _femme de chambre_ rightly. In an altered tone, a tone of marked consideration, he asked, "You arewell acquainted with the Marchioness de Fleury?" "_Very well!_" replied Madeleine, with an incomprehensible emphasis, while a smile that had a faint touch of satire flitted over her face. "She receives you?" questioned the count. "Always, " answered Madeleine, smiling again. "She esteems you?" persisted the count. "I have every reason to believe that she does. " "And you have influence with her, " joined in Bertha, suspecting thecount's drift, and feeling desirous of aiding him. "I think I may venture to say I have. " "Oh, how fortunate!" cried Bertha; "you maybe of the greatest service toour cousin, Count Tristan. " She took the letter out of his hand, andplacing it in Madeleine's, added, "Beg Madame de Fleury to read thisletter, and obtain her promise that she will use her influence with theMarquis de Fleury to cause Mr. Gobert, --Gobert, that's his name, is itnot?" appealing to the count, --"to cause Mr. Gobert to vote as hereininstructed. See, how well I have explained that matter! I really believeI have an undeveloped talent for business. " "The letter should reach Madame de Fleury this morning. The appealshould be made to the marquis _to-day_, --_this very day!_" urged thecount. "It shall be!" replied Madeleine, with quiet confidence. The countess here interposed. "What, my son, you are willing to solicit the interference ofMademoiselle de Gramont, without knowing how and where she has passedher time, how she has lived since she fled from the Château de Gramont?I refuse my consent to such a proceeding. " "Aunt, --madame, " returned Madeleine, in a gently pleading voice, "do notdeprive me of the pleasure of serving you. Humble and unworthyinstrument that I am, leave me that happiness. " "If the marchioness would only grant me a few moments' interview thismorning, " said Count Tristan, who evidently doubted the strength ofMadeleine's advocacy. "I promise that she _will_ grant you an interview this morning, " repliedMadeleine, interrupting him. The _femme de chambre_ now reëntered and said, "Madame is impatient atthis delay; every moment seems an hour. " "Say that I will be with her immediately, " answered Madeleine. She thenaddressed the count: "Have no fears, --you may depend upon me; thecountess will receive you the moment her toilet is completed. " Madeleine once more embraced Bertha, once more extended her hand toMaurice, who stood bewildered, dismayed, looking half petrified, andpassed out of the room. As soon as she had disappeared, Bertha broke forth joyously, "Well, aunt, what do you think _now_ of our Madeleine? Is not this magic? Isnot this a fairy-like _denouement_? She disappears from the Château deGramont as though the earth had opened to swallow her; no trace of hercould be discovered for nearly five years, and suddenly she rises up inour very midst, a grand lady, enveloped in a cloud of mystery, andworking as many wonders as a veritable witch. She leaves us poor, friendless, dependent; she returns to us rich, powerful, and withinfluential friends ready to serve those who once protected her. But Ithink I have found the key to the enigma. Did we not hear strict ordersgiven that none but the Countess Orlowski should be admitted? Well, Madeleine was at once allowed to enter: it follows, beyond doubt, thatshe is the Countess Orlowski. " This version of Madeleine's position seemed to strike both the countessand her son as not merely possibly, but probably, correct. "I always thought, " returned the count, "that Madeleine was a youngperson who, in the end"-- His mother finished the sentence, in a tone of pride, "would proveherself worthy of the family to which she belongs. " The loud ringing of the street door-bell attracted the attention of thegroup assembled in the drawing-room. A well-known voice exchanged a fewwords with the servant, and Gaston de Bois entered. His manner wasunusually perturbed, and he looked around the room as though in searchof some one. The instant he appeared, Bertha exclaimed, "Oh, M. De Bois! M. De Bois!We are all so much rejoiced! Madeleine, our own Madeleine, is found atlast! She is here, --here in this very house, at this very moment!" "I--I--I knew it!" answered M. De Bois, with a mixture of embarrassmentand exultation. "You knew it? How could you have known it?" asked Maurice, eagerly. "I saw her car--ar--arriage at the door. " "_Her_ carriage? She has a carriage of her own, then?" inquired thecount. "Yes, and the most superb horses in Washington. " "You knew, then, that she was here?" cried Maurice, with emotion; "youknew it, and you never told us?" "I knew it, but I was forbidden to tell you. I hoped you would meet; Ifelt sure you would. I did not know how or when; but, from the momentyou put your foot in this city, I looked for this meeting. I wasstrongly impelled to bring it about, but my promise withheld me. " "Of course, you could not break a promise; that explanation is quitesatisfactory, " remarked Bertha. "I am sure you would have given us ahint but for your promise. " "I almost gave one in spite of it. I found it harder to keep silent thanI used to find it to speak; and that was difficult enough. " "But have the goodness to unravel to us this grand mystery, " demandedthe count. "Madeleine is married--married to Count Orlowski, the Russianambassador. " "A nobleman of position!" added the countess. "How did this come about?" inquired the count. M. De Bois looked stupefied. "Who--who--said she was married?" he gasped out. "Why do you imaginethat she is mar--ar--arried?" "She is _not_--_not_ married then? _Say she is not!_" broke in Maurice, hanging upon the reply as though it were a sentence of life or death. "No--no--not married at all--not in the least married. " Maurice did not answer, but the sound that issued from his lips almostresembled the sob of hysteric passion. "Tell us quickly all about her!" besought Bertha, impatiently. "Yes, speak! speak!" said the countess, imperiously. "Speak!" echoed the count. "Gaston, my dear friend, pray speak, --speak quickly!" Maurice besought. "I wi--is--ish I could! That's just what I wa--an--ant to do! But it'snot so easy, you bewil--il--ilder me so with questions. But the time hascome when you must know that she has the hon--on--onor--the honor--thehonor to be"-- "Go on, go on!" urged Maurice. "I wish I could! It's not so easy to expla--plai--plain. " The rustling of a silk dress made him turn. The Marchioness de Fleury, in the most captivating spring attire, stood before them. "Ah! here is Madame de Fleury, and she will tell you herself better thanI can, " said M. De Bois, apparently much relieved. The marchioness saluted her guests with excessive cordiality, softlymurmured her gratification at their visit, and added apologetically, -- "I must entreat your pardon for allowing you to wait; it was not in mypower to be more punctual; a terrible accident--the first of the kindwhich has ever occurred to me--is my excuse. Do not imagine, my dearviscount, " turning to Maurice with a fascinating smile, "that I hadforgotten my appointment; but, at the Russian embassy, yesterday, I wasprevailed upon to promise that I would be present at the senate to-dayto hear the speech of a Vermont orator, a sort of Orson Demosthenes, whohas gained great renown by his rude but stirring eloquence. We ladieshave been promised admission (which is now and then granted) to thefloor of the house, instead of being crammed into the close galleries. It will be a brilliant occasion. I invited the Countess Orlowski toaccompany me. If all had gone well I should have been ready to receiveyour visit before she came. " The brow of the countess smoothed a little as she answered, "I feltconfident, madame, that there must have been _some_ explanation. " "Ah! I fear you are displeased with me, " resumed Madame de Fleury, playfully. "But I will earn my pardon. You will be compelled to forgiveme; M. De Fleury meets me at the capitol, and I will deliver this letterof the count's into his hand, and make him promise, blindfold, toconsent to any request that it may contain. " "Madame, " returned the count, bowing to the ground, "I shall never beable to express my gratitude. You can hardly form a conception of thefavor you are conferring upon me. That letter is of the highestimportance, and my indebtedness beggars all expression. " "To be frank with you, count, " answered Madame de Fleury, "you owe menothing. You are only indebted to the advocate you chose, --one whom Inever refuse, --one to whom I feel under the deepest obligation, especially this morning, --one who is so modest that she can seldom beinduced to ask me a favor, or to allow me to serve her. Thus, you see, it is but natural that I should seize with avidity upon thisopportunity. " The count looked at his mother triumphantly; and, as the face of themarchioness was turned toward Bertha, he whispered, "Shall I not tellher that Madeleine is our niece?" The countess seemed disposed to consent, for the words of Madame deFleury had gratified as much as they astonished her. The marchioness addressed the Countess de Gramont again. "I trust, madame, that you will allow me to waive ceremony, and take a libertywith you, since it is in the hope of being some service. I should liketo reach the capitol before the oration commences; and, if this lettermust be delivered to M. De Fleury immediately, my going early willenable me to have a few moments' conversation with him, which I probablyshall not get after the orator rises. Will you excuse me, if I tearmyself away? And will you give me the pleasure of your company to-morrowevening? To-morrow is my reception-day, and some of my friends honor mein the evening. I am _desolée_ at this apparent want of courtesy, but Iam sure you see the necessity. " The countess bowed her permission to Madame de Fleury's departure, andthe count overwhelmed her with thanks. The countess would herself havetaken leave, but anxiety to learn something further of Madeleine, causedher to linger. The marchioness now addressed her valet, who was standing in the hallwaiting orders. "Patrick, when Madame Orlowski calls, beg her to pardon my preceding herto the capitol; say that I will reserve a seat by my side. " "Then the lady who just visited you was _not_ Madame Orlowski?" inquiredthe count, more puzzled than ever. "No, indeed; she is worth a thousand Madame Orlowski's!" The count's glance at his mother seemed again to ask her permission toallow him to announce that Madeleine was their relative. "We felt certain that she was one of the magnates"--began the count. The marchioness interrupted him. "She is better than that; she has all the magnates of the land--that isthe female magnates--at her feet. The foreign ladies swear by her, raveabout her; and, as for the Americans, they are demented, and wouldgladly pave her path with gold, --that being their way of expressingappreciation. Madame Manesca passes whole mornings with her, --MadamePoniatowski talks of no one else. She enchants every one, and offends noone. For myself, I have only one fault to find with her, --I owe her onlyone grudge; if it had not been for her aid, that impertinent little Mrs. Gilmer would not have had such success in society. If I could succeed inmaking her close her doors against Mrs. Gilmer, what a satisfaction itwould be! Then, and then only, should I be content!" The count could restrain himself no longer. "We are highly gratified to hear this, madame. It concerns, us morenearly than you are aware; the lady is not wholly a stranger to us; infact, she--she"-- "Indeed? she was so little known in Paris that you were fortunate infinding her out. I appreciated her there, but I did not know how muchactual credit was due to her, for she had not then risen to her presentdistinction. I confess she is the one person in America without whom Icould not exist. " "Is it possible?" exclaimed the countess. "And I cannot be grateful enough to her, " continued the marchioness, "for her visit this morning, for she never goes out, or, so seldom, thatI did not dare to expect, to even _hope_ for her presence; yet herconscientiousness made her come; she suspected that I was in difficulty, and hastened here. " "It is like her; she was always charming, and so thoughtful for others!"observed the count, as complacently as though this were an opinion hehad been in the habit of expressing for years. "You may well say charming, " responded Madame de Fleury; "and whatknowledge she possesses of all the requirements, the most subtlerefinements of good society! What polished manners she has! What choicelanguage she uses! What poetical expression she gives to her sentiments!I often forget myself when I am talking to her, and fancy that I amcommunicating with a person of the same standing as myself; and, withoutknowing what I am doing, I involuntarily treat her as an equal!" "_An equal?_ Of course, most certainly!" answered the countess, aghast. The amazement of the count, Maurice, and Bertha, sealed their lips. "Her taste, her talent, her invention is something almost supernatural, "continued the marchioness, enthusiastically; for, now that she waslaunched upon her favorite theme, she had forgotten her haste. "She seesat a glance all the good points of a figure; she knows how to bring themout strongly; she discovers by intuition what is lacking, anddexterously hides the defects. I have seen her convert the veriest dowdyinto an elegant woman. And, when she gets a subject that pleases her, she perfectly revels in her art. Look at this dress for instance, --seeby what delicate combinations it announces the spring. " The marchioness was struck with the consternation depicted in thecountenances of her visitors. Bertha was the only one who could command sufficient voice to falterout, "That dress, then"-- "It is her invention, " replied the marchioness, triumphantly. "Any onewould recognize it in a moment, as coming from the hands ofMademoiselle Melanie. Though she has such wonderful creative fertility, her style is unmistakable. There was never mantua-maker like her!" "_A mantua-maker! a mantua-maker!_" exclaimed the countess and her sonat once, in accents of disgust and indignation. "Ah, I see you do not like to apply that epithet to her, and you areright. She should not be designated as a mantua-maker, but a greatartist, --a true artist, --a fairy, who, with one touch of her wand, canmetamorphose and beautify and amaze!" At that moment, a servant announced that the Countess Orlowski waited inher carriage, and desired him to say that she feared she was late. "You will excuse me then?" murmured the marchioness. "I must hasten toexecute my mission for Mademoiselle Melanie, since it was she who sowarmly solicited me to undertake this delicate little transaction, and Iwould not disappoint her for the world. Pray, do not forget to-morrowevening. _Au revoir. _" She floated out of the room, leaving the countess and her son speechlesswith rage and indignation. Bertha and Maurice stood looking at each other, and then at M. De Bois, the only one who expressed no surprise, but seemed rather more gratifiedthan moved when he beheld the countess sink back in her chair, and applyher bottle of sal volatile to her nose. The shock to her pride had beenso terrible, that she appeared to be in danger of fainting. CHAPTER XXIII. NOBLE HANDS MADE NOBLER. After the Marchioness de Fleury had departed, leaving her astonishedguests in her drawing-room, M. De Bois was the first to break thesilence. "And you, Mademoiselle Bertha, are you also horrified at thisrev--ev--evelation?" he asked. "I?" answered Bertha, making an effort to collect herself. "No, I cannever be horrified by any act of Madeleine's, for she could never beguilty of an action that was unworthy. I am only so much astonished thatI feel stunned and confused, just as Maurice does; see, how bewilderedhe looks!" The countess had now recovered her voice, and said, in a tone tremblingwith indignation, "It is _infamous_!" "A degradation we could never have anticipated!" rejoined Count Tristan. "She has disgraced her family, --disgraced our proud name forever!"responded the countess. "Do not say that, aunt!" pleaded Bertha. "She has not even used yourname, though it is as rightfully hers as yours. Do you not observe thatshe has only allowed herself to be called by her middle name, and thatevery one speaks of her as Mademoiselle Melanie?" Bertha, as she spoke, bent caressingly over her aunt, and took her hand. But the attempt to soften the infuriated aristocrat was futile. The countess replied, with increasing wrath, "I tell you she hashumiliated herself and us to the last degree! She has brought shame uponour heads!" Gaston de Bois was walking up and down the room, thrusting his fingersthrough his hair, flinging out his arms spasmodically, and, now andthen, giving vent to a muttered ejaculation, which sounded alarminglyemphatic. When he heard these words, he could restrain himself nolonger. He came boldly forward, and planting himself directly in frontof the countess, unawed by her forbidding manner, exclaimed, -- "No, madame; that I deny! Mademoiselle de Gramont has brought no shameupon her family!" "She no longer belongs to my family!" retorted the countess. "I disownher henceforward and forever!" "And you do rightly, my mother, " added the count. "We will neveracknowledge her, never see her again! Maurice and Bertha, we expect thatyou will abide by our determination. " Maurice did not reply; he stood leaning against the mantel-piece, lostin thought, his eyes bent down, his head resting upon his hands. Bertha, however, answered with spirit. "I make no promise of the kind. Nothing could induce me to cast off my dear Madeleine!" M. De Bois seized her hand, and, involuntarily carrying it to his lips, said, with mingled enthusiasm and veneration, "You are as noble as Ithought you were! I knew you would not forsake her!" Bertha raised her eyes to his face with an expression which thrilledhim, as she answered, "You will defend her, M. De Bois; you, who canperhaps disperse the cloud of mystery by which her life has beenenveloped for the last four years. You will tell my aunt how Madeleinehas lived, --what she has done. You will tell us _all about her_. " "That I will, gladly!" replied he. "That is, _if I can_. I never in mylife so much desired the pow--ow--ower of spee--ee--eech!" He broke off, and, in an undertone, gave vent to certain exclamationswhich indistinctly reached the ears of the countess and Bertha. Their amazed looks did not escape his notice, and he continued: "Ladies, I ought to ask your pardon; possibly my expressions have sounded to yousomewhat profane; I am under the sad necessity of using very stronglanguage. I cannot loosen my tongue except by the aid of these forcibleexpletives, and I must--_must_ speak! For I, who have known allMademoiselle Madeleine's noble impulses, can best explain to you hercon--on--onduct. " The last word, which was the only one upon which he stammered, wasfollowed by another emphatic ejaculation. Bertha, without heeding this interruption, asked, "And have you knownwhere Madeleine was concealed all this time?" "Yes, mademoiselle, I knew. " "And it was you who assisted her to leave Brittany?" "It _was_ I! That was about the first good action which brightened mylife, and--and--and"--(another muttered oath to assist his articulation)"and I hope it was only a commencement. " "Tell us--tell us everything quickly, " prayed Bertha. "Mademoiselle Madeleine, when she determined to leave the Château deGramont, --when she resolved to cease to be dependent, --when, in spite ofher noble birth, which was to her only an encumbrance, she purposed togain a livelihood by honest industry, --confided her project to me. Andwhat good she did me in making me feel that I was worthy enough of heresteem to be trusted! She first committed to my charge her familydiamonds, her sole possession, and ordered me to dispose of them"-- "Her diamonds! those which have been in her family for generations! Whatsacrilege!" cried the countess, in accents of horror. "Pardon me, madame; it would have been sacrilege, she thought, and sodid I, if she had kept them when their sale could have prevented herbeing the unhappy recipient of the unwilling _charity_ of herrelatives. " "Go on--go on!" urged Bertha. "How did she leave the château? How couldshe travel?" "I obtained her a passport, for it would have been running too great arisk if she had attempted to travel without one. The passport had to besigned by two witnesses. Fortunately, two of my friends at Rennes wereabout to leave the country; I selected them as witnesses, because theycould not be questioned; I told them the whole story, and bound them tosecrecy. We took out the passport for England to divert pursuit; but, Mademoiselle Madeleine only went to Paris, and it was not necessary thather passport should be _viséd_ if she remained there. " "But the diamonds, --they were those Madame de Fleury wore and which Irecognized!" exclaimed Bertha. "I made a false step there; but it was just like me to bungle, "continued Gaston. "I knew that the Jew, Henriques, often hadtransactions with the Marquis de Fleury. I took the diamonds to anotherJew from whom I concealed my name, and suggested his taking them toHenriques, hinting that the marquis would probably become theirpurchaser. The marquis is a _connoisseur_ of jewels; and, as you areaware, at once secured them. The sum realized was sufficient to supplythe simple wants of Mademoiselle Madeleine for years. But this did notsatisfy her, --her plan was to work. When she heard that the diamondswere in M. De Fleury's possession, she embroidered a robe upon which thelilies and shamrock were closely imitated, and took her work to Vignon, Madame de Fleury's dressmaker. Vignon was amazed at the great skill andtaste displayed in the design and execution, and offered to give theembroiderer as much employment as she desired. Madame de Fleury beingthe most influential of Vignon's patrons, the dress was exhibited toher. She was at once struck and charmed by the coincidence that allowedher to become the possessor of a dress upon which the exact design ofher new jewels had been imitated. She asked a thousand questions ofVignon, who gladly monopolized all the credit of inventing this novelpattern. From that moment Mademoiselle Madeleine's 'fairy fingers'commenced their marvels under the celebrated _couturière's_ direction, and Vignon daily congratulated herself upon the mysterious treasure shehad discovered. Mademoiselle Madeleine now determined to remain in Parisincognita. She worked night and day, scarcely allowing herself needfulrest; but, alas! she worked with a ceaseless heartache, --a heartache onyour account, Maurice, for she knew how wildly you were searching forher; and when you fell ill"-- Maurice interrupted him: "It was she who watched beside me at night! Iknew it! I have always been convinced of it. Was I not right?" "I was bound not to tell you, but there can be no need of concealmentnow. Yes, you _are_ right. When the _soeur de bon secours_ we hadengaged to take care of you during the day, left, and would have beenreplaced, according to the usual custom, by another to watch through thenight, we told her no watcher was needed before morning. MademoiselleMadeleine made herself a garb resembling that worn by the sisterhood;and, every night, when the good sister we had hired left, MademoiselleMadeleine took her place. We thought your delirium would prevent yourrecognizing her. " "Probably it did, at first, " returned Maurice; "but, for many nightsbefore I spoke to you; I was conscious, I was sure of her presence. " "When you did speak, I was startled enough, " resumed Gaston; "and it wasa sad revelation to Mademoiselle Madeleine; for, when your reason wasrestored, she could not venture any more to come near you. " "Did she go to Dresden? How came my birthday handkerchief to be sentfrom Dresden?" asked Bertha. "That was another piece of stupidity of mine. You see what a blockhead Ihave been. Mademoiselle Madeleine wished to send some token of assurancethat she thought of you still; but it was necessary that you should notknow she was in Paris. I had the package conveyed to a friend of mine inDresden, and desired him to remove the envelope and send the parcel toBordeaux, though you were in Paris at the time. It would not have beenprudent to let you suspect that Mademoiselle Madeleine was aware of yoursojourn in the metropolis. But, when the postmark induced Maurice tostart for Dresden, I saw what a fool I had been. It was just like me tocommit some absurdity, --I always do! I could not dissuade Maurice fromgoing to Dresden; but Mademoiselle Madeleine wrote a note which Ienclosed to my friend, and desired to have it left at the hotel whereMaurice was staying. After that I was more careful not to commitblunders. The other birthday tokens, you received, Mademoiselle Bertha, I always contrived to send you by private hand; thus, there was nopostmark to awaken suspicion. " "But how came Madeleine here in America?" inquired Bertha. "When the Marquis de Fleury was appointed ambassador to the UnitedStates, Mademoiselle Madeleine learned that Madame de Fleury sorelylamented her hard fate, and mourned over the probability that she wouldbe obliged to have all her dresses sent from Paris. This would be agreat inconvenience, for she often liked to have a costume improvisedupon the spur of the moment, and completed with fabulous rapidity. Mademoiselle Madeleine had frequently thought of America, and felt thatthe new country must present a field where she could work moreadvantageously than in Paris. She desired Vignon to suggest to Madame deFleury that one of the assistants in her favorite _couturière's_establishment, --the one with whose designs Madame de Fleury was alreadyacquainted, --might be tempted, by the certainty of the marchioness'spatronage, to visit America. Madame de Fleury was contented, andimmediately proposed that Mademoiselle Melanie should sail in the samesteamer. Vignon allowed two of her work-women to accompany her. The sumMademoiselle Madeleine had realized from her diamonds enabled her tohire a modest house in Washington, and to furnish it tastefully. On herarrival she sent for Mr. Hilson. Perhaps you remember him, MademoiselleBertha? He once dined at the Château de Gramont. " Here the count uttered an exclamation of violent displeasure, but M. DeBois went on, -- "He had requested Mademoiselle Madeleine if she ever visited America tolet him know. He called upon her at once, and she frankly told him thestory of her trials, and the conclusion to which they had forced her. Hehighly approved of her energy, her zeal, and spirit. She made himpromise to keep her rank and name a secret. He brought his wife anddaughter to see her, and they became her stanch, admiring, and helpfulfriends. Through them alone, she would quickly have been drawn intonotice; but a more powerful medium to popularity was at work. Thesensation produced by Madame de Fleury's toilets caused all Washingtonto flock to the exhibition-rooms of 'Mademoiselle Melanie, ' who wasknown to be her _couturière_. Soon, it became a favor for 'MademoiselleMelanie' to receive new customers. She was forced to move to the elegantmansion where she now resides. It is one of the grandest houses inWashington, and Mademoiselle Melanie has only one more payment to makebefore it becomes her own. The fact is, people have gone crazy abouther. Those who seek her merely upon business, when they come into herpresence, are impressed with the conviction that she is not merelytheir equal, but their superior, and treat her with involuntarydeference. She is rapidly becoming rich, and she has the glory ofknowing that it is through the labor of her own dainty hands, her own'fairy fingers!'" "Oh, all she has done was truly noble!" said Bertha, with enthusiasm. "It was disgraceful!" cried the countess, fiercely. "She might betterhave starved! She has torn down her glorious escutcheon to replace it bya mantua-maker's sign. She has stooped to make dresses!--to receivecustomers! Abominable!" M. De Bois, for a moment forgetting the courtesy due to the rank andyears of the countess, replied indignantly, "Madame, did she not make_your_ dresses for three years? Have you not been one of her customers?An unprofitable customer? The _profit_ was the only difference betweenwhat she did at the _Château de Gramont_ and what she does in the cityof Washington!" "Sir!" exclaimed the countess, giving him a look of rebuke, which wasintended to silence these unpalatable truths. "You are right, M. De Bois, " answered Bertha, not noticing the furiousglance of her aunt. "That was a random shaft of yours, but it hits themark, and strikes me as well as my aunt; yet I thank you for it; I thankyou for defending Madeleine; I thank you for befriending her. I shallnever forget it--never!" Bertha frankly stretched out her hand to him; he took it with joyfulemotion. "Whom would she have to defend her if I did not, since her familydiscard her? Since even an able young lawyer utters not a word to pleadher cause?" he added, looking reproachfully at Maurice. "But she shallnever lack a defender while I live, for I love her as a sister! Ivenerate her as a saint. To me she is the type of all that is best andnoblest in the world! The type of that which is greater, more valuablethan glory, more useful than fame, more _noble_ than the blood ofcountesses and duchesses--_honest labor!_" Bertha's responsive look spoke her approval. "And what do I not owe her, myself?" continued M. De Bois. "It was herwords, long before her sorrows began, which rendered me conscious of theinert purposelessness of my own existence. It was the effect producedupon me by those words which made me resolve to throw off my sluggish, indolent melancholy and inactivity, and rise up to be one of the world's'_doers_, ' not '_breathers_' only. The change I feel in myself camethrough her; even the very power of speaking to you thus freely comesthrough her, for she encouraged me to conquer my diffidence, she made medespise my weak self-consciousness, and I cannot offer her a sufficientreturn; no, not if I took up arms against the whole world, her ownfamily included, in her defence! In my presence, no one shall everasperse her nobility of word, deed, or act!" Bertha's speaking eyes thanked him and encouraged him again. In spite of the manifest rage of the countess he went on, -- "But Mademoiselle Madeleine now holds a position which needs nochampion. She has made that position herself, by her own energy andindustry, and the unimpeachable purity of her conduct. In this landwhere _labor_ is a _virtue_, and the most laborious, when they combineintellect with industry, become the greatest, --in this land it will beno blot upon her noble name, (when she chooses to resume it) that shehas linked that name with _work_. She will rather be held up as anexample to the daughters of this young country. No one, except Mr. Hilson, not even her zealous patron, and devoted admirer, Madame deFleury, yet knows her history; but every one feels that she meritsreverence, and every one yields her spontaneous veneration. The youngwomen whom she employs idolize her, and she treats them as the kindestand most considerate of sisters might. Some among them belong toexcellent families, reduced by circumstances, and she has inspired themwith courage to work, even with so humble an instrument as the needle, rather than to accept dependence as inevitable. She is fitting them tofollow in her footsteps. If her relatives scorn her for the course shehas pursued, she will be fully compensated for their scorn by theworld's approval. " All eyes had been riveted upon Gaston, as he spoke, and no one perceivedthat Madeleine was standing in the room, a few paces from the door. Bertha's exclamation first made the others conscious of her presence. "Madeleine! we know all! Oh, what you must have suffered! How noble youhave been! Madeleine, you are dearer to me than ever, far dearer!" The tears that ran softly down Madeleine's cheeks were her only answer. Bertha, as she wiped them away, said, "These are not like the tears youshed that sorrowful day in the _châlet_, that day when you must havefirst made up your mind to leave us. Do you remember how you wept then?Those were tears of agony! You have never wept such tears since, --haveyou, Madeleine?" "No, never!" "I could not then comprehend what moved you so terribly; but, at thismoment, I understand all your sensations. Now that we have met againthere must be no more tears. You know that I am of age now; I ammistress of my own fortune; and you and I must part no more! You mustcome and share what is mine. You must have done with work, Madeleine. " "That cannot be, my good, generous Bertha; my day of work has not yetclosed. " "Bertha!" exclaimed the countess, who, until then, had stood tremblingwith anger, and unable to command her voice. "Bertha, have you quiteforgotten yourself? Remember that you are under my guardianship, and Iforbid your having any association with Mademoiselle de Gramont. " Madeleine advanced with calm dignity towards the countess, and saidquietly, -- "Madame--aunt"-- The countess interrupted her imperiously. "Aunt! Do you _dare_ to address _me_ by that title? _You_--a_dressmaker!_ When you forgot your noble birth, and lowered yourself tothe working-classes, making yourself one with them, --when you demeanedyourself to gain your bread by your needle, bread which should havechoked a de Gramont to eat, --you should also have forgotten yourrelationship to me, never to remember it again!" "If I did not forget it, madame, " answered Madeleine, with calmself-respect, "I was at least careful that my condition should notbecome known to you. I strove to act as though I had been dead to you, that my existence might not cause you mortification. I could not guardagainst the accident which has thrown us together once more, but for thelast time, as far as my will is concerned. " "This meeting was not Mademoiselle Madeleine's fault, " cried M. De Bois, coming to the rescue. "It was my folly, --another blunder of mine! I wasdolt enough to think that you had only to see her for all to be well;and, instead of warning Mademoiselle Madeleine that you were inWashington, I kept from her a knowledge which would have prevented yourencountering each other. It was all my imprudence, my miscalculation! Isee my error since it has subjected her to insult; and yet what I did, "continued he more passionately, and regarding Maurice, as he spoke, "wasfor the sake of one who"-- Madeleine, seized with a sudden dread of the manner in which he mightconclude this sentence, broke in abruptly, -- "Were I not indebted to you, M. De Bois, for so many kindnesses, I mightreproach you now; but it was well for me to learn this lesson; it waswell for me to be certain that my aunt would discard me because Ipreferred honest industry to cold charity. " "Discard you?" rejoined the countess, furiously. "Could you doubt that Iwould discard you? Henceforth the tie of blood between us is dissolved;you are no relative of mine! I forbid you to make known that we haveever met. I forbid my family to hold any intercourse with you. I appealto my son to say if this is not the just retribution which your conducthas brought upon you!" The count answered with deliberation, as though he was pondering somepossibility in his wily mind; as if some idea had occurred to him whichprevented his fully sharing in his mother's wrath, or, rather, whichtempered the expression of his displeasure, -- "Madeleine's situation has rendered this the most proper and naturalcourse open to us. She could not expect to be formally recognized. Shecould not suppose it possible, however much consideration we mightentertain for her personally, that the Countess de Gramont and herfamily should allow it to be known that one of their kin is adressmaker! Madeleine is too reasonable not to see the impropriety (touse a mild word) there would be even in such a suggestion. " "I see it very plainly, " answered Madeleine, not unmoved by the count'smanner, which was so much gentler than his mother's, and not suspectingthe motive which induced him to assume this conciliatory tone. The count resumed: "We wish Madeleine well, in spite of her presentdegraded position. If circumstances should prolong our stay inWashington, or in America, --and it is very possible they may do so, --wewill only request her to remove to California or Australia, or somedistant region, where she may live in desirable obscurity, and not runthe risk of being brought into even _accidental_ contact with us. " "No, --no!" exclaimed Bertha, vehemently. "We shall not lose heragain, --we must not! _You_ may all discard her, but _I_ will not! I willalways acknowledge her, and I must see her! She is dearer to me thanever; I will not be separated from her!" Did Bertha see the look of admiration with which M. De Bois contemplatedher as she uttered these words? The countess asked in an imperious tone, -- "Bertha, have you wholly forgotten yourself? I will never permit thisintercourse, --I forbid it! If _you_ are willing to brave my displeasure, I presume Madeleine, ungrateful as she has proved herself to be, for theprotection I granted her during three years, will not so wholly forgether debt as to disregard my command. " How often Madeleine had been reminded of that debt which her services atthe Château de Gramont had cancelled a hundred times over! Before she could respond to her aunt's remark, Bertha went on, -- "You do not comprehend my plan, aunt. Madeleine, of course, must give upher present occupation; there is no need of her pursuing it; I am richenough for both. She shall live with me and share my fortune. Madeleine, you will not refuse me this? For nearly five years I have mourned overour separation, and wasted my life in the vain hope of seeing you again. You would be ashamed of me if you knew in what a weak, frivolous, idlemanner, I have passed my days, while you were working so unceasingly, and with such grand results. I shall never learn to make good use of myhours except under your guidance. Long before I reached my majority Ilooked forward gladly to the time when I should be a free agent andcould share my _fortune_ with you. My aunt knows that I communicated myintention to her before you left the Château de Gramont. And now, Madeleine, my own best Madeleine, --you will let the dream of my lifebecome a reality, --will you not? Say yes, I implore you!" Bertha had spoken with such genuine warmth and hearty earnestness that acolder nature than Madeleine's must have been melted. She folded thegenerous girl tenderly and silently in her arms, and, after a pause, which the countenance of her aunt made her aware that the proud lady wason the eve of breaking, answered, sadly, -- "It was worth suffering all I endured, Bertha, to have your friendshiptested through this fiery ordeal, and to know that your heart cannot bedivided by circumstances from mine. But your too liberal offer I cannotaccept; the path I have marked out I must pursue until I reach the goalwhich I am nearing. An incompleteness in the execution of my deliberateplans would render me more miserable than I am to-day in being cast offby my own family. " "Do not speak such cruel words, " returned Bertha. "They do not cast youoff; that is, _I_ do not, and never will; and I am sure"-- She turned to look at Maurice, who had stood silent through the wholescene, leaning upon the mantel-piece, his head still resting on hishand, and his eyes fixed upon Madeleine. His mind was too full ofconflicting emotions for him to speak; above all other images rose thatof the being whom Madeleine had declared she loved. Did she love himstill? Was he here? Did he know her condition? Was M. De Bois, whom shehad entrusted with her secret, --M. De Bois, who had protected and aidedher, --the object of her preference? Maurice could not answer thesetorturing questions, and the happiness of once more beholding the onewhom he had so long fruitlessly sought, made him feel as though he werepassing through a strange, wild dream, which, but for _one doubt_, wouldhave been full of ecstasy. When Bertha appealed to him by her look, he could no longer remainsilent. "You are right, Bertha; Madeleine is to me all that she ever was. I amas proud of her as I have ever been; more proud I could not be! _Torenounce her would be as impossible as it has ever been. _" Madeleine, who had appeared so firm and composed up to that moment, trembled violently; her heart seemed to cease its pulsations; a coldtremor ran through her veins; a mist floated before her eyes; exquisitehappiness became exquisite pain! She turned, as though about to leavethe room, but her feet faltered. In a second, M. De Bois was at herside, and gave her his arm; she took it almost unconsciously. The voiceof her aunt restored her as suddenly as a dash of ice-water could havedone. "Your father's commands and mine, then, Maurice, are to have no weight. We order you to renounce all intercourse with this person, whom we nolonger acknowledge as a relative, and you unhesitatingly declare to her, in our very presence, that you disregard our wishes. This, it seems, isthe first effect of Mademoiselle de Gramont's renewed influence, whichwe have before now found so pernicious. " "Do not fear, madame, " answered Madeleine; "I will not permit"-- "Make no rash promise, Madeleine, "--interrupted Maurice. "My father'swishes and my grandmother's must ever have weight with me; but when Ihonestly differ from them in opinion, I trust there is no disrespect inmy saying so. Blindly to obey their commands would be to abnegate freeagency and self-responsibility. " "I have not forgotten, " said the countess, freezingly, "that the firstdisrespect towards me of which you were guilty was originated byMademoiselle de Gramont. I perceive that she is again about to create afamily feud, and separate father and son, grandmother and grandchild. All her noble sentiments and heroic acting have ever this end in view. During the period that she concealed herself from us she has evidentlynever lost sight of this great aim of her existence, and has closelycalculated events, and bided her time that she might manoeuvre withadditional power and certainty. She has not disgraced us enough; she isplanning the total downfall of our noble house, no matter whom it buriesin the ruins. It is not sufficient that we have to blush for the_dressmaker_, who would exchange the device graven upon her ancestralarms for that of a scissors and thimble; but she is laboring to bringher disgrace nearer and fasten it more permanently upon us. " M. De Bois, who felt that Madeleine was clinging to his arm, as thoughher strength was failing, answered for her, -- "The daughter of the Duke de Gramont has not become less noble, madame, through her noble industry. She has not brought to her own, or any othercheek, a blush of genuine shame. I, who have watched over her from thehour that she left the Château de Gramont, claim the proud privilege ofgiving this testimony. No duchess has the right to hold her head higherthan the Duke de Gramont's orphan daughter. " Before any one could reply, he led Madeleine from the room, and out ofthe house. The movement which Maurice and Bertha, at the same moment, made to follow her was arrested by the countess. Before they hadrecovered themselves, Madeleine was seated in her carriage, and haddriven away. M. De Bois was walking rapidly to his hotel. CHAPTER XXIV. FEMININE BELLIGERENTS. Madeleine's residence was one of the most superb mansions in Washington:a spacious house, built of white stone, and located within a fewminutes' walk of the capitol. She was in the habit of seeking thebeautiful capitol-grounds every fine morning, before the busy city wasastir, accompanied by Ruth Thornton. The matinal hour devoted to thisrefreshing walk was to both maidens the calmest and happiest of thetwenty-four. In that peaceful hour they gained strength to encounter thepetty vexations and _désagrément_ incident to the at once humble andimportant vocation they had adopted. Buried deep in Madeleine's heart there was ever a sadness that could notbe shaken off, but she turned the sunny side of her existence towardothers, and kept the shadow of her great sorrow for herself alone;therefore her mien was ever tranquil, even cheerful. Possibly, shesuffered less than many whose griefs were not so heavy, because hermeek, uncomplaining spirit tempered the bleak wind that blew over herbowed head, and rounded the sharp stones that would have cut her feet ontheir pilgrimage, had they stepped less softly. Thus she carried withinherself the magic that drew from waspish circumstance its sharpeststing. The morning after Madeleine's rencontre with her relatives, a group ofyoung women were sitting busily employed around a large table inMademoiselle Melanie's workroom. Mademoiselle Victorine, the forewoman, and Mademoiselle Clemence, herchief assistant, were the only foreigners. They had been in Vignon'semployment, and had accompanied Madeleine to America. The otherworkwomen Madeleine had selected herself. Many of them were young girls, well born, and bred in luxury, who had been compelled by sudden reversesto earn a livelihood. Madeleine often wondered how so many of this classhad been thrown in her way. In reality, the class is a frightfullynumerous one, and she had an intuitive faculty of discovering those ofwhom it was composed. Not only did her instinctive sympathy attract hertoward them, but Mr. Hilson, who was an active philanthropist, had beenlargely instrumental in pointing out young women who aspired to becomeself-helpers. Madeleine took an affectionate interest in teaching thema trade which almost rose to the dignity of a profession in her hands. She became their friend, adviser, and comforter, and thus experiencedthe delicious consolation of creating happiness for others after her ownhappiness had received its death-blow. The room in which the busy needle-women were sitting, was the farthestof a suite of apartments opening into each other, on the second story. These apartments were somewhat lavishly furnished, but in the strictestgood taste, and the eye was charmed by a profusion of choice plantsblossoming in ornamental flower-vases, placed upon brackets on the wall;or of orchids floating in pendant luxuriance from baskets attached tothe ceiling. Then, Madeleine had not forgotten the picturesque use sooften made of the ivy in her native land, and had trained the obedientparasite to embower windows, or climb around frames of mirrors, untilthe gilt background gave but a golden glimmer through the dark-greennetwork of leaves. Each room was also supplied either with portfolios containing rareengravings, with musical instruments, or a library. Rich dresses were displayed upon skeleton frames in one apartment;mantles and out-of-door wrappings were exhibited in another; bonnets andhead-dresses were exposed to admiring view in a third. Near the window, not far from the table which was surrounded by thesewing-women, stood a smaller table where Ruth was engaged, coloringdesigns for costumes. The gossip of the Washington _beau monde_, very naturally furnished atheme for the lively tongues of the needle-women. They picked up all theinteresting items of fashionable news that dropped from the lips of themany lady loungers who amused themselves by spending their mornings atMademoiselle Melanie's exhibition-rooms, giving orders for dresses, bonnets, etc. , examining new styles of apparel, discussing the mostbecoming modes, or idly chattering with acquaintances who visitedMademoiselle Melanie upon the same important mission as themselves. Mademoiselle Victorine generally led the conversation at theworking-table, or, rather, she usually monopolized it. It was a sourceof great exultation to her if she happened to have a piece of news tocommunicate; and this now chanced to be the case. "Something very important is to take place in this house, probably thisvery day!" she began, with a consequential air. "If MademoiselleMelanie has a fault, it is that she makes no confidants; and I think Iam fully entitled to her confidence. I should like to know what shecould have done without _me_?" "What, indeed?" exclaimed several voices, for every one was anxious topropitiate the forewoman by bestowing upon her the flattery which wasessential to keep her in an equable state of mind. "When we think of the marvels, " continued Mademoiselle Victorine, "thatissue from these walls; the splendid figures that go forth into theworld out of our creative hands, --figures, which, could they be seenwhen they rise in the morning, would not be recognizable, --we have causefor self-congratulation. And Mademoiselle Melanie gets all the creditfor these metamorphoses; though, we all know, she does _nothing_herself; that is, she merely forms a plan, makes a sketch, selectscertain colors, and that is _all_! The execution, the real work, ismine--_mine!_ I appeal to you, young ladies, to say if it is not_mine_?" "Yes, certainly, " said Abby, one of the younger girls; "but withoutMademoiselle Melanie's sketch, without her ideas, her taste, whatwould"-- "There--there; you talk too fast, Mademoiselle Abby; you are alwayschattering. I say that without _me_ Mademoiselle Melanie would neverhave attained her present elevated position; without _me_ thisestablishment would never have been what it now is, --a very Californiaof dressmaking. And, in a little more than four years, what a fortuneMademoiselle Melanie has accumulated! That brings me back to the pointfrom which I started. Does any one know what is to happen shortly?" sheinquired, with an air of elation at being the only repository of avaluable secret. "No--no--what is it?" asked numerous voices. "Well, Mademoiselle Ruth, do you say nothing?" inquired the triumphantforewoman. "Are you not anxious to know?" Ruth, without lifting her head from the sketch she was coloring, answered, "Yes, certainly, unless it should be something with whichMademoiselle Melanie does not desire us to be acquainted. " "Oh, hear the little saint!" returned Victorine. "She does not care forsecrets, --no, of course not! She is only jealous that any one shouldknow more than herself. She would not express surprise, not she, if Itold her Mademoiselle Melanie is about to pay down ten thousanddollars--the last payment--upon the purchase of this house, which makesit hers. " Mademoiselle Victorine concluded with a violent shake of the brocade shewas trimming. "But did you learn this from good authority?" asked Esther, a slender, pale-faced girl. "The very best. I heard Mrs. Hilson say so to some ladies whom shebrought to introduce here; and you know Mr. Hilson transacts allbusiness matters for Mademoiselle Melanie. Mrs. Hilson told her friendsthat Mademoiselle Melanie's establishment was a perfect mint and fairlycoined money. When I heard this assertion I said to myself, 'How littlepeople understand that without _me_ Mademoiselle Melanie would neverhave founded an establishment that was compared to a mint--never!' Yet_she_ gets all the credit. " "But you see"--began Esther. Victorine interrupted her. "What a chatterbox you are, Mademoiselle Esther! You will never get onwith that work if you talk so much. Those festoons want spirit andgrace; you must recommence them, or the dress will be a failure, I warnyou! For whom is it? I have forgotten. " "It is Mrs. Gilmer's, and she expects to wear it at the grand ball to begiven by the Marchioness de Fleury. " "She will be mistaken!" said Victorine. "I know that she will not beinvited. The marchioness hates her; Mrs. Gilmer is the only rival whomMadame de Fleury takes the trouble to detest; and it makes me indignantto see a lady of her superlative fascinations annoyed by this littleupstart American. One must admit that Mrs. Gilmer is very pretty; herfigure scarcely needs help, and she is so vivacious, and has so much_aplomb_, so much dash, that the notice she attracts renders heralarmingly ambitious. Still, for her to dare to contrast herself withthe French ambassadress is intolerable presumption, and I rejoice thatshe will get no invitation to the ball. " "How do you know that she will not be invited?" asked Esther. "How do I know all that I _do_ know? It is odd to notice with whatperfect lack of reserve the ladies who visit us talk. They chatter awayjust as if they thought we were human working-machines, without ears, orbrains, or memories. This singular hallucination makes it not difficultto become acquainted with certain secrets of fashionable life which one_clique_ would not make known to another _clique_ for the world. " "But this tittle-tattle"--Esther began. "Chût, chût, " cried the forewoman. "How you chatter, MademoiselleEsther; one cannot hear one's self speak for you! Somebody has justentered the exhibition _salon_; who is it? Mrs. Gilmer, as I'm alive! M. De Bois is with her; she has come to try on her dress, I suppose. Shemay spare herself the pains, for she will not wear it at Madame deFleury's ball. " Ruth, whose duty it was to receive visitors, and to summon Victorine, ifthey had orders to give, rose and entered the adjoining apartment. Mrs. Gilmer was one of those light-headed and light-hearted women, whofloat upon the topmost and frothiest wave of society, herself aglittering bubble. To win admiration was the chief object of her life. The breath of flattery wafted her upward toward her heaven, --thatrapturous state which was heaven to her. To be the _belle_ of everyreunion where she appeared was a triumph she could not forego; and therewere no arts to which she would not stoop to obtain this victory. Madamede Fleury was a woman of the same stamp, but with all the polish, grace, and refined coquetry which the social atmosphere of Paris imparts; andthough she had far less personal beauty than Mrs. Gilmer, --less mind, less wit, --her capacity for using all the charms she possessed gave hervast advantage over the fair-featured young American. When Ruth entered the _salon_, Mrs. Gilmer was too much interested inher conversation with M. De Bois to notice her, and continued talkingwith as much freedom as though she was not present. "I have set my heart upon it!" said she, "and I tell you I _must_receive an invitation to this ball. Madame de Fleury positively _shallnot_ exclude me. I have already set in motion a number of influentialpulleys, and I am not apt to fail when I make an earnest attempt. " "I am quite aware of that, " answered M. De Bois, gallantly. "Oh, what a love of a dress! What an exquisite design!" exclaimed Mrs. Gilmer, stopping delighted before a robe which had been commenced, butwas thrown over one of the manikins, with a sketch of the completedcostume attached to the skirt. "The blending of those pale shades ofgreen and that embroidery of golden wheat, with a scarlet poppy here andthere, --the effect is superb! Then the style, as this sketch shows, isperfectly novel. I am enchanted! Miss Ruth, I must have that dress! _Atany price_, I must have it!" "It is to go to New Orleans, madame, " replied Ruth. "It was ordered byMrs. Senator la Motte, and is to be worn at some grand wedding. " "No matter--I tell you _I must have it!_ Where is MademoiselleVictorine?" Ruth summoned the forewoman. Victorine advanced very deliberately, andher bearing had a touch of patronage and condescension. Mrs. Gilmer pleaded hard for the possession of the dress; butMademoiselle Victorine appeared to take the greatest satisfaction inmaking her understand that its becoming hers was an impossibility. Themore earnestly Mrs. Gilmer prayed, the more inflexible became theforewoman. As for _repeating_ a design which had been invented for oneparticular person, _that_, she asserted, was against all rules of art. The original design might be feebly, imperfectly copied by othermantua-makers, but its duplicate could not be sent forth from anestablishment of the standing of Mademoiselle Melanie's. Mrs. Gilmer, whose white brow was knitted with something very like afrown, remarked that she would talk to Mademoiselle Melanie on thesubject, by and by. "Mademoiselle Melanie does not usually reverse _my_ decisions, " repliedthe piqued forewoman, with an extravagant show of dignity. "We shall see!" retorted Mrs. Gilmer. "Now let me choose a head-dressfor the opera to-night; something original. What can you invent for me?" "Really, " answered Victorine, who was not a little irate at thesuggestion that there _could_ be any appeal from her verdict; "I do notfeel inspired at this moment; I am quite dull; nothing occurs to me outof the usual line. " "Oh! you _must_ think!" pleaded the volatile lady. "Invent me somethingnever before seen; something with flowers will do; but let me have_impossible_ flowers, --flowers which have no existence, and which Ishall not behold upon every one's else head. Price is no object; myhusband never refuses me anything! Especially, " she added in a lowertone, to M. De Bois, "when he is _jealous_; and I find it very useful, absolutely _necessary_, to begin the season by exciting a series ofOthello pangs through which he becomes manageable. I feed the jealousflame all winter, and add fresh fuel in the spring, when I wish toindulge in various extravagances. " "A very diplomatic arrangement, " remarked M. De Bois. "What a bonnet! What a beauty of a bonnet! what deliciously adjustedlace! How was it ever made to fall in such folds, over that bunch ofmoss roses; peeping out of those quivering leaves, touched withdew-drops?" "That bonnet belongs to _Madame de Fleury_, " said Victorine, with amalicious emphasis. "Ah, indeed!" returned Mrs. Gilmer, changing color. "I wonder what wouldbecome of Madame de Fleury were it not for her toilets! If she weredespoiled of her gay plumage, a very insipid, commonplace lookingpersonage would remain. I must say, it is rather singular, " shecontinued, growing warm in spite of herself, "but if I ever happen tolook at anything particularly worth noticing, I am _always told_ it isfor _Madame de Fleury_! Is Mademoiselle Melanie in her drawing-room? Isshe accessible at this moment?" "She has just come in; Mademoiselle Ruth will conduct you to her, "answered Victorine, with an offended air. "M. De Bois, I will be back soon, " said Mrs. Gilmer to her escort. "There are books in abundance in yonder library, --rather anextraordinary piece of furniture for a dressmaker's _salon_, but, Mademoiselle Melanie has so much tact, she foresaw that they might beuseful on some occasions. " Mrs. Gilmer followed Ruth to Madeleine's own apartments, which were onthe first floor. Victorine returned to the room where the sewing-womenwere at work. Gaston selected a book and seated himself in a comfortablearm-chair. He had hardly opened the volume when the Marchioness de Fleury entered, accompanied by Lord Linden. As she descended from the carriage she had found his lordshippromenading up and down before the house. He was overjoyed at thisunlooked-for opportunity to obtain admission. Madame de Fleury saluted Gaston with one of her most gracious smiles. Victorine, catching sight of the marchioness, hurried forward, saying toRuth, -- "Do not trouble yourself, Mademoiselle Ruth, I will have the honor ofattending upon Madame de Fleury. " "That is right, Mademoiselle Victorine; but I am going to intrude intoyour _atelier_ of mysteries, and see what _chef d'oeuvres_ you have inprogress. " Judging from Madame de Fleury's tone, one might easily have supposedthat she alluded to pictures or statues, and was about reverently toenter the studio of some mighty genius, and wonder over his achievementsin marble or on canvas. The apartment she invaded was one whichvisitors were not usually invited, or expected, to enter. The gentlemen were left together. "I am in luck!" said Lord Linden in an unusually animated tone. "My dearM. De Bois, I am the happiest of men! I have encountered my unknownbeauty at last! She passed me in a private carriage, which stopped hereand was dismissed. I saw her enter this house not a quarter of an hourago. She did not perceive me, and had disappeared before I could accosther; but I determined to keep watch until she made her exit, and theneither to renew my acquaintance or to follow her home and learn whereshe lived. She shall not give me the slip again. " "Are you sure you have not made some mistake? I do not think there isany lady here, at this moment, except Mrs. Gilmer, whom I accompanied. " "I am perfectly certain I could not be mistaken. I shall make someexcuse for remaining here; I will select a shawl or mantle for mysister, who is one of this celebrated Mademoiselle Melanie's customers, and who will not be displeased at such an unprecedented attention. " Before M. De Bois could reply, the marchioness returned with Victorine. "And you say my dress for this evening will be done in an hour? That isdelightful! I am impatient to test its effects. I am half inclined towait until it is finished, and take it home with me. " "It shall be completed _within_ the hour; I am occupied upon it_myself_, " answered Victorine, with a fawning manner, very differentfrom that by which the banker's wife had been kept in subjection. "What an original idea!" cried Madame de Fleury, pausing before theuncompleted dress which had attracted the admiration of Mrs. Gilmer. "What an exquisite conception! Those blades of golden wheat and thosescarlet poppies make the most perfect trimming for these ravishingshades of green; just the colors that become me most. That dress is atriumph, Mademoiselle Victorine!" "The design is Mademoiselle Melanie's, but the _cut_, the _execution_, they are _mine_, " said the forewoman, complacently. "And for whom is the dress intended? But I need hardly ask, --I amdetermined that it shall be _mine_. " "It was to be sent to New Orleans to Madame la Motte, wife of thedistinguished senator. But, I beg to assure madame that she cannotjudge of this attire; it is nothing now. In a few days, when it iscompleted, then madame will be able to see that we have surpassedourselves in that dress. " "You have, indeed!" ejaculated Madame de Fleury, with fervor. "But Iclaim it. You must invent something else for Madame la Motte. Mademoiselle Melanie surely will not refuse me. " "If the decision depended upon _me_, the dress would assuredly becomeMadame de Fleury's; although the design has been sent to Madame laMotte, and has met with her approbation; but Mademoiselle Melanie is sofrightfully conscientious, she would not disappoint a customer, or breakher word, or give a design promised one person to another for a kingdom. She is quite immovable, obstinately unreasonable on these points. " "But I _must_ have that dress, " persisted the marchioness. "I cannot behappy without it! I will implore Mademoiselle Melanie; she will drive meto despair should she refuse. " "Mrs. Gilmer saw it a few moments ago, and was so enchanted that she didher utmost to make me promise that the dress should be hers. " "_Hers_, indeed! That impertinent little _parvenue_!" replied Madame deFleury. "I would never forgive Mademoiselle Melanie if she consented toanything of the kind. I suppose the banker's wife imagines this delicategreen would tone down her milk-maid complexion. But she shall not trythe experiment. " At this moment Mrs. Gilmer herself reëntered. The marchioness pretendednot to be aware of her presence, and, turning to the dress in question, remarked, -- "Yes, this dress _must_ be one of the twelve that I shall order to takewith me to Maryland. Twelve will suffice for one week. I hear Mr. Meredith's estate could bear comparison with our European countryresidences; the toilets of his guests should do honor to their host. "She went on, addressing herself to Gaston. "There are but thirty guestsinvited, and I hear that great indignation is felt by _certain persons_who are not included in the number. " Madame de Fleury's shaft was directed towards Mrs. Gilmer, who waswrithing with vexation, at not forming one of the select party. Mrs. Gilmer heard, and bit her lips with suppressed rage. "Twelve dresses!" cried Lord Linden. "Twelve new dresses for sevendays?" "Quite a moderate supply; but I could not possibly get through the weekwith less, " answered Madame de Fleury, serenely. "You are invited ofcourse?" Lord Linden replied in the affirmative. "And you, M. De Bois?" inquired the marchioness innocently, though shewas quite aware that he would repeat his lordship's answer, for she hadbeen consulted in regard to the guests whom it would gratify her tomeet. Mrs. Gilmer, who was choking with vexation, sought revenge in one ofthose petty manoeuvres which women of the world thoroughly understand. She paused, in the most natural manner, before the hat which she hadjust extolled, and which she had been informed was designed for Madamede Fleury, and said aloud, -- "What a pretty bonnet! Admirably suited to hide the defects of anuncertain complexion, and hair of no color, neither light nor dark. Itis not too gay or coquettish either; just the thing for a woman ofthirty, who has begun to fade. " "I beg pardon, madame, it is intended for Madame de Fleury, " answeredVictorine, reprovingly, and not immediately comprehending theintentional spite of Mrs. Gilmer's remark. "Indeed!" returned the latter, still speaking as though she had nosuspicion of the presence of the marchioness; "will it not be rather_young_ for her? It seems to me that these colors are a _little toobright_ for a person of _her age_. " "Madame de Fleury is present, and may overhear you, " whisperedVictorine, warningly. "Ah, indeed! I did not perceive her; much obliged to you for telling me, for she conceals her age so well that I would not mortify her by lettingher suppose that I am aware of her advanced years, " continued themalicious little lady in a very audible tone. Madame de Fleury was, in reality, but twenty-five, and particularlysensitive on the subject of her age, or rather of her youth. Sheexpected to be taken for twenty-two at the most, and had been furiouswhen Mrs. Gilmer talked of her bonnet as suitable to a person of thirty;but when her spiteful rival had the audacity to suggest that Madame deFleury had even passed that decisive period, she could scarcely containher rage. By a sudden impulse she turned and faced the speaker. Bothladies made a profound courtesy, with countenances expressive of mortalhatred. Lord Linden could not help whispering to Gaston, "Feminine belligerents!Those courtesies were exchanged after the manner that men exchangeblows. It is very strange, " he continued, looking about. "I do not seemy fair incognita, though she certainly entered here. I fancy themarchioness intends to depart; I prefer to linger awhile. There areseveral _salons_ yonder; I will steal off quietly and take refuge whereI can watch who passes. " Lord Linden had hardly disappeared before the marchioness remarked toVictorine, "You said my dress would be ready in an hour, MademoiselleVictorine? I will take a short drive and return in that time. LetMademoiselle Melanie know that I particularly wish to have an interviewwith her. I must see her about that unfinished dress which certainlyshall not go to New Orleans. " She courtesied once more very profoundly to Mrs. Gilmer and departed, quite forgetting Lord Linden, who was well pleased not to be missed. "Mademoiselle Melanie will not be so unjust as to let Madame de Fleuryhave that dress after refusing it to me, " observed Mrs. Gilmer tartly. "If she is, I _never more_"-- The threat was nipped in the bud, for she well knew no one could replacethe sovereign modiste, and that the loss of Mrs. Gilmer's custom wouldnot in the least affect Mademoiselle Melanie, who daily refused a crowdof applicants. Recovering herself, the banker's wife concluded by saying, "Madame deFleury is to return in an hour; very well; I will call somewhat later tolearn Mademoiselle Melanie's decision. If the dress is not mine itcertainly must not be Madame de Fleury's. We shall see if MademoiselleMelanie's boasted justice is found wanting, or if she acts up to herprofessions. " M. De Bois conducted Mrs. Gilmer to her carriage, and returned to the_salon_; for he had an especial reason for desiring to see Madeleine;but, having called during the hours which she scrupulously devoted toher vocation, he did not feel at liberty to intrude in her privateapartments. CHAPTER XXV. THE MESSAGE. Shortly after M. De Bois returned to the exhibition _salons_, Madeleineentered the workroom. Gaston could see her moving about among the younggirls, distributing sketches, making smiling comments upon theoccupation of this one and that; pointing out defects or praisingexecution. Every face seemed to brighten when it was turned toward her, and every countenance wore an unmistakable expression of affection. Wemight, perhaps, except that of Mademoiselle Victorine, whose highopinion of her own abilities made her somewhat jealous of Madeleine'ssupremacy. Yet, even she experienced an involuntary reverence for thehead of the establishment, though golden dreams of some day leaping intoher place were ever floating through the Frenchwoman's plotting brain. Beside the table where Ruth was painting, Madeleine made the longestpause. She seemed disposed to converse with her young favorite; and Ruthsmiled so gratefully that M. De Bois was half reconciled to the delay, though he had an important reason for wishing to exchange a few wordswith Madeleine as soon as possible. The interval before she passed outof the room to return to her boudoir appeared sufficiently tedious. Gaston followed her and said, -- "Will you grant me a few moments, or are you very busy this morning?" "Busy always, " replied Madeleine, extending her hand to welcome him;"but seldom _too_ busy to lack time for my best friend. Will you come tomy own little sanctum?" The room to which Gaston followed her offered a striking contrast, inpoint of furniture, to those which they had just left. Madeleine'sboudoir, though it had an air of inviting comfort, was adorned withalmost rigid simplicity. The only approach to luxury was a tinyconservatory, she had caused to be built, rendered visible by glassdoors. Madeleine took her seat before a small rosewood table, and with a pencilin her hand, and a piece of drawing-paper before her, said, "You willnot mind my sketching as we talk. I have an idea floating through myhead, and I want to throw it off on paper; I can listen and answer, justas well, with my fingers occupied. " Well might Gaston contemplate her in silent and wondering admiration. Neither her countenance nor her manner betrayed any trace of thesuffering she must have endured on the day previous. She seemed to havecompletely banished its recollection from her thoughts. M. De Bois wasfearful of touching upon the subject, it seemed so wholly to havevanished from her mind; yet his errand compelled him. "What courage, what perseverance you possess, Mademoiselle Madeleine! Itis incredible, --inexplicable, " he said, at last, as he watched thedelicate fingers moving over the paper. "There you err, " answered Madeleine, brightly. "It is, at least, very_explicable_, for it is in working that I find my strength, myinspiration, my consolation! It was _work, incessant work_, whichsustained me when I determined to take a step from which my weaker, frailer part shrank. A step which utter wretchedness first suggested tome; which seemed terribly galling, oppressively revolting; which Iventured upon with inconceivable pain. Yet, as you have seen, I wasenabled, in time, to look upon that step with resignation; I afterwardscontemplated it with pride; I now regard it with positive pleasure. Thiscould never have been had I not resolved to resist all temptation tobrood over grief, and turned to work as a refuge from sorrow. " "And it is really true, then, that you, a lady of noble birth, droppingfrom so high a sphere into one not merely humble, but laborious, findyour vocation a pleasure at last. " "It is most true, " said Madeleine lifting her beautiful eyes, with sucha radiant expression that the genuineness of her reply could not bedoubted. "When one has, for years, lived upon the bare suffrage ofothers, no matter how dear, --when one has had no home except that whichwas granted through courtesy, compassion, charity, --you cannot conceivehow delicious it is to dream of independence, of a home of one's own!And this sweet dream has become reality to me more speedily and moresurely than my most sanguine hopes dared to anticipate. Think, in what arapid, an almost miraculous manner my undertaking has prospered; by whatmagic my former life (that of an aristocratic lady who employed herselfa little, but without decided results) has been exchanged for thedelights of a life of active use, bringing forth golden fruition! In aword, how suddenly my poverty has been turned to wealth, --at all events, to the certain promise of opulence. And the most delightful sense of allis the internal satisfaction of knowing that I have done this _myself_, unaided; save, indeed, by the kindness, the counsel, the invisibleprotection of such a friend as you are, and such a friend as Mr. Hilsonhas proved. " "We have done nothing--but watch and admire. " "Nothing?" answered Madeleine, with gentle reproach. "Who helped mecarry out all my projects? When a man's hand was needed, who stretchedout his? but always with such prudence and delicacy that I could not becompromised. How helpless I should have been in Paris without you! Andhow many mistakes might I not have committed in America without Mr. Hilson's aid! Little did he think, when he dined at the Château deGramont, with a noble family, and asked one of its members to promisethat if she ever visited America she would apprise him of her presencethere, --little could he imagine how soon she would make a home in hisnative land, and of what inestimable aid his friendship would be toher. " "He has been truly serviceable, " answered Gaston. "His advice was alwaysgood, and in nothing better than in deciding you to take this house, which you, at first thought too magnificent; he was wise, also, inpersuading you to furnish it so luxuriously. He comprehended, betterthan you or I did, that a certain amount of pomp and show would make adesirable impression upon the inhabitants even of a republican country. " "Yes, I have cause to thank him for that counsel. And when I reflectthat this house, which I at first thought too splendid, will soon becomemy own, I can hardly believe my good fortune. To-day, or to-morrow, I amto make the last payment of ten thousand dollars, and the house will bemine, clear of all incumbrance. I have the money ready, and probablybefore night it will be paid. This very morning, when I returned home, as I entered the door, I could not but pause suddenly, and say tomyself, 'Is this no dream? Have I a home of my own, at last? Will thiselegant mansion to-day become mine, and through the toil of'"-- "'Fairy fingers, '" interrupted Gaston. "Something magical, I am inclined to admit, " returned Madeleine, gayly. "But had it not been for the earnest counsels of Mr. Hilson, I shouldnever have felt justified in living in my present style; he convinced methat the money I expended in surrounding myself with all the elegancesof life was laid out at interest; and I suppose he is right; theseelegances have perhaps drawn the rich to my door. " "What was it that drew the poor?" asked Gaston. "You have tried to keepyour charities as secret from me as your noble birth was kept fromothers, but accident has made me acquainted with more than you areaware. I know with what liberal hands you have succored the needy. " "Those who have endured the sharp sting of poverty themselves may wellfeel for the poor, " replied Madeleine. "And yet, I do little enough formy poor human sisters and brothers; but we are gossiping very idly. Didyou not say that you particularly wished to speak to me? It was notsimply to make these sage reflections, was it?" "No; but I shrank from touching upon the subject while you seemed soserene and happy. I could not bear to recall the painful interview withyour family yesterday, when they--they--they"-- "When they cast me off!--spurned me as one degraded! Do not fear tospeak out. My aunt is implacable, --I might have known that she wouldbe, --and Count Tristan is the same. " "What matter? You have no need of their affection. And yet, the day willcome when they will all seek you, and be proud and glad to claim you. Isay it, and I feel it!" Madeleine shook her head. "And they did not _all_ throw you off. Was not Mademoiselle Bertha justwhat she always is? And was not Maurice, --though he appeared to be socompletely overwhelmed that he could not command his voice, --was he notthe same as ever?" "_Was_ he the same, think you?" asked Madeleine, eagerly. "Yes, I am sure of it; and I come here to-day as his messenger, --or, rather, as the herald of his coming. " Madeleine trembled, in spite of herself. The thought of beholdingMaurice once more, of conversing with him, of listening to him, affectedher too strongly for her to be able even to _assume_ indifference. M. De Bois regarded her with an air of exultation. "I have judged you rightly, then, and you are unchanged. Maurice is notless dear to you than"-- Madeleine's hand, appealingly lifted, checked him. For a few moments she remained silent. When her tranquillity wassomewhat restored, she said slowly, but in an altered tone, -- "You are the messenger of Maurice; what did he request you to say tome. " "He commissioned me to let you know that he earnestly desired aninterview with you, at once, --and alone, --free from interruption. Heentreats you to receive him to-day. I promised, as soon as I could makeknown to you his petition, that I would return to him with youranswer;--he awaits it impatiently. What answer shall I give him?" "He may come, " answered Madeleine, in a tone of suppressed emotion. "I will tell him that he may be here in an hour?" said Gastoninterrogatively, for he saw the mighty struggle Madeleine was making tocontrol herself, and thoughtfully desired to give her some little timefor preparation. Madeleine bowed her head in acquiescence. Gaston had too much delicacy to prolong the conversation. He bade heradieu and at once sought Maurice. CHAPTER XXVI. MEETING OF LOVERS. M. De Bois lost no time in communicating to Maurice the result of hisvisit. He found the young viscount awaiting him with torturingimpatience. Gaston had scarcely said that Madeleine would receive hercousin in an hour, when Maurice, without heeding the last words, caughtup his hat, convulsively grasped his friend's hand, and, withoututtering a syllable, hurried forth. He was acquainted with Madeleine's residence, --he had sought it out thenight previous, --and thither he now hastened. He bounded up the streetdoor-steps, but paused a moment as his hand touched the bell. Was heagain about to look upon that face which he had sought with suchfruitless, but frenzied ardor? He thought of those days when allcreation became a blank because that heaven-lit countenance no longershone upon him. His brain and heart throbbed and beat at thosetumultuous recollections until both seemed mingled in one wild motion. He comprehended Madeleine's character so well that he knew he shouldfind her tranquil and self-possessed; and was he about to enter herpresence as voiceless and unmanned as during their brief rencontre theday previous? He turned to descend the steps in the hope of collecting his scatteredfaculties, by walking awhile, but the very thought of delaying, even fora few moments, an interview for which he had so long pined caused himtoo sharp anguish for endurance; he seized the bell, and rang with assudden an impulse as though he feared the mansion before which he stoodwould vanish away, and he would awake from one of the old dreams bywhich he had been haunted. The door opened and he was at once conducted to Madeleine's boudoir. Madeleine was still sitting before the little table where Gaston de Boishad left her. The sketch she had commenced lay before her, and thepencil beside it; but though she had not moved from her seat, thedrawing had not received an additional touch. As Maurice entered she rose, and advanced toward him, stretching outboth her hands. Closely clasping those extended hands, he gazed upon herwith an expression of rapture. For a moment, the large, clear windows ofher soul opened as naturally and frankly as ever; but his look was sofull of unutterable tenderness that over her betraying eyes the lidsdropped suddenly, and her face crimsoned, it might be with happinesswhich she felt bound to conceal. Madeleine was the first to speak; but the only words she murmured were, "Maurice!--my dear cousin!" How her accents thrilled him! How they brought back the time when thatvoice, which made all the music of his existence, was suddenly hushed, and awful silence took its place, leaving the memory of departed tonesever sounding in his aching, longing ears! "Madeleine!--have I found you at last? Oh, how long we have been lost toeach other!" "_You_ have never been lost to _me_, " answered Madeleine involuntarily;but the words were hardly spoken when she repented them. "I know it; M. De Bois kept you informed of my movements. But, ah, Madeleine, how could you be aware of my anguish, and so cruelly refuse asign by which I might learn that you were near me?" "I had no alternative. I could not have carried out the project I hadformed, and which"--Madeleine paused, and looked around her somewhatproudly, then added, "and which you now see crowned with success, if Ihad run the risk of your tracing me. You would have opposed myundertaking, --do you not feel that you would? Answer that question, before you reproach me. " "Yes, you are right, Madeleine; I fear I should have opposed yourenterprise. And yet, believe me, I honor it, --I honor you all the moreon account of that very undertaking. Thank Heaven, I have lived longenough in this land, where men (and women too) have sufficient courageto use their lives, and senseless idlers are the exceptions; to realizethat man's work and woman's work are alike glorious; that labor isdignified by the hand that toils; and that you, Madeleine, the daughterof a duke, --you, the duchess-mantua-maker, have reached a higheraltitude through that very labor than your birth could ever command. " "Maurice, --my cousin, my dear, dear cousin!--these words compensate mefor all my trials and struggles. I hardly dared to dream that I shouldhear them for your lips. Ah, to-day, --to-day when I am about toaccomplish one of the ends for which I have most earnestlytoiled, --to-day when I shall become full possessor of this mansion, henceforth a home of my own, --this day will ever be full of preciousmemories to me; it will be written upon my book of life moistened withthe sweetest tears I ever shed, --tears of gratitude and joy. " "You are to purchase this magnificent mansion? Is it possible?" askedMaurice, for the first time looking around him. "How can you haveachieved this, Madeleine? You have had some friend who aided you, and"--he paused abruptly. "I _have_ had friends, Maurice, warm and devoted friends, " answeredMadeleine, simply. "But, " he resumed, and hesitated, "how--how has all this been broughtabout? Ah, Madeleine, I have not forgotten, I cannot forget the sadrevelation you made to me in Brittany. He whom you love, --it is_he_, --_he_ who has protected you, who has enjoyed the exquisitehappiness of aiding you by his advice, and by his own means perhaps"-- Maurice uttered these words excitedly and almost in a tone of reproach. "No, Maurice, " returned Madeleine, growing ghastly pale, and speakingwith an effort which gave her voice a hollow, unnatural sound. "He whomI love has never aided me, --I have received no assistance from him, --Ihave given him no right to offer any. " "He whom you love!" repeated Maurice with culminating anguish. "Then youlove him, --you _do_ love him still? Answer me, Madeleine. Do not tortureme by suspense! Answer me, --you love him still?" "_As ever!_" replied Madeleine, and an irrepressible blush chased theashy whiteness of her cheeks. "And he is _here_, --here in America, --here in Washington?" askedMaurice. "Yes. " "And you see him? You have seen him perhaps this very day?" "Yes. " "And he loves you, --loves you as much as ever?" Madeleine silently bowed her head, but the radiant light that overspreadher countenance answered more unmistakably than the affirmative action. "Ah, Madeleine, can you think, can you believe that his love equalsmine? You do not answer; speak, I implore you! _Do_ you believe that_he_ has loved you as _I_ love you?" Madeleine felt impelled to reply because she deemed it best for Mauriceto be confirmed in his error. In a low, tremulous tone, and with hereyes swimming in the soft lustre of a half-formed tear, she murmured, "Yes. " "No! no! It cannot be!" burst forth Maurice. "No woman was ever loved_twice_ with such absorbing devotion. You cannot be to him what you areto me! You cannot have saved him from all the perils from which you havesaved me! Ah, Madeleine, since you have been selected to fill the placeof a guardian angel to me, why, why was my love rejected? Why didanother rob me of your heart? Why were you willing to unite your fate tohis and not to mine?" "Maurice, " said Madeleine, regaining some degree of composure, "I shallnever forget the noble offer you made me when I was a desolate outcast;I shall never forget the joy it gave me, --the gratitude it causedme, --the good it did me, at the very moment when I was forced, _ayforced_ to reject that offer. But had there been no other barrier couldI have consented to become a burden to you? I, --poor andfriendless, --_could_ I have consented to draw down the anger of yourfamily upon you? _Could_ I have consented to separate you from them?--tomake a lasting feud between you? Say, Maurice, would you have had me dothis?" "I would have had you leave me still a hope upon which I could haveexisted, until I had fitted myself to enter an honorable profession;until I had a prospect of earning an independence through thatprofession; until I had the right to say to you (as I now might, wereyou but mine in heart), Madeleine, I have waited patiently, and toiledearnestly, --will you share my narrow means, my almost poverty? Will yoube my wife? We might have been exiles, so to speak, for we shouldperhaps have been cast off by our own kindred, and might never havereturned to our native land; but your presence would have made this newcountry, --this young Hercules of lands, --this land full of sinews, bonesand muscle, not yet clothed with rounded symmetry of outward form, butfresh and strong and teeming with promise, a true home to us. Its vast, ever-growing mind would have given new expansion to our own mentalfaculties. We should have grown spiritually, and reached nobler heightstogether. If we had griefs to endure, grief itself would have been sweetto me if we drank it from the same cup. All this might have been, Madeleine, if you had loved me as I love you. " Madeleine passed her hand over her eyes as if to shut out some pictureof blinding brightness conjured before them by his words; and, lookingup with forced serenity, said, -- "Maurice, though I cannot be your wife, do you refuse to let me take theplace of a sister?--a sister who loves you with the most tenderaffection, --who will rejoice in your joy and share your sorrow, and lookupon her own life as brighter if she brightens yours? Since it has beenthe will of Heaven that we should meet again before the time I proposedarrived, there is no need that we should become strangers to each other. Because I cannot be _all_ that you desire, you will not reject suchaffection as I _can_ offer you?" "Reject it? No, _rejection_ has only emanated from your side, " hecontinued bitterly. "I was and am unworthy of your affection, yourconfidence; but what you will grant I will thankfully receive, too poornot to feel enriched even by your coldest regard. " "Will you prove that to me, Maurice?" "Yes; how can I do so?" "By promising that you will never have a sorrow which you do not confideto me; by promising that you will never doubt my ready sympathy; moreyet, --by giving me an invaluable privilege, --one which will make meproud indeed. Do not be offended, Maurice; but--but--should you everneed means to carry out any enterprise (and you know, in this land, howmany offer themselves), I would claim the privilege of being yourbanker, and joining in your undertaking as freely as if I were indeedyour sister. " "You, Madeleine? Can you imagine that I could force myself to consent tothis? You are already rich then?" "I am becoming rich, --I have laid the foundation of wealth. But tell methat you do not reject my sisterly regard, my devotion"-- "Would he whom you love permit this devotion?" "Yes, " answered Madeleine, smiling gravely. "It would not render him wretched? It would not exasperate him?"questioned Maurice. "No. " "He is not jealous, then?" "Yes, I fear he is, --very jealous; but not of _you_. " "And yet, he has cause, " returned Maurice, with violence which he couldnot control; "more cause than I trust he has of being jealous of anyother man; and there may be, _must_ be other men who aspire to love you. Your position, Madeleine, must expose you, at times, to impertinence;you must need protection. " "I have a talisman within which protects me ever, " answered Madeleine. "Ah, I know, --the love you bear _him_, my rival! Let us not speak ofhim. I cannot endure it; let us ever banish him from our conversation. " "I did not mean to make you suffer, " said Madeleine, soothingly. Before he could reply, Victorine entered with a mysterious air. Hercountenance intimated that she had a matter of the utmost importanceupon her mind. Habituated to some of the little, pleasant, and _supposed to be_harmless customs of her own country, she could not comprehend thatMademoiselle Melanie appeared to have no lovers, that she entertained nogentleman in particular. M. De Bois was so openly her _friend_ thatmystery never attached itself to his visits. Mr. Hilson was a frequentvisitor, but he was a married man, whose wife and daughters were amongthe most zealous of Mademoiselle Melanie's patrons. Victorine was alwayson the _qui vive_ for the accession of a lover, as a necessary appendageto one in Mademoiselle Melanie's position; and, at this moment, she feltas though she had a clew to some intrigue. Instead of speaking in an audible tone, she approached Madeleine, andglancing dubiously at Maurice, said, in a whisper, "Mademoiselle, I havesomething to communicate. " "What is it?" asked Madeleine, without the slightest embarrassment. "A gentleman desires to see Mademoiselle Melanie immediately, and _inprivate_, " whispered Victorine. "He particularly said _in private_, and, evidently he is very desirous of not being seen. He was quite confusedwhen that stupid valet ushered him into the exhibition-rooms; butfortunately, I came to his assistance. He was so anxious to escapeobservation that he _would_ follow me downstairs; I therefore usheredhim into Mademoiselle's private drawing-room. " "Did you not ask his name?" inquired Madeleine, quietly. "He would not give his name, mademoiselle. He said I must deliver youthis note when no one was by, or slip it in your hand unperceived. " She spoke in a whisper, and gave the note with her back turned toMaurice, probably supposing that he was not aware of its delivery. Madeleine broke the seal quite openly. At the first line, however, shechanged color, and was visibly disturbed. Victorine, who was watchingher closely, exulted in secret. Maurice perceived Madeleine's agitationwith surprise and pain. A suspicion that the letter was from his rivalcould not be escaped. "What is it?" he asked, impulsively. "I cannot tell you, " replied Madeleine, hastily refolding the letter. "Can you not tell me from whom this letter comes?" "No--no!" she replied with unusual vehemence. "Alas! I know too well, " returned Maurice sadly. "But why should you beagitated and troubled by what he says? What right has he to give youpain?" "You must leave me--leave me at once!" cried Madeleine, nervously. Victorine was enchanted; the plot thickened! Here was a mystery, and sheheld the clew to it! It was very plain that Mademoiselle Melanie did notwish these two gentlemen to meet. "Victorine, you will conduct monsieur"--said Madeleine. "I do not wishhim to leave by the front entrance; you will conduct him through thegarden. " There was a private entrance into the street through the large garden atthe back of the house; but this was the first time that Victorine hadever received an order to show any visitor out by that way, and she feltshe was beginning to be admitted to Mademoiselle Melanie'sconfidence, --an honor for which she had long sighed. Maurice was about to remonstrate, but Madeleine said to him, imploringly, "Can you not trust me? Will you not consent to my wishes, and trust to their being explained some future day?" Maurice, though tormented by the keenest pangs of jealousy, could notresist this appeal. "I trust you ever, Madeleine, " he replied, taking up his hat. "When mayI see you again?" "When you choose; you are always welcome; but go now. Show monsieur_through the garden_, Victorine. " Victorine smiled a mysterious assent. Maurice followed her out of theroom, but Madeleine's intention was unexpectedly frustrated. The visitor whom Victorine had ushered into the drawing-room hadfollowed her unnoticed to the small entry which led into Madeleine'sboudoir. The forewoman and Maurice had only taken a few steps when theyencountered him. Maurice exclaimed in astonishment, "Good heavens, my father!" "You here, Maurice, " returned the count in a severe tone. "Are you not here, my father?" "That is different, " answered the count, hiding his annoyance beneath afrigid air. "You heard what your grandmother said. She would beindignant if she knew of this visit, and you must be aware that it doesnot meet with _my_ approval. " "Have I reason to think so when I find you here also?" replied Maurice, in a manly tone. "I come as the head of the family, and to talk upon a family matter ofgreat importance. I do not, however, wish that my visit here should beknown to any one. You understand me, --it is not to be mentioned. " "Be assured I shall not mention it, " said Maurice, bowing and movingonward. As the gentlemen had met, Victorine concluded there was now no need ofshowing the way through the garden entrance. She opened the door of theboudoir to admit Count Tristan, and then led the way to the entrancefrom the street. Maurice did not comprehend why Madeleine's orders weredisregarded; for he never suspected that his father was the writer ofthe note. At the sound of a footstep on the stair, the viscount raised his head, and caught sight of a gentleman who had commenced descending, butsuddenly turned back, as though he also did not wish to be seen. Hecould not, however, disappear before Maurice had recognized Lord Linden. Why should Lord Linden have so rapidly retreated when he thought hemight be seen? Could this languid, _blasé_ nobleman be the man Madeleineloved? Could she have been acquainted with him in France? When couldtheir acquaintance have commenced? Why had she never mentioned him? Itwas very singular. Maurice left the house he had entered with such joyous sensations, sadlyand slowly. Madeleine was found at last, yet Madeleine was again lost tohim! CHAPTER XXVII. COUNT TRISTAN'S POLICY. When Count Tristan was ushered into Madeleine's presence, he wasreceived, not perhaps with warmth, but with marked courtesy. Nothing inher greeting betrayed that his past conduct was remembered, and yetnothing in her manner indicated that their relationship was unforgotten. Her demeanor was simply that which would have been natural andappropriate in receiving, beneath her own roof, one who was almost astranger. The count had been completely disconcerted by the unexpected meetingwith his son; his wily smoothness was too much ruffled for him to couchhis first words in polite language; he could not forbear saying, -- "I entertained the hope that my visit would be private; it is veryunfortunate that I encountered Maurice; it will give him cause to thinkthat I am opposed to his grandmother's course. " He smoothed over thisslip of the tongue by adding, "And, certainly, so I am! I disapprove ofher excessive rigor; her conduct toward you does not meet with my fullsanction. " It was the unintentional expression of Madeleine's countenance, perhaps, which made Count Tristan remember that his own conduct had stronglyresembled that of his mother. But his auditor spoke no word; she was tookind to utter her thoughts, and too frank to say what she did not think. The count went on, -- "I could not yield to my strong impulse yesterday, and defend you; itwould not have done; my mother would only have been exasperated. I wasforced apparently to agree with her. The sacred title of 'mother, 'which is never to be forgotten, compelled me to yield her thisrespect, --a respect due alike to her years and to her position. But, nowthat we are alone, I may tell you how pained, how grieved I was at theoccurrences of yesterday. " "I no longer think of them, " replied Madeleine. "As I said, " continued the count, "when you left us so mysteriously inBrittany, however troubled we might have been at your sudden step, however anxious about your welfare, it was useless to be indignant, since you thought your course the right one, and you were everconscientiousness personified; besides it should always be taken intoconsideration that, come what might, you are still our relation; theties of blood are indissoluble. I said to my mother, 'It can never beforgotten that Madeleine is your niece. '" "I would have had her forget it, " replied Madeleine. "I preserved myincognita, and kept at a distance from you all that you might not bewounded by the remembrance. " "But be sure, Madeleine, that I, for one, cannot forget ourrelationship, nor cease to treat you as my niece. " Madeleine could not but be touched by this unexpected declaration. Sheanswered, gratefully, "It is more than I ask, yet I thank you. " "Yes, " returned the count, "and to prove to you how far I am fromlooking down upon you, --how much I honor your position, and how highly Iesteem you, --how thoroughly I comprehend your character, and thereadiness with which you always serve others, --I come here to-day to aska favor at your hands. " "Is it possible?" exclaimed Madeleine, delightedly. "You make me trulyhappy. Can I, indeed, serve you? You could scarcely have spoken wordsthat had more power to gladden me. " "That is precisely what I imagined, " answered the count, complacently. "Now let me explain the matter. You have often heard me speak of theproperty left to Maurice by his uncle. It is now almost our solepossession. Its value depends upon the railroad which may or may not runthrough that portion of the country. A committee of nine persons hasbeen selected to decide whether this road shall run to the right orleft. If they choose the road to the right, the property of Maurice willnot be benefited, and--and--and--I cannot enter into particulars, but--but--it is almost valueless. If they choose the left road, thevalue of the estate will be so much increased that it will yieldus, --that is, will yield my son something very handsome. Of thiscommittee, Mr. Hilson and Mr. Meredith will vote for the left road, and, through the influence of Madame de Fleury, for which I am indebted toyou, M. De Fleury's banker, Mr. Gobert, will also vote for the left:that secures us three votes. " "How glad I am that I was able to accomplish something to serve you!"said Madeleine. "There is much more, I trust, that you will be able to accomplish. Thevotes of Mr. Gilmer and Mr. Rutledge must be gained, --the only two whichit seems possible to obtain; for the other gentlemen are inflexible intheir decision. Mrs. Gilmer is one of your customers. I hear that sheraves about you; if that is the case, you can do anything with her, and_she_ will manage her _husband_. Have you no mode of winning her over toour side?" Madeleine pondered a moment, then answered gayly, -- "Yes, I have at my command one method that is certain, --_perfectlycertain_. Mrs. Gilmer is very desirous of receiving an invitation toMadame de Fleury's ball. The marchioness has left her out on purpose. Mrs. Gilmer has made numerous efforts, but, thus far, unsuccessful ones, to obtain this invitation; if I could secure it for her she would gladlyrepay me by inducing her husband to vote as you desire. " "Bravo! Bravo! we shall succeed; for you can surely obtain theinvitation. Madame de Fleury herself said that she was enchanted at theopportunity of obliging you, --that she could not do too much to show hergreat consideration. " "Yes; but you can scarcely comprehend the difficulty of persuading herto consent to invite Mrs. Gilmer. She mortally detests her, and I couldoffer few petitions which she would be less likely to grant. Still, Iwill use strong arguments, --powerful inducements. I will endeavor tothink of some temptation which she cannot resist. " "That is just what I believed you would do, my dear Madeleine, " said thecount, taking her hand. Madeleine withdrew it, though not too abruptly. The contact gave her, magnetically, as it were, a painful impression. "But how, " she asked, "is Mr. Rutledge to be reached?" "Through you, --through _you_ again, my kind, good Madeleine, " answeredthe count, hilariously. "Through _me_? I do not know him except by name. He is a bachelor;therefore there is no wife who can be induced to become a mediator. " "No, there is no wife, to be sure, but there is a lady-love whom hehopes to make his wife, and she, also, is one of your patrons; it is thesister of Lord Linden; you might solicit her, or you might obtain herinfluence through his lordship. " "Through his lordship? That is not possible, " replied Madeleine, decisively. "Surely it may be, " remarked the count, "since you are acquainted withhim, and I have faith in your powers of persuasion. " Madeleine looked very much astonished as she answered, "What has madeyou imagine that I have any acquaintance with Lord Linden?" "I saw him upstairs in one of your _salons_, sitting in a comfortablearm-chair, as though he were very much at home, reading a book. " Madeleine looked confounded. "Lord Linden?" "Yes; you will therefore admit that it was quite natural for me tosuppose that he had the _entrée_ here?" "I did not know that he was in the house!" returned Madeleine, ingenuously. "He has never been here before to my knowledge. I once wasthrown in contact with him in travelling from New York to Washington. The cars met with an accident and he broke his arm; I, being unhurt, wasof some little assistance; but I have never seen him since. " "Then it is a most fortunate chance, " resumed Count Tristan, "thatbrings him here. Through him you can influence his sister, --through herthe vote of Mr. Rutledge will be secured, and these two votes gained;the road to the left will be chosen, and for this I shall be wholly yourdebtor. Truly, Madeleine, you are the fairy Maurice used to call you inold times; for you have the power, the gift of working wonders, and youalways _had_!" "Cousin Tristan, "--began Madeleine, seriously, then paused; "do youallow me still to call you so?" "Yes, --yes, undoubtedly; and especially when we are alone. Call me_cousin_, certainly; but what did you wish to say?" "You must find some other advocate as far as Mr. Rutledge is concerned. I fear I have not sufficient influence with Lady Augusta Linden to makethis request, or to induce her to grant it, or to prevent her thinkingthe petition itself an impertinence. " "That does not matter; you can manage the affair through Lord Linden, and the opportunity presents itself this very moment, since he ishere, --here under your own roof. " "I cannot see him, --I particularly desire not to see him; there arereasons which must prevent my asking any favor at his hands. It istotally out of my power to do what you desire. " "But it is of the greatest importance, Madeleine; this opportunity mustnot be thrown away. What would Maurice think if he believed that yourefused to serve him at such a critical moment?" "Maurice, if he knew all which I could tell him, would be the first toforbid my appealing to Lord Linden. I pray you to seek some other meansof influencing Mr. Rutledge; he cannot be reached through me. " "I have no other!" cried the count, with desperate energy. "My soledependence is upon you. And, Madeleine, this is not the mere question ofgain: more than I dare confide to you depends upon the decision of thatcommittee. " Madeleine made no response, but her manner plainly manifested that shewas not prepared to retract what she had said. "Madeleine, " continued the count, with ill-disguised anger, and feelingthat he had no alternative but to make a confession which humbled him tothe dust, "this property was held in trust by me; my difficulties, myembarrassments, have been overwhelming: they have brought me to theverge of absolute ruin. A man may be placed in positions where he isforced into actions from which he would otherwise shrink; this was mycase. I obtained from Maurice a power of attorney which he thinks I havenever used, --but--but--impelled by my troubles, and without hisknowledge, I have been induced, --women cannot understand businessmatters; it was a course that could not be avoided, --I have been forcedto compromise the interest of Maurice; I have been compelled to mortgagehis estate so heavily that it is valueless unless this road augments itspresent worth. Do you not see what is at stake? Will you not exertyourself to save me, to save Maurice from the mortification of knowingthat I have committed an action which might be misconstrued, --whichmight be condemned, --might be considered, "--the count paused, overcomewith shame. Madeleine hesitated; for the sake of Maurice she could endure to bemisunderstood, --she could submit to place herself in a position whichhumbled and compromised her. The count saw that her resolution was shaken, and he did not lose hisadvantage. "Remember that Maurice is beginning life; he has imbibed the sanguinespirit of the land in which he has lately lived. What a sudden andcrushing blow to him will be the revelation that awaits him! Can _you_bear to contemplate its effect? _I_ cannot. Answer, Madeleine; he hassuffered much, much for _your_ sake: will you, will you make him suffermore?" "No!" answered Madeleine, firmly. "Come what may, I will see LordLinden, and obtain his influence with his sister _if I can_. " "There spoke the Madeleine of other days!" Madeleine interrupted him: "Spare me your praises; I do not deservethem. If Lord Linden is here, as you say, I will see him at once. " "That is right; you are prompt as ever. I will take my leave. It may notbe well for him to see me here. Success to you, Madeleine! But youalways command success. It is a condition of your existence. " The count withdrew, and Madeleine, with a sad countenance, only waiteduntil the street door closed upon him, to keep her promise and seek LordLinden. CHAPTER XXVIII. LORD LINDEN'S DISCOVERY. Lord Linden, who had resolved not to leave the house until he haddiscovered his incognita, waited with laudable patience, closelyscanning every lady who passed through the adjoining apartments. Hisposition did not command a view of the workroom. An hour passed, and hebegan to get puzzled. The non-appearance of the lady who had entered thehouse was inexplicable, unless she resided there. His perplexity wasmomentarily increasing, when he saw Count Tristan in conversation withthe forewoman. They left the apartment together. It then occurred toLord Linden that there might be other exhibition-rooms in the lowerstory, and he had better reconnoitre. He had made up his mind to dothis, and was descending the stair, when he caught sight of Maurice deGramont and involuntarily retreated. What was Count Tristan doing here?What brought his son here? Neither of the gentlemen were accompanied byladies. He returned to his former station, uncertain what step to takenext. Just then, Victorine passed through the apartment on her way tothe workroom. He accosted her and inquired if there were exhibitionrooms on the lower floor. She informed him that the first story wasreserved by Mademoiselle Melanie for her own use. Lord Linden returned to his arm-chair, and had just made up his mindthat the lady of whom he was in search had visited Mademoiselle Melaniein her own apartments and left the house again, when he was startled, astounded, and overjoyed by the sight of the very being he sought, tranquilly approaching him. Madeleine looked serious, even sad; for she had consented to stoop to anaction which mortified her deeply. Lord Linden was so thoroughly amazed at her sudden appearance that hecould not move, --could not collect himself to address her. She courtesied, and said, with grave sweetness, -- "I was only informed a few moments ago of your presence here, my Lord. " Lord Linden rose and stammered out, "Is it possible? Do I really beholdyou? This morning I saw you enter this house. I gained my admission asMadame de Fleury's escort, and lingered in the hope of seeing you aftershe left. " Lord Linden did not know how to proceed. He had expected to encounterhis incognita wearing her hat and mantle. He had supposed that her visitto the residence of the celebrated _couturière_ was to make somepurchase. To behold her so apparently at home bewildered him. Madeleine perfectly comprehended his perplexity, and, with the utmostcomposure, attempted to clear away the mist from his mind by saying, -- "I beg pardon; I was not aware that you accompanied Madame de Fleury. AsI have the honor of numbering Lady Augusta Linden, your lordship'ssister, among my customers, I thought"-- "Customers? Your customers? You, then, are"-- "Mademoiselle Melanie, the mantua-maker, " answered Madeleine with anunfaltering voice. "_You?_ Can it be?" Pointing in the direction of the workroom, she answered with ahalf-smile, "Yonder are a number of witnesses who can testify to myidentity. " Lord Linden, trying to conceal the shock he had received, and gazingupon her with admiration, exclaimed, in an impassioned tone, -- "Ever since I first met you, when you were returning from"-- "From New York, " broke in Madeleine, "where I went to choose silks andvelvets and other feminine paraphernalia for the use of my customers. " Lord Linden was again discomfited. After a moment he went on, -- "I have sought you everywhere. I was certain I should find you in thefirst drawing-rooms in Washington. " "You find me in a _salon_ which a great many ladies visit before theyenter those drawing-rooms. " "It is incredible!" "To me it seems very comprehensible, " answered Madeleine stoically. He looked into her lovely countenance and continued, with increasingfervor, -- "I have never ceased to think of you. No other woman has had power toefface your image. Having known you, without ever suspecting who andwhat you are"-- Madeleine interrupted him. "Now that you are aware _who_ I am and _what_ I am, my lord, it becomeseasier to dissipate any illusion which owes its origin to a mystery withwhich you were pleased to surround me. " "To _exchange_ my illusions, perhaps, for others, more captivating, morepoetic, " resumed the nobleman. "Do you talk of poetry, my lord, to a mantua-maker?" "Say, rather, to one who, in spite of her vocation, inspires me with themost absolute veneration. I swear to you--But no, my actions, not mywords, must prove my admiration. You shall find me ever at your command. I shall count it the greatest happiness of my life to devote myself toyour service. " "My lord, you tempt me to put your words to the test. " "Do so, I pray you. It is what I most desire. " "By a singular chance, " said Madeleine, "one of those marvellouscoincidences which sometimes occur in real life, but which look likefiction when they are related in books, an opportunity presents itselfthat may enable you to prove the sincerity of your protestations. Youmust understand that I am a woman of business. But that is easilycomprehended, as I am a woman who toils for her daily bread. I takegreat interest in the decision of the committee of a certain railroadcompany, one of the members of which I desire to influence. " Lord Linden looked stupefied, and almost as if he thought Madeleine weremaking a jest of him. But her grave manner contradicted that suggestion. She went on as tranquilly as before, -- "They are to decide, at their next meeting, whether a certain railroadshall take the direction to the right or left. I desire that the leftroad should be chosen. " Lord Linden still regarded her as though he were too completelyastounded to make any comment. "Certain members of the committee will, I am aware, vote for the leftroad. I wish to secure the vote of Mr. Rutledge. " "Mr. Rutledge!" exclaimed Lord Linden. "I know him well. " "He is the warm admirer of Lady Augusta Linden, " observed Madeleine. "Itis even reported that he aspires to her hand. " Lord Linden showed plainly that he was astonished to find one inMadeleine's position so conversant with the affairs both of the businessworld and the _beau monde_. Madeleine proceeded, -- "If any influence can be used with Mr. Rutledge to induce him to votefor the left road, it will cause me gratification, I cannot explain ofwhat nature. You have spoken, my lord, of desiring to serve me. I havevery frankly pointed out in what manner it was possible that you mightconfer a favor upon me. If I could enter into full particulars, thisrequest would lose its singularity. As that cannot be done, I can onlyentertain the hope that you will believe it has an interpretation whichI should not blush to reveal. " "That I feel, --of that I am certain, " returned the nobleman, earnestly. "No one could look at you and doubt the nobility of your actions andmotives. I am almost hardy enough to venture to promise Mr. Rutledge'svote. Will you permit me to return here after I have spoken with him, and report to you the result of my advocacy?" Before Madeleine could reply, Mrs. Gilmer entered the adjoining room. Madeleine rose, and, courtesying to her visitor, said, -- "Your lordship will excuse me; my duty requires that I should leave youand attend to this lady. " She glided out of the room, but Lord Linden continued to watch her, asthough he could not force his eyes away. It was some time before he made his exit. Mrs. Gilmer was looking very much depressed. She had begun to believethat it was very possible she would receive no invitation to Madame deFleury's ball. "Ah, Mademoiselle Melanie, " said she, as Madeleine entered; "you willsympathize with me. I have never had such a mortification before. I knewMadame de Fleury's enmity, but I could not believe her so cruel, so_inhuman_. She is thoroughly devoid of feeling, and has determined toleave me out of her invitations. I actually induced the Russianambassadress, with whom she is very intimate, to intercede for me. Ihave just seen Madame Orlowski, and she tells me Madame de Fleuryrefused point blank. She resisted Madame Orlowski's most urgententreaties, and will not yield to any one; I have no longer any hope. Ishall be excluded from this ball, of which all Washington is talking. How am I to survive such a slight?" "It, however, may still be possible, " said Madeleine, smilingly, "toobtain you an invitation. " "You think so? You really think so?" cried Mrs. Gilmer, in joyfulsurprise. "Do not raise my hopes to the highest pitch to cast them downagain unless you want to make me ill for a month. Who could have thepower to obtain me an invitation after the Russian ambassadress has beenrefused?" "It sounds very presumptuous to say so, but _I_ may have. " "_You?_ My dear Mademoiselle Melanie, --_you?_ I can well believe it. Madame de Fleury adores you; she owes all her success to you. Oh, I knowit, well enough, though you may pretend to be ignorant of what you havedone for her. And you seriously think you can get me this invitation?You will positively make the effort?" "I will use my best endeavors, and I am pretty sure I shall succeed; butit is to be the return for a favor which I desire you to grant me. " "A favor? You can ask none that I will not grant in return for thisinvitation, " replied Mrs. Gilmer, eagerly. Madeleine could scarcely repress a smile, tinged with a slightlyscornful expression. "You American ladies are said to be all-powerful with your husbands;you, no doubt, have great influence with Mr. Gilmer?" "I fancy I have, " said Mrs. Gilmer, tossing her graceful head. "Iarrange matters so as to have him in my power. I know his weak points, and I make it a rule to play upon them until I obtain everything Idesire. Just at this moment, he is in a particularly favorable state: heis frantically jealous; though, between ourselves, I never give him realcause. I only excite his jealousy to use it as a valuable weapon againsthimself. Tell me quickly what favor you desire. " "Mr. Gilmer is a member of a committee which is to decide upon thecourse a certain railroad is to take. I wish to secure his vote for theleft road. " "How odd! What difference can it make to you?" "It would occupy too much time to explain that, and might not interestyou. The important question is, can he be induced to vote for this leftroad?" "I dare say; I do not doubt it, --that is, if you are really in earnest, and can promise me my invitation to the ball in exchange for his vote. " "The one depends upon the other, " replied Madeleine. "I had the goodfortune to secure the vote of Mr. Gobert, the banker of Monsieur deFleury, and"-- "Mr. Gobert votes for the left road? Ah, that increases the difficulty. My husband makes a point of never voting as he does, --never! It isenough that Mr. Gobert votes one way for him to vote the other. " "That is singular; they are both bankers, and I thought they werefriends. " "It is because they are both bankers that they are the bitterestenemies. Talk of the jealousies of women, of artists, of men of genius, of nations! Those are nothing to the jealousy of these rivalcapitalists, who are engaged in a perpetual strife to excel each other. If Mr. Gobert gives a ball that costs two thousand dollars, Mr. Gilmergives one that costs four thousand. If Mr. Gobert builds a superb house, Mr. Gilmer builds a palace. It is a steeple-chase of vanity, in whichthe conqueror has for the only price of his victory the delight ofseeing his rival conquered. " "Then you find the difficulty of reconciling Mr. Gilmer to vote for theleft road beyond your skill?" "No, --no, --I do not say _that_. I do not admit _that_, by any means. ButMr. Gobert is a great obstacle. " "But one which the pleasure of attending this ball will enable you tosurmount?" "Yes, I trust so. There is a way, --there is a sacrifice I can make; andI will not hesitate for such an object. My husband detests, without theslightest cause, a gentleman who visits me frequently: now, if Ipromised not to receive this obnoxious, but very delightful individual(whom I care nothing about), I think Mr. Gilmer, in return, would bewilling, for once, to cast, his vote on the same side as his enemy. Itwould need some such grave inducement, some such unquestionablesacrifice on my part. " "That sacrifice may also be a prudent action, " observed Madeleine. "Oh, I do not know about that, " replied the thoughtless woman offashion; "a woman is expected to have admirers; they only render hermore valuable in the eyes of her husband. I should not consent to offendthis devoted friend without some strong incentive. But to insure beingpresent at Madame de Fleury's ball, I would agree to anything. So, it isa bargain: if I obtain you my husband's vote, you obtain me thisinvitation?" "That is our compact, " answered Madeleine. "Agreed. I shall return home with a light heart; you have cheered mewonderfully; I am inclined to be so amiable to all the world, my husbandincluded, that all the world and my husband are your debtors. When shallI receive the good news that you have conquered Madame de Fleury?" "At whatever time you think you will be prepared to send me theintelligence that you have vanquished Mr. Gilmer. " "That will be this evening, before my husband goes to his club. " "By this evening, then, I will have procured you the invitation. " "Remember, I depend upon you. Good-morning. " Mrs. Gilmer departed in high good-humor, leaving Madeleine reflectingwith regret upon the tools which harsh circumstance seemed to force herto use. CHAPTER XXIX. A CONTEST. When Mrs. Gilmer took her leave, Madeleine returned to the seclusion ofher own boudoir, having first given orders that she should be apprisedwhen Madame de Fleury made her appearance. Madeleine was unnerved by the agitating incidents of the morning. Thereare days into which emotions which might fill years are crowded. It waslong since she had felt oppressed by such a sense of lassitude andmelancholy. Her interview with Maurice had stirred all the tenderestchords of her spirit, yet left them vibrating sadly. The mysteriousvisit of Count Tristan had perplexed her mind with ominous forebodings. She could scarcely be said to have seen through his machinations, yetshe had an instinctive disbelief in his sincerity, and the uprightnessof his motives, --a disbelief which she vainly tried to conceal fromherself. More painful still had been her conversation with Lord Linden;she could not fail to perceive that he assumed the attitude of a lover, and she felt humbled at having _apparently allowed_, or rather_ignored_, such a position. Lastly, her late _bargaining scene_ withMrs. Gilmer had disturbed Madeleine's sense of delicacy; and a similarscene remained to be enacted with Madame de Fleury. Madeleine involuntarily rubbed her eyes, as though she were trying towake from a confused dream. She could not believe that she had reallyentangled herself in this web of plotting, and at the bidding of CountTristan! She feared that she had acted too impulsively, --that she hadmade unwarrantable use of her power. Then she remembered the look ofdeep distress upon Count Tristan's face as he made his half confidences;she recalled his assurances that without her interposition Maurice wouldnot only be ruined, but that disgrace must attach itself to his father'sname. She had promised her aid, had half gained the victory, and mustnot retreat now when the only portion of her work which remained to beaccomplished consisted in compelling a fashionable puppet to send aninvitation to a rival whom she detested. There was nothing objectionablein the act itself; yet Madeleine, during these calm reflections, shrankfrom the part she was playing, and revolted against being mingled upwith stratagems, however innocent. This revery was broken by the announcement that Madame de Fleury hadarrived, and was at that moment trying on her dress. When Madeleine entered the apartment, Madame de Fleury was standingbefore a mirror, evidently admiring her new costume, and in greatgood-humor. She turned to Madeleine gayly, and said, -- "Mademoiselle Melanie, this dress is perfection! This corsage sets offmy figure beautifully! And what exquisite apologies for sleeves you haveinvented! My arm is one of my best points, and the tinier the sleevethe better. Then the looping of this lace dress through these miniaturechaplets of wild roses is very original; the whole effect is wonderfullyairy and poetic. This is one of your great triumphs; you have reallysurpassed yourself. " As she spoke, she turned around and around, complacently contemplatingher reflected image from various points of view. "I am particularly gratified at having pleased you, madam, " saidMadeleine, with more gravity than was usual to her when she accosted herlight-brained customers. Madame de Fleury, without noticing her serious mien, commenceddisrobing. Victorine folded up the dress and placed it in a _carton_. "I mean to take the dress with me, " said the marchioness. "MademoiselleVictorine, have the goodness to desire my servant to place that _carton_in the carriage. " As Victorine prepared to obey, Madeleine motioned her to desist, andsaid, "Not yet; leave the dress for a few moments. You may retire. " The forewoman reluctantly left the room, looking puzzled, curious, andindignant. "What? Is some alteration needful?" asked Madame de Fleury. "Have yousome fresh inspiration? Has a new idea that will improve the dresssuddenly struck you?" Without replying to these questions, Madeleine looked earnestly at themarchioness, who was now resuming her bonnet, and asked, -- "You are, then, satisfied with my work, madame?" "Satisfied? that is a cold word. I am transported!" "And if, " continued Madeleine, "for that dress I should require aprice"-- "Oh, whatever you please, " replied the marchioness, lightly. "Take meprisoner, gag me, plunder me, what you will, I shall not complain: thedress is worth it; and we have never had any discussion in regard toprices. " "But the price in question is not one that can be paid with money; theprice I place upon this dress is the granting of a favor, --a favor mostprecious to me. " "A favor? you have only to speak. Do you want an office for a friend? Arecommendation for some ambitious compatriot to the emperor? A pardonfor some exiled transgressor? Anything possible to the wife of theFrench ambassador is at your service; you have but to speak. " "My petition is somewhat easier to grant; for I only ask a few wordsfrom you in writing. " As she said this, Madeleine opened a desk, and placed upon it a sheet ofnote-paper, a gold pen, and an inkstand. Then she paused, and said, hesitatingly, -- "Yet, though I ask but these few written words, in full compensation forthat dress, the materials of which as well as the work being mine, Ifear to make my petition known, for I feel that it will cost you much tocomply with my wishes. " "Nonsense! speak plainly, " said Madame de Fleury, smoothing her ribbonswith caressing touches. "I would solicit an invitation to your ball for one of youracquaintances who, as yet, has received none, and who chances to be oneof my customers. " "Is that all? We are enacting much ado about nothing, " said themarchioness, seating herself smilingly at the desk. "You shall have theinvitation, modest and mysterious petitioner. What name shall I write?" "Mrs. "--Madeleine faltered. "Go on, " cried the marchioness, who had commenced her note with theusual formula. "Mrs. Gilmer!" responded Madeleine. Madame de Fleury threw down the pen and started up. "Mrs. Gilmer! Invite Mrs. Gilmer to a ball from which I have purposelyexcluded her? Invite her when I have the satisfaction of knowing thatshe is dying of mortification because she cannot get aninvitation?--when I have steeled myself against the solicitations ofMadame Orlowski? Never! I would rather bear the weight of all the yearswhich she impertinently added to my age. " Madeleine, who was fully prepared for this burst, said, very quietly, and approaching the marchioness, -- "Madame, it is not long since you assured me that it would be a positivehappiness to be able to render me a service. " "And I mean it. I would gladly serve you, but not by inviting Mrs. Gilmer to my ball: that is a little too much to demand. " "But this is the service I most need; a service for which I would bedeeply grateful, --for which I could never sufficiently thank you, --whichwould attach me to you as nothing in the past has ever done. " "The offer of your gratitude and the promise of your attachment are, certainly, very touching, " said Madame de Fleury, with a scornfulpetulance which she had never before evinced toward Madeleine; "but Ibeg leave to decline the indebtedness. You have forced me to remember, for the first time, that when a lady in my station deals with a personin your sphere, it is possible to be _too_ kind, _too_ condescending, _too_ ready to forget necessary distinctions, and thus to draw uponone's self the consequences of that forgetfulness. You have given me alesson, mademoiselle, by which I shall profit: in future I shallremember the distance between us. " She walked toward the work-room and called Victorine, who immediatelyresponded to the summons. Pointing to the _carton_, the indignant lady gave the order, "Have thatdress placed in my carriage. " "No!" said Madeleine, addressing Victorine, commandingly. "Let the dressremain where it is. " "What do you mean, mademoiselle?" asked the marchioness, in angryastonishment. "That dress is still mine!" answered Madeleine. "Yours?" "It is mine, and we will each keep that which belongs to us, --_you_ theprivilege of your rank; I, the results of my labor, however humble. " "Do I understand you rightly? Have you the hardihood to say"-- Madeleine interrupted her, -- "That I refuse to part with that dress for gold, or for any compensationyou can offer, except the one already named, --an invitation for Mrs. Gilmer to your ball. " "She shall never have one! I have said it, and nothing can change myresolution. " "Nor mine! We are in the same position, madame, in spite of the_difference of our stations_, " answered Madeleine, with cold sarcasm. "Nothing can change my resolution. " "But the dress is mine!" cried Madame de Fleury. "I will prove that itis mine; but we will settle that question afterward. Meantime, I orderyou, Mademoiselle Victorine, to have that dress placed in my carriage. " "I order you not to touch it!" said Madeleine. Madame de Fleury now became so much exasperated that she seemed to be onthe point of seizing the dress and carrying it off in her arms. Madeleine perceived her intention, and, suddenly lifting the dress outof the _carton_, rolled it up rapidly, for the materials were light. "I prove to whom the dress belongs, madame, by disposing of it _thus_!" And with the most perfect tranquillity, she flung the disputed prizeinto the fire! It was burning brightly, for the day was cool, thoughspring had commenced. The marchioness, for a moment, was stunned; but, as the flames caughtthe lace, she cried out, "Save it! save it! It is burning! What aninfamous action! What a crime! It has killed me!" She dropped upon the sofa, and was seized with one of those hystericalparoxysms which French women designate as an _attaque de nerfs_. Victorine, with a great display of distress, flew to the sufferer, loosened the strings of the bonnet which she was recklesslycrushing, --held a bottle of sal volatile to her nose (for theFrenchwoman was always prepared for similar pleasant excitements, andcarried a vial in her pocket), and commenced rubbing the lady's handwith great energy. "Save, --save the dress! Do not let it burn!" Madame de Fleury gasped outbetween her sobs. "The dress is beyond saving, madame, " replied Madeleine; "it no longerexists. " At this moment the marchioness suddenly recovered. "And you have destroyed it? You have destroyed a toilet which would havemade me talked of for a week! It is abominable, --it is disgraceful, --itis _criminal_!" Madame de Fleury always used the strongest terms where matters of thetoilet, the most important interests of her life, were in question. "What am I to wear this evening? What is to become of me?" The marchioness wrung her hands, and wept in genuine tribulation. Shesunk back again upon the sofa, as though prostrated by her crushingsorrow. Madeleine allowed the grief of the fine lady to expend itself inincoherent lamentations, and then said, in an icy tone, -- "Madame, do you desire to appear to-night in a dress which far surpassesthe one I have destroyed?" The marchioness was sobbing so violently that she could only answer by amovement of the head. "Do you desire to wear a dress which has been refused to others?--adress which Mrs. Gilmer used every argument to induce me to finish forher, but in vain?--a dress which I would even have refused _you_, withwhose wishes I have ever been ready to comply?" "What--what dress? What do you mean?" "I refer to the dress the design of which you so much admired thismorning, --the dress which is to be sent to New Orleans for Madame laMotte. " "But that dress is not finished; it is hardly commenced; only theembroidery is completed. Mademoiselle Victorine told me it could not bedone under three days. " "It shall be finished for _you_, if you so please, before it is time foryou to dress for this evening's assembly. " "But that cannot be; it is not possible; it is four o'clock now; itwould be a miracle!" "Not quite, " returned Madeleine, quietly. "In past days I was said tohave the fingers of a fairy, and you shall admit that magical powerremains to me. I repeat, the dress shall be completed, if you desire it, to-night. " "But you have sent the design to Madame la Motte, who has approved ofit, and, I hear, you are bound not to furnish a duplicate to any one. " "True, I must run the risk of losing the confidence of a patron for thefirst time in my life. I will tell Madame la Motte the truth, andfurnish her with another equally elaborate dress, --not a very easymatter, as it must leave here in three days by express, and a new designmust not only be planned, but executed, within that time. I may loseMadame de la Motte's patronage, --her esteem; but that will be the priceI pay for the favor I seek at your hands. " "The favor!" repeated the marchioness, abstractedly. In her bewilderment and grief caused by the destruction of the dress, she had forgotten, for the moment, all that had just taken place. Madeleine pointed to the note which the marchioness had commenced, andsaid, -- "The invitation for Mrs. Gilmer. " "Ah! Mrs. Gilmer!" cried Madame de Fleury, as though she had been stungby the name. "As you remarked, it is four o'clock, " continued Madeleine; "the dressought to be at your house by half past nine; there is scarcely time forany one who only _pretends_ to be a fairy to accomplish the work. Fouro'clock: it _is_ just possible that I have promised too much, --that is, if we lose many minutes. Have you decided to write me the invitation?" "You do not give me time for reflection, " said Madame de Fleury, hesitating. "You scarcely give _me_ time, " returned Madeleine, "to perform what Ihave promised; the moments are precious. " "You are sure the dress can be completed if--if I give you thisinvitation?" "Yes, madame, if it be given _at once_. See, " pointing to the clock, "five minutes have flown already, and in every moment we are to do thework of an hour. There is the pen. " Madame de Fleury took it reluctantly. "That detestable Mrs. Gilmer will triumph so much!" "You triumph in having obtained the dress that was refused to her, andhas been refused to many others. But time flies, and I shall not beable, with all the magical aid for which I am given credit, to keep myword. Victorine, while Madame de Fleury is writing, apprise the youngladies to put by, as rapidly as possible, all other work, and be readyto take in hand that which I will give them directly. We want our wholeforce; let me find every one prepared to aid. " Victorine left the room to execute these orders. Madame de Fleury seated herself and dipped the pen in ink. "If you knew what it costs me to consent, " she began. "If I did _not_ know, " rejoined Madeleine, "I should not have offered tomake a sacrifice of so much importance. A few moments more and it willbe too late to decide, --your consent will be of no avail. " "Ah, that is true, " cried Madame de Fleury, writing rapidly. She left the note unfolded on the desk, and, as she rose, said in a toneof ludicrously mingled petulance and elation, "You have conquered! But Ishall have my dress!" "Be sure of it!" answered Madeleine. Victorine now announced that all other work had been laid aside, and theyoung ladies awaited Mademoiselle Melanie's commands. "Go--go--go! or you will be too late!" urged Madame de Fleury, hurryingaway. Madeleine hastened to the work-room, and distributed portions of thedress to different needle-women. After giving a number of minutedirections, and making known that she would return in a couple of hoursto see what progress was made, she retired to write to Mrs. Gilmer. CHAPTER XXX. BERTHA. If Madeleine had been asked which of her relatives would first havesought her after the unexpected _rencontre_ at Madame de Fleury's, shewould have answered, "Bertha, "--Bertha, whose devotion had been sounflagging, so open, so daring. But on the day which succeeded thatstormy interview, Count Tristan and Maurice had visited Madeleine, yetBertha remained absent; another day passed, and still she came not. The Countess de Gramont had resolved, at least, to postpone a meetingshe might not be able wholly to prevent. She formed her plans sodexterously that Bertha was chained to her side, fretting through thetedious hours, yet powerless to secure a moment's freedom. Exasperation caused Bertha sleepless nights; and on the third morningshe rose with the sun, summoned her maid, sent for a carriage, and wason her way to Madeleine's residence some three hours before it waslikely that the slumbers of the countess would be broken. Madeleine was preparing for her matinal walk, when her cousin wasannounced. After the first joyous greetings were over, Bertha said, with tenderdelight, -- "And now that I have found you, my own Madeleine, I mean to come to seeyou every day. " Madeleine shook her head sadly. "Madame de Gramont will never permitthat. " "How can she help it if I choose to order all my dresses made here? Thechoice and discussion of becoming attire shall occupy as much of my timeas it does of Madame de Fleury's. I mean to become her rival and almostruin myself in splendid toilets, --that is, unless you accept myproposition. " "What proposition, Bertha?" "To give up your--your--your--What shall I call it? Your_occupation_, --your _vocation_, --I have a great mind to say your'_trade_, ' that the word may shock you. Live with me; travel with me; gowhere I go. Will you not consent?" "No, " answered Madeleine, gently, but resolutely. "Do not decide hastily. You cannot know how much I need you, Madeleine. Your counsels were indispensable to me even in days when I had no secretto confide: now--now"-- "Now you _have_ a secret? Is it indeed so?" Bertha nodded, paused awhile, then went on abruptly, -- "I have been pestered to death by men who aspired to my hand, and myuncle declares there is no possibility of my finding peace until I makesome choice. " "And you intend to secure peace upon his terms? Possibly among those whoaspired to your hand there is one who has discovered the entrance toyour heart. " "Among those who have aspired, --ah, there is the difficulty! Among thosethere is none. " "Then you love one who has never aspired?" "I fear so, " answered Bertha, ingenuously, and yet blushing deeply. Madeleine looked troubled; she had long entertained a pleasant hopewhich she saw about to vanish. "And you have loved him, --how long?" she asked, gravely. "Oh, a very short time; only since day before yesterday, " repliedBertha. This answer added to Madeleine's discomposure. There was no hope forGaston de Bois. "Why do you look so sorrowful?" inquired Bertha, noticing her cousin'sexpression. "I am thinking of one who has loved you long, with such devotion, withsuch self-abnegation, with such an ardent desire to become worthy ofyou, that I could not but sigh over his disappointment. But this suddenaffection of yours may not be very deep. " "Ah, but it _is_! And as for suddenness, when I say I have only lovedhim since day before yesterday, I mean that I only then discovered howmuch I cared for him. " "And how came you to know that he was dear to you?" "You will be very much shocked when I answer that question; but youalways said I was eccentric. I first felt that I loved him when I sawhim getting into a great rage, and when I positively fancied that Icaught the sound of a horrible oath, which he uttered in an undertone!" "That _is_ original! I never before heard of a young lady being inspiredby love for a young man when he was angry, or when he was profane. " "Ah, but he was angry in a good cause, " returned Bertha, earnestly. "Itwas righteous indignation, and it was the violence with which hedefended one whom I love, that won my heart completely. " "Whom did he defend?" asked Madeleine, unsuspiciously. "_You_, --_you_, my own, best Madeleine, and for _that_ I loved him. Itwas so wonderful, knowing how constitutionally diffident he is, to seehim so courageous. And when I remembered how he used to hesitate andstammer, it seemed marvellous to hear him talk on with an ease, afluency, a fervor truly eloquent. I never ask to listen to fineroratory. My aunt, in spite of her indignation, was confounded intosilence. Count Tristan could not say a word, and Maurice looked asthough amazement alone kept him from throwing himself in his friend'sarms, and I fear I almost felt like doing the same. " "It was Gaston de Bois, then?" cried Madeleine, with sudden transport. "Yes. Who else could it be? And he was so comical at the same time thathe was so pathetic! At first I almost felt like laughing at his oddgesticulations. And then he talked so nobly, so grandly, that I feltlike weeping; and you know it is my nature to laugh and to cry in spiteof myself. I have made up my mind that I could never love anybody whocould not make me do both _at once_, just as he did, in such a comicallypathetic manner. " "How shall I thank you? Gaston de Bois is my best, my truest, friend!"said Madeleine, rapturously. "I know _that_ well enough! Once I feared he might be the mysteriousindividual whom you loved; but he said himself that you were a sister tohim; and I almost leapt for joy at those words. A sister never fills the_whole_ of a man's heart, --does she?" "Not such a heart as Gaston de Bois'. He will tell you himself whooccupies the sovereign place in that heart when he knows that he mayspeak. " "But how is he to know? You must promise me not to tell him, not to givehim even the faintest hint, of what I have communicated. Promise me thatyou will not. " "I promise. But you forget how diffident M. De Bois is, how distrustfulof his own merits. He will not easily believe that you _can_ think ofhim. And, meantime, you"-- "Will suffer. Yes, I know it; but I should suffer more if I were guiltyof an unmaidenly action. So you will keep your promise?" "I will keep it faithfully. " It was time for the cousins to part. Bertha returned to the hotel with alighter heart, because she had transferred its weighty secret toanother's keeping. But Madeleine's joy was mingled with forebodings thatGaston de Bois would not suspect his own happiness for a long, sadperiod, if ever. When she went forth, it was long past the hour usually devoted to herwalk. The capitol grounds were gay with promenaders. Madeleine and Ruthattracted more attention than was agreeable, and, after a short ramble, turned homeward. As they passed out of the gates, the first person they met was Gaston deBois. He bowed, hesitated, seemed half inclined to walk on withoutspeaking, but changed his mind and joined them. It was long since Madeleine had seen him apparently so ill at ease or sodistressed. She smiled as she reflected how quickly three little words(which she, alas! was forbidden to speak) would change that perturbedlook to one of ineffable happiness. For a few moments he walked moodily by her side, replying at random toher casual remarks. It chanced that Ruth was not conversant with theFrench language, and Madeleine, struck by his abstracted air, inquiredin that tongue whether he had any cause for vexation. Gaston answered, vaguely, that he was troubled; he did not himself knowwith how much real cause. A moment after, he mentioned her interviewwith Count Tristan, and, stammering a little in his old fashion, askedwhether she would deem it a great liberty if he desired to know theobject of the count's visit. A moment's reflection convinced Madeleine that M. De Bois would not havemade this inquiry out of sheer, causeless curiosity; and she made knownto him the count's request concerning the votes which she was to exertherself to obtain. Gaston caught eagerly at her words, and exclaimed, -- "Valueless? Are you sure Count Tristan said the property of Mauricewould be valueless but for the advent of this railroad?" "Yes, " replied Madeleine; "I am quite sure that such was his assertion. But why do you ask? What has happened? Nothing to compromise Maurice?" "I do not yet definitely know; but, if it be what I suspect, what Ifear, it will compromise him wofully. " "Pray be explicit, " said Madeleine, becoming alarmed. "Tell me what youpositively know, and what you fear. Remember, Maurice is my cousin. " "Would he were more! But that wish now is vain. In a word, then, I haveno faith in Count Tristan. I believe him capable of unscrupulous actionswhich might ruin his son. At the club, last night, a group of gentlemenchanced to be conversing near me. The name of Maurice de Gramontattracted my attention. A Mr. Emerson asserted that he had just made adiscovery which convinced him that the Viscount de Gramont was a youngman regardless of honor; and added that he intended, without delay, tocommence legal proceedings against him. As soon as I could control myindignation, I informed Mr. Emerson that the Viscount de Gramont was myfriend, and I could not allow his name to be used with disrespectwithout demanding an explanation. " "And he gave you one?" inquired Madeleine, greatly agitated. "He did not give me one. At first he was inclined to treat my requestcavalierly. But, upon my persisting, he replied that neither place nortime served to discuss a business matter; adding that he would be at hisoffice on the morrow, at twelve o'clock, and, if I chose to call at thathour, the whole matter would be made known to me; remarking, significantly, that he had no intention of keeping the transaction fromthe public. " "What could he mean?" "_That_ I can only surmise. But a few hours will make all clear. " "To gain a few hours' time may be of the utmost importance, " answeredMadeleine. "Try to see Mr. Emerson _at once_. Learn the meaning of hiswords, and return to me with the intelligence. " "Ah, Mademoiselle Madeleine, you are always so prompt! I should havelingered until twelve without"-- "Go! Go at once, and come back to me quickly! You have said enough toawaken a horrible suspicion. I do not dare to let my mind dwell upon thefrightful possibility that suggests itself. " M. De Bois bade her good-morning as precipitately as she could desire, and hastened upon his mission. When Madeleine reached her home she said to Ruth, "I am unfit for myusual duties to-day. Ruth, I have long intended that you should occupy amore active and prominent position in this establishment. Do you notfeel yourself competent to do so?" Ruth returned affectionately, -- "I have studied diligently under your tuition; sometimes I fancy that Ihave almost mastered some of the rules, and fathomed some of themysteries, of your art. " "To-day, then, " rejoined Madeleine, "I mean that you shall wholly takemy place. I have faith in your ability. " Ruth retired, well pleased at the confidence reposed in her; andMadeleine entered her boudoir to await, with a sense of dread which shecould ill repress, the return of Gaston de Bois. The clock had just struck twelve when he was announced. One glance athis pale face hardly left Madeleine courage to ask, -- "What has happened?" "The worst, the very worst that I deemed possible, and I have been ableto accomplish nothing. I feel like a brute to bring you these illtidings a single hour before you are compelled to know them. " "Do not keep me in suspense!" urged Madeleine. M. De Bois went on, "Maurice obtained a loan of ten thousand dollarsfrom Mr. Emerson. The security given was upon this Maryland property, which Maurice declared to be free of all mortgage; and, no doubt, hethought it was so. " "And, alas! it is not?" "So far from clear that Mr. Emerson yesterday learned the estate wasmortgaged to its full value. Count Tristan, who held in his hands apower of attorney, has doubtless made use of the instrument without hisson's knowledge. " "Did you not explain this to Mr. Emerson in defence of Maurice?" "Assuredly; but Mr. Emerson received my assertion with open incredulity. He is determined to write to Maurice and inform him of his discovery, and also to commence legal proceedings at once. " "Should these ten thousand dollars be paid into the hands of Mr. Emerson, would they not prevent his sending the threatened letter toMaurice, or taking any other steps?" inquired Madeleine, eagerly. "Undoubtedly; but how are we to command ten thousand dollars?" Madeleine smiled an inexpressibly happy smile, opened her desk, took outa paper, and said, -- "I had arranged to make the last payment upon this house yesterday; thesum due was ten thousand dollars: by some mistake, the person who was toreceive this money did not keep his appointment. He will, doubtless, behere to-day. A few hours later, I might no longer have had these fundsunder my own control. See how fortunate it is that I urged you to actpromptly!" "Mademoiselle Madeleine, what--what do you intend to do?" "Is not my intention plain and simple enough? Here is a check for tenthousand dollars; draw the money at once, and place it in Mr. Emerson'shands. " "But the payment for your house?" "Cannot be made. We have no time for further discussion. " "Mademoiselle Madeleine, you are"-- "Very impatient and very imperative when I issue orders that I intend tohave obeyed? Admitted. You need not waste time in summing up thecatalogue of my imperfections. " Gaston took the check and was preparing to depart, when Madeleinedelayed him. "Mr. Emerson must not know that these funds are furnished by me. What anendless theme for gossip and speculation would be afforded by the verysuggestion that the fashionable mantua-maker came to the assistance ofthe young nobleman! Let Mr. Emerson understand that this money is paidby one of Maurice's relatives. That will be sufficient. " "Good, " returned Gaston; "and if he should conclude that it was suppliedby Maurice's grandmother, all the better. If I said a relative, andMadame de Gramont were not supposed to be the person, there is no onebut Mademoiselle Bertha; and Mr. Emerson might infer--I mean, it wouldbe natural to suppose"-- "You are right. We must guard against such a false step. Surely, no nameat all is necessary; but I leave the matter to your discretion; prayhasten. " Without further discussion, Gaston set out to execute his agreeablemission. He reached Mr. Emerson's office too late to stop the threatenedletter; it had already been despatched. The young viscount was sitting in his father's drawing-room, at thehotel, musing upon the mournful singularity of his own fate, and themystery that still enveloped Madeleine, when this letter was placed inhis hands. He was, at first, too completely wonder-struck to experiencea high degree of indignation. He thought he must have mistaken themeaning of what he read. But no; the words were plain enough; theaccusation plain enough; the threat of legal proceedings to beinstituted against him plain enough. Still, he was too much amazed to beable to give credence to the communication. He seized his hat, with theintention of hurrying to Mr. Emerson, and demanding an explanation. Ashe opened the door, his father entered. "What has disturbed you so much?" asked Count Tristan, noticing hisson's disordered mien. "Nothing that will prove of consequence, " returned Maurice, glancingover the open letter. "There is some vexatious mistake which will easilybe explained away. And yet, the language of this letter is grosslyinsulting. " The count's secret guilt kept him in a constant state of torturing fear, and he now vainly endeavored to conceal his alarm. He gasped out, "That letter--let me see it!" Before Maurice could hand the letter, it was eagerly snatched by thecount. His face grew livid as he read, --his white lips were tightlycompressed, --but could not shut in the sound of a convulsive groan. Maurice, not suspecting the true cause of his father's agitation, wenton, -- "The language is rude; the accusation is made in the most unmannerlystyle, and as if its justice were beyond doubt; but business men, inthis country, are usually abrupt, and, when they are annoyed, not toocourteous; one must get accustomed to their manner. My dear father, donot let this mistake affect you too deeply; it will easily be rectified. But, first, let me explain the transaction. " The count dropped his head without speaking, but again the sound of ahalf-suppressed groan was audible. "An opportunity offered, " continued Maurice, "for the advantageousemployment of ten thousand dollars. Mr. Lorrillard suggested my raisingthe money through Mr. Emerson, on the security of the Maryland estate. " The count staggered and sank into a chair. The hour of discovery thenhad arrived, --there was no escape! Like those hopeless culprits beforethe eternal judgment-seat, he could have cried out to the mountains tofall upon him and hide him. Maurice was too much alarmed by his father's appearance to go on. Thedeath-like pallor of his face had given place to a purple hue; his veinsseemed swollen; his blood-shot eyes appeared to be starting from theirsockets; his stalwart frame shivered from head to foot; he clutched thetable as though for support, and his head dropped heavily upon it. "My dear father, " exclaimed Maurice, "do not let the mistake move youthus. I will go to Mr. Emerson at once"-- The count's face was lifted for an instant, as he cried in a tone ofintense agony, "No, no! Not for the world!" His head fell again; he could not bear the unsuspicious gaze of the sonwhom he had wronged, and in whose presence he sat, a self-condemnedcriminal. "Surely it is the fitting course, " replied Maurice. "I will make himretract his words. " "Impossible!" was all the count could ejaculate, still with bowed head. "But I will prove it very possible!" returned Maurice, in a tone ofdetermination. "Mr. Emerson cannot use such language with impunity. Though he threatens that the affair shall be made public, he cannot actso rashly as to carry out that menace, and upon a mere surmise of somekind. If there is any _publicity_, he shall publicly retract. " "Impossible! Impossible!" the count groaned forth again. "That will soon be decided, " answered Maurice, moving toward the door. The count started up. "Stay! do not go yet! You do not know what you are doing! Stay! I forbidyou to go!" Maurice had such thorough confidence in his father's probity, that hissuspicions were not aroused even by this vehement language. He onlyimagined that the very suggestion of a dishonorable action associatedwith his son's name affected Count Tristan thus powerfully. "But it is absolutely necessary that immediate notice should be taken ofthis letter, " argued Maurice. "If I had been guilty of the act of whichI have been accused, I could never have lifted my head again, and I feeldegraded by the very suspicion. Do not detain me, I entreat you. " "There is something you must hear before you go!" the count whisperedhoarsely. For the first time an indefinable dread stole into the mind of Maurice. He put down his hat, and, approaching his father, could only echo thewords, -- "Something I must hear?" "You should have consulted me, " the count continued, speaking with greateffort. "True, and I meant to do so, had I not been prevented. But thetransaction was simple enough. My estate is unmortgaged. I had given youa power of attorney, but I knew that it had not been used; you told meso yourself, scarcely an hour before I requested Mr. Emerson to make methis loan. " "No--no, --I did not say _that_;--you misunderstood me, --I did not say_that_, --I never said _that!_ You only _inferred_ it! I could not beanswerable for your _inferences_, " returned the count, in the tone of aman defending himself. "Great heavens! What does this mean?" exclaimed Maurice "I cannot havemisunderstood you? You cannot have used the power of attorney?" The count was silent, but the shame and confusion depicted upon hiscountenance were a fearful answer. It was some minutes before Maurice could rally sufficiently to take aclear view of his own position. His first impulse caused him to turn tohis father in an excess of rage; but the broken, contrite, abjectdemeanor of the latter silenced the angry reproaches that were burstingfrom his son's lips. The count was the first to break the silence. He said, in a pleading, exculpatory tone, -- "There was no other way; matters had gone terribly wrong with me inBrittany; we were reduced to worse than poverty; I was frightfullyentangled; nothing remained but a mortgage upon your property. " "What Mr. Emerson writes me in this letter is true, then?" was allMaurice could utter; but his tone pierced his father as deeply as thesharpest reproaches. The count assented. Maurice, unable longer to control himself, broke forth, "And I shall notonly be forced to endure the blighting suspicion of being guilty myself, but I must bear the terrible certainty that my father is so!" The count only murmured in broken accents, "Oh, if the committee shouldselect the left road!" Maurice caught eagerly at the faint hope, and after a few moments'reflection, replied in a voice which, in spite of its coldness, was notwithout a touch of pity, -- "I must see Mr. Emerson, and make an effort to postpone his presentintentions until the decision is made. " "It will be against us!" cried the count, vehemently. "Mr. Rutledge hasmade up his mind to vote for the road to the right; that one vote wouldhave saved us! But we are too unfortunate; there is no longer a chanceleft!" Maurice went forth without replying. CHAPTER XXXI. A SURPRISE. The severe mental suffering that he endured during the half hour thatwas occupied in walking from Brown's hotel to the office of Mr. Emerson, may easily be conceived. On reaching that gentleman's place of business, Maurice learned that he was not within, but would probably returnimmediately. The young viscount was painfully conscious that the clerksanswered his inquiries with a pointedly cold brevity. He saw them glanceat each other, and one of them shrugged his shoulders, and gave a lowwhistle as Maurice seated himself to wait. The blood mounted to his faceat this indignity, and rage took the place of mortification; but hecould only nerve himself to endure with assumed composure the scorn heso little deserved. It was half an hour before Mr. Emerson entered. "The business which brings me here is so important that I took theliberty of waiting, " said Maurice, rising. Mr. Emerson answered, stiffly, -- "Have the goodness to walk into my private apartment. " Maurice obeyed. Mr. Emerson was one of those reserved men who never choose theinitiative in any transaction. He motioned Maurice to take a chair, thenseated himself in the attitude of a listener. "I am placed in a position which renders explanation very difficult, "commenced the viscount. Mr. Emerson assented by a half bow, but did not in any manner assist thespeaker. "Nothing could have astonished me more than the letter I have justreceived from you, " continued Maurice. Mr. Emerson lifted his eyebrows a little incredulously, and crossed hislegs, but still played the auditor only. Maurice, galled by his supercilious manner, said, in a tone ofirritation of which he repented a moment afterward, "I presume that youhad no doubt that my conduct justified your letter?" "None, " replied Mr. Emerson, with quiet severity. "You were wrong, you did me the greatest injustice, " cried Maurice, "andyet unless you can credit this fact upon my bare assertion I have nomeans of convincing you. " Mr. Emerson smiled sarcastically. "You do not seem to me desirous, sir, of learning in what manner thismistake has arisen, even if I could make it clear. " "You are right, " returned Mr. Emerson; "I do not see that it is a matterwhich further concerns me. " "But it concerns my honor"--began Maurice, angrily. He was checked by another contemptuous smile from Mr. Emerson. "I see, sir, you are not disposed to allow me to defend myself, or toencourage me to enter into any explanation. " "I have said that the matter no longer concerns me. " "Then I will not occupy your time with a vain attempt to change youropinion of me, but will proceed at once to the request I have to make. " "I shall feel obliged by your doing so, " said Mr. Emerson, in a mannerwhich intimated that he wished to close the interview. "All I ask, " proceeded Maurice, "is that you will take no further stepsuntil"-- "I have no further steps to take, " interrupted Mr. Emerson, frigidly. Maurice looked puzzled, but, imagining that Mr. Emerson did not chooseto understand him, he added, "I mean, in plain language, that you willnot make the affair public, and that you will not institute legalproceedings until"-- "The repayment of the money loaned, obviated the necessity for legalproceedings, " returned Mr. Emerson, in the same cold manner. "The _repayment_?" exclaimed Maurice, in amazement; "what _repayment_?what money?" "The ten thousand dollars loaned to you by me, _somewhat rashly_, andwithout examining a security which proved to be valueless. " In spite of Maurice's astonishment at this unexpected communication, thearrow of this reproach did not miss its mark, but he only said, -- "Am I to understand that these ten thousand dollars have been repaid?" "They were repaid about an hour ago. " "Repaid? Who could have repaid them? How is it possible?" Mauriceuttered these words to himself rather then addressed them to Mr. Emerson. But the latter answered briefly, "The Countess de Gramont. " "My grandmother? Impossible! It was not in her power; she knew nothingof the transaction. " Mr. Emerson continued, without noticing this assertion, -- "A quarter of an hour ago I despatched a clerk to Brown's hotel, with areceipt for the money. " "My grandmother!" repeated Maurice, musingly, and unable to credit thepossibility of her interference. "You will find the information I have given you correct, " said Mr. Emerson, rising. The hint was too marked to remain unnoticed by Maurice, in spite of hisbewilderment, and he also rose. "If I had been aware of this fact I should not have trespassed upon yourtime, sir; for, it is not difficult to perceive that you have formed anopinion of my character which cannot readily be altered. " "I judge men by their actions rather than by their words and manners: avery homely rule, sir, but one which is not subject to change at my timeof life. " The bow which closed this sentence was too pointedly a partingsalutation to be mistaken. Maurice returned it, and, without anotherword, went forth. He hurried to Brown's hotel in the hope of unravellingthe mystery. Meantime, the Countess de Gramont had been thrown, by the reception ofMr. Emerson's letter, into a state of excitement almost equal to that ofMaurice. Over and over again she read the few lines acknowledging thesum of ten thousand dollars sent by her, and the information that thelegal proceedings about to be instituted against the Viscount de Gramontwould be arrested. The letter was in English; thus her difficulty in comprehending itscontents was increased, and, though she was tolerably conversant withthe language, she imagined that she must have misunderstood the wordsbefore her. The countess requested Bertha to read and translate the letter. "Aunt, " cried Bertha, "what is this about ten thousand dollars? Youcannot have sent this gentleman ten thousand dollars, and yet he makesyou a formal acknowledgment that the money has been received. There mustbe some error. " "The error itself is an impertinence, " returned the lady. "Does this lowperson imagine that the Countess de Gramont meddles with businessmatters?--with the sending of money and the receiving of receipts?" At that moment Maurice entered, and his grandmother, taking the letterfrom Bertha, and placing it in his hand, accosted him with no littleasperity of tone. "What is the meaning of this?" He glanced over the letter hurriedly and replied, "It is of you that Ishould ask that question, my grandmother, and I must also ask how I amto thank you for making me so deeply your debtor, and at a moment when, for the first time in my life, my honor was implicated!" "Your _honor_ implicated? _Your honor? The honor of a de Gramont?_ Whatdo you mean?" "Had you not, in some inexplicable manner, become aware of my position, and paid those ten thousand dollars with such liberality andpromptitude, I should have been--I cannot bear the thought! The veryremembrance of the position from which I have been extricated cuts me tothe soul. " "Are you mad, Maurice?" demanded the countess. "_I_ pay ten thousanddollars for you? What do I know about money?" "Then the money was not sent to Mr. Emerson by you?" inquired Maurice, more bewildered than ever. "Mr. Emerson? Who is Mr. Emerson? I never heard of the person. " Maurice turned to Bertha. The idea at once suggested itself that she hadused her aunt's name to conceal her own generosity. "And you, Bertha, --do you also disclaim all knowledge of thetransaction?" "Yes, I only wish I _had_ known. " "It was not you, then?" replied Maurice, more and more astonished. "Whocould it have been? I have no intimate friend in Washington but Gastonde Bois, and he has not the power to do me this service. " "Was he aware of the circumstances which made you need this sum?" askedBertha. "He certainly knew something of the transaction, but I do not think"-- "That is enough!" she replied, joyfully. "If he knew anything about it, I know from whom the money came. There is but one person who could havesent it; and that is Madeleine!" "Madeleine?" "Yes, Madeleine, --our own, generous Madeleine, " returned Bertha. "M. DeBois is her trusted friend and counsellor. " The Countess de Gramont rose up majestically, white with rage. "But what _right_ has she, the mantua-maker, the tradeswoman, to makeuse of _my_ name? How did she dare even to allow it to be suspectedthat I had ever come in contact with a person who has so demeanedherself? It is unpardonable audacity!" "You little know the full value of the service she has rendered me!"exclaimed Maurice, unheeding his grandmother's anger. "A service which you must not and shall not stoop to accept. Never willI consent to that, " returned the countess, fiercely. "Would you profitby her ignoble labor? Has your residence in this plebeian land bowed youas low as that?" "If, " replied Maurice, "it be a blow to my pride to be forced to accepther aid (for it has been tendered in a manner which cannot now bedeclined), it is a blow which has lifted me up, not bowed me down. Ithas made me feel that a great spirit which humbles itself and bendsmeekly to circumstance and does not regard any toil, nearest to itshand, as too lowly, --that spirit has truest cause for pride, since itearns the privilege of serving others. You have yet to learn thatMadeleine's timely assistance has saved, not me alone, but our wholefamily from _disgrace_, --ay, positive _disgrace_! If you would know moreon that subject, I refer you to my father. For myself, I will seekMadeleine and discover whether she has indeed made me so greatly herdebtor. " The countess would have detained him; but Maurice was gone before shecould speak. He had alluded to his father as involved in this mysterious affair, which the countess was now tremblingly desirous of solving. She soughtCount Tristan. He was in the drawing-room, where Maurice had left him. He sat beside the table, --his hands clinched, his head bowed, his facerigid in its expression of stony despair. He looked like a man whoawaited the sentence of death. The entrance of the countess scarcely roused him; nor did he hear, orrather heed, her first address. But when she placed the letter, receivedfrom Mr. Emerson, in his hand, and asked him if he knew what it meant, he sprang from his seat with a sudden burst of half-frantic joy. "Who has done this?" he almost shrieked out. "Who indeed?" returned his mother. "It has been suggested that it may beone of the evidences of Madeleine's presumption. I can scarcely creditit. I can scarcely believe she would have the audacity to use my name, or occupy herself with the affairs of my family. Yet there is no oneelse"-- "It is like her! It is she! And may Heaven bless her for it!" cried thecount, stirred by a sudden impulse of genuine gratitude. "I must haveconfirmation! I must go to her at once!" "Yes, go to her, " replied his mother; "but let it be to inform her thatwe disdain her bounty; that we are astonished at her temerity inoffering it; and that we hope never to hear from her again. " Count Tristan had left the room before his mother had finishedspeaking, --an act of disrespect of which he had never before beenguilty. Exasperated by his manner even more than by that of Maurice, anddreading the result of their interview with Madeleine, the countessresolved herself to take a step which would make her niece conscious ofher true position and of the light in which her presumption was viewedby her aunt. She determined to follow her son to Madeleine's residenceand to give her a lesson, in the presence of the count and Maurice, which would be the last he would ever need. She had rung the bell to order a carriage, when Bertha entered. Learningher destination and its object, Bertha expressed her intention ofaccompanying her; and to this the countess could not object. CHAPTER XXXII. THE NOBLEMAN AND MANTUA-MAKER. As we are already aware, Madeleine absolved herself from her usualduties for one day, and made Ruth her representative in the workingdepartment. In spite of Madeleine's habitual self-control, sheexperienced some slight stirrings of irritation when Victorine, whodeemed herself a privileged person, intruded upon her privacy. "Pardon, mademoiselle, " began the consequential forewoman. "I should nothave ventured to disturb you, but there is a matter of importance to besettled. Madame Orlowski has come in person to order six ball-dresses;and she is not satisfied to decide upon the varieties of style that willmost become her without consulting Mademoiselle Melanie herself. Sheinsisted upon my bringing you this message. " "You have done wrong, " answered Madeleine, somewhat less gently than washer wont. "But in a case of such great importance"--began Victorine, flushingangrily. Madeleine interrupted her with a slight touch of sarcasm in her tone:"It is, no doubt, inconceivable to you that my mind should be occupiedwith matters of even _greater_ importance than six ball dresses for onelady. Still, I must be tyrannical enough to request you to believe so, and not to allow me to be molested again. At all events, " she added, hergood-humor returning, "I venture to hope that I have not often subjectedyou to tyranny or caprice. " "No, no, certainly not, " responded Victorine, a little mollified. "Andsince it was _so obvious_ that mademoiselle had _something upon hermind_, I have exerted myself as much as possible to prevent her beingannoyed. " "Thank you; have the goodness to send Robert here. " This order was so pointedly a dismissal that the forewoman had no excuseto linger. She left the room thoroughly convinced that MademoiselleMelanie was in love, --in love at last! The house would soon be gayer;Mademoiselle Melanie would leave the business more in her forewoman'shands; the pleasant change so long desired was coming about; but shecould not rest until she discovered the object of Mademoiselle Melanie'sattachment. One thing was certain: there was romance and mystery aboutthe whole affair, and this lent zest to the Frenchwoman's enjoyment. Victorine not only summoned Robert, but stole after him on tiptoe to thedoor of Madeleine's boudoir to hear what order was given. She distinctlycaught these words:-- "You will admit no one but the Count de Gramont and M. Maurice deGramont. " "The Count de Gramont and his son!" said Victorine to herself, as shehurried back to her satins and velvets; "Oh, this is decidedly gettinginteresting, --Mademoiselle Melanie aims high, --and, in spite of herprudence and propriety, she--well, well, we shall see! It's always stillwater that runs deepest. The Count de Gramont and his son! Dear me, Mademoiselle Melanie would do better if she made me her _confidante_ atonce. " Victorine, as she excused Mademoiselle Melanie to the Countess Orlowski, could not help dropping a hint that Mademoiselle Melanie might not infuture be so wholly at the command of her customers, --she would receivemore visitors of her own, --there were noblemen from her own country whowere to have free access. When Madame Orlowski departed and the forewoman returned to thework-room, these inuendoes were repeated, and caused no littleexcitement among the group of young women, who revered Madeleine almostas though she were a patron saint, and they the most devout Catholics. Ruth was highly indignant; but to have admonished the circulator of theintelligence, by even the faintest reproach, would have been to makematters worse, and to induce Mademoiselle Victorine to defend her rashassertions by still rasher ones. Madeleine was not destined to enjoy the uninterrupted solitude she somuch desired, for Robert had scarcely received his orders to admit noone, when he returned to the boudoir with a card in his hand. Hepresented it with hesitation in spite of the large bribe he hadreceived. "His lordship insisted upon my taking his card to Mademoiselle, " he saidapologetically. "You should not have transgressed my orders, " answered Madeleine, withsome show of impatience. "I have given you the names of the only personswhom you were to admit to-day. " "I understand _that_, mademoiselle, but his lordship would not bedenied, and said that he called upon a matter of the greatestimportance, and that he knew Mademoiselle Melanie would see him. " Madeleine could not, after this, refuse to allow Lord Linden to enter;he no doubt brought her some information concerning the vote which shehad charged him to obtain. Lord Linden's countenance, which usually wore a moody, discontentedexpression, was bright with expectation, as he entered Madeleine'spresence. "You will pardon, " he began, "my refusing to accept your servant'sdenial; I based my hopes of forgiveness upon the good tidings which Ibring. My advocacy, or rather my sister's (but that is _entre nous_), has not been used in vain with Mr. Rutledge; he had definitely made uphis mind to cast his vote differently, but his gallantry could notwithstand a fair lady's solicitation;--he is too thoroughly an Americanfor _that_, and you may depend upon his vote. " "I am more deeply grateful to you than you can imagine! I thank youheartily!" exclaimed Madeleine, extending her hand with impulsivefrankness, but the action was checked almost as quickly as made. For amoment she had forgotten the difference of station which she wished himto believe existed between them. "Do not withdraw your hand, " he pleaded, making an attempt to imprisonthat hand in his own. But he had the good taste instantly to abandon hisintention when he saw Madeleine's reluctance. "As you will; I am morethan satisfied by the assurance that I have a claim upon yourgratitude. " "You have, indeed, my lord; I am truly grateful. " "I will only ask in return, " commenced his lordship, "that you willlisten to me for a few moments; that you will allow me to tell you whatis in my mind, --my heart. " Madeleine saw that the evil hour could not be escaped, or postponed, andshe answered with calm dignity which would have awed a man less underthe dominion of passion, "You are at liberty to speak, my lord; yet whatis there of _importance_ which your lordship can have to say to the_mantua-maker_?" Lord Linden, at first, found it difficult to avail himself of theprivilege so frigidly given; but he soon collected himself. "The mantua-maker? How little that title seems to belong to you! Theproudest, the noblest lady could not have inspired me with the respect, the veneration I feel for you. " "_Respect_ is peculiarly grateful to one in my position;" answeredMadeleine pointedly. This answer seemed to suggest that he might be forgetful of the respectdue to her, and confused him for a moment; but such an opportunity asthe present was not to be lost. He went on with renewed animation. "From the first moment that I met you, --from the moment when, duringthat memorable journey, you shone forth as the guardian angel of all thesuffering--and especially mine"-- Madeleine tried to restrain him again, by saying, with a forced smile, -- "_An angelic mantua-maker!_ You have a great faculty of _idealizing_, mylord. I believe the extent of my services to you consisted in thesacrifice of an old pocket-handkerchief, torn into strips for a bandage, and the use of my own especial implement, a needle, with which thebandages were sewed. " "I have those strips yet, " replied the nobleman with ardor. "I shallnever part with them, --they are invaluable to me; for, from the momentwe met, I loved you!" Madeleine was about to answer, but he frustrated her intention and wenton, -- "You were lost to me for six months, yet I could not forget you. Isought you unceasingly, and thought to find you in the societyof--of--of those who are not, in reality, your superiors--not yourequals even; I found you at last--but let me pass that over; since Ihave had the happiness of seeing you again, every moment has increasedmy admiration, --my devotion. " Madeleine would have interrupted him, but was again prevented. "If I had not the misfortune to be a nobleman, if I were not accountableto my family for the connection I formed, I would say to you, 'Will youhonor me by becoming my wife?' Never have I met a woman who united in ahigher degree all the attributes which are most beautiful in myeyes, --all that man could desire in a companion, --all the charms ofperson, intellect, soul!" Madeleine took advantage of a moment's pause, for his lordship found itsufficiently difficult to proceed, and replied, with glacial dignity, -- "Were all your compliments as merited as you perhaps persuade yourselfto imagine them to be, they would not alter the fact, my lord, that_you_ are a nobleman and _I_ a dress-maker. " "True, " replied Lord Linden, undaunted by her chilling demeanor; "and itis not easy to break the iron bonds of conventionality. But, if thedifference of our rank prevents my enjoying the triumph of presentingsuch a woman to the world as my wife, it does not prevent my renouncingthe whole world for her, --it does not prevent my devoting my life toher, --my sharing with her some happy seclusion where I can forgeteverything except my vow to be hers only. " This time Madeleine allowed him to conclude without word or movement. She sat with her eyes fastened upon the ground, and though a bright, crimson spot burned on either cheek, her manner was as calm as thoughthe offer just made her were full of honor. When it was unmistakablethat he had finished speaking and awaited her answer, she said, in afirm voice, the mild serenity of which could not fail to penetrate thebreast of the man who had just insulted her, -- "In other words, my lord, you have in the most delicate phrases in whichinfamy can be couched, --in phrases that are as flowers to hide theserpent beneath them, given me to understand that were I of your ownrank you would address me as a man of honor might, and expect me tolisten to you; but, as I am but a mantua-maker and you are a nobleman, you offer me _dishonor_ in place of honor, and expect that I shallaccept it as befitting my position. " "You use harsh language, my dear Mademoiselle Melanie, --language that"-- "That clearly expresses your meaning, and therefore sounds harshly. I amaccustomed to speak plainly myself, and to strip of their flowery_entourage_ the sentiments to which I listen. It may be an ungracefulhabit, but it is a safe one. I am persuaded that if vice were alwayscalled by its true name, shame, misery, and ruin would darken fewerlives. " "Your candor is one of your greatest charms, " said Lord Linden, who wasdeeply impressed by her singular and open treatment of a propositionwhich it had cost him a struggle to make. "I am glad that you approve of my frankness, for I must be frankerstill. When I asked you a favor I was impelled by motives which mayperhaps be explained to you hereafter; I was exceedingly unwilling tomake the request which you so promptly accorded, --but the strength ofthose motives urged me to set aside prudence and reserve. I will notpretend to conceal that I feared you might be placed upon a footing ofless restraint through the performance of the service I solicited atyour hands, and that you might make your visits more frequent than Ishould be inclined to permit, --but I did not dream that the price youset upon the performance of this act of kindness was the privilege ofoffering me an insult. " "An insult? You do not imagine--you cannot suppose that I had any suchintention?" "You have spoken too plainly, my lord, to leave anything to my_imagination_; possibly, however, you may be acquainted with some finephrase, unknown to me, in which you would couch what I have plainlystyled, and as plainly comprehend to be an insult. Your advocacy withMr. Rutledge has brought about a result which will benefit onewho--who--who has the strongest claims upon me, and, under ordinarycircumstances, I should have been your debtor. As it is, you and I arequits! The privilege of insulting me will suffice you! And now, my lord, you will excuse me, if, being a woman who earns her livelihood and whosetime is valuable, I bring this interview to a close. " Madeleine, as she spoke, rose and courtesied, and would have passed outof the room; but Lord Linden, forgetting himself for a moment, preventedher exit by springing between her and the door. "You will not leave me without, at least, one word of pardon?" "I have said we were quits. You demanded a price for the service yourendered me; I have paid it by listening for the first time to languagewhich, had I a father, or a brother, could not have been addressed to mewith impunity; I have neither. " "Let me, at least, vindicate myself. You do not know to what lengthspassion will drive a man. " "You are right, I never knew until now; I have learned to-day. Allow meto pass without the necessity of ringing for a servant. " "First you must hear me, " exclaimed Lord Linden, almost beside himselfat the prospect of her leaving him in anger, and closing her doorshenceforward against him. "I know how contemptible I must seem in youreyes. I read it in your countenance; I have no excuse to offer, exceptthe plea that my love for you overleapt the bounds of all discretion. " "I ask for no excuse, " answered Madeleine, freezingly. "I only plead for forgiveness; I only entreat that you will forget theerror of which I have been guilty, that you will allow me to see youagain; that you will permit me to endeavor to reinstate myself in youresteem. " "My lord, our intercourse is at an end. The service you have rendered meit is no longer in my power to refuse, but you have received its fullequivalent. I can spare no more time in the discussion of this subject. Once more, I request you to let me pass without forcing me to ring thebell. " "I obey you, but on condition that I may return, if it be but once more. Promise to grant me one more interview, and I leave you on the instant;I implore you not to refuse. " He approached her, and before Madeleine was even aware of his intention, seized her hand. The door opened; M. Maurice de Gramont was announced just as Madeleinesnatched away the hand Lord Linden had taken, but not before the actionhad been noticed by Maurice. He paused at the sight of the nobleman, but Madeleine relieved andrejoiced by the presence of her cousin, unreflectingly hastened toward, and greeted him with a beaming face. Lord Linden's astonishment was eloquently portrayed upon hiscountenance. His hostess, recovering her presence of mind, turned to thenobleman, and bowing as courteously as though she had no cause forindignation, wished him good-morning. Her tone seemed to imply that hewas taking his leave when Maurice entered. Lord Linden had noalternative but to withdraw. Maurice, whose heart was swelling with deep gratitude, with increasedtenderness, with exalted admiration, experienced, at the sight of LordLinden, a sickening revulsion of feeling. This nobleman, then, was received by Madeleine in her own especialapartment, the doors of which were only opened to her particularfriends; he was alone with her, and his unusually agitated mannerbetrayed that he had been conversing upon some subject of the deepestinterest. Madeleine, too, looked paler than usual, and the troubledexpression which had displaced the wonted placidity of her countenancewas, doubtless, owing to this unanticipated interruption. As Lord Linden made his exit, he glanced at Maurice at once haughtilyand inquiringly. What was this young man, of his lordship's own rank, doing here, in the boudoir of the mantua-maker? What claim had he toadmission? Must he not be upon an intimate footing? for, had notMadeleine extended her hand to him without reserve, and as though shewere greeting one who was far from a stranger? "A lover!" exclaimed Lord Linden to himself as he closed the door; "arival to whom she listens in spite of her bewitching prudery. It isincomprehensible! and yet it has inspired me with new courage; I willnot leave him an undisputed field. " He had approached the street-door when he reflected that something mightbe learned from Mademoiselle Melanie's _employées_. He turned back andwent upstairs to the exhibition rooms. Ruth Thornton received him; and, at his request, displayed shawls, mantles, scarfs innumerable. He had desired to see these articles on theplea of making a selection for his sister. Hardly looking at them, hepurchased one of the most extravagant, while making an attempt to lureRuth into conversation. She replied simply and politely, but appeared tobe only interested in her occupation, and quite to ignore the occasionalgallantry of his remarks. He was on the point of desisting, whenVictorine, who had been attending to customers in another apartment, chanced to look into this room, saw Lord Linden, recognized him as thegentleman with whom she had noticed Mademoiselle Melanie earnestlyconversing on the day previous, and at once came forward as though toassist Ruth. The latter had been rendered very uncomfortable by thedeportment of his lordship, and was only too glad to retire, leavingthe forewoman alone with Lord Linden. The nobleman added so largely to his purchase that Lady Augusta'sastonishment must be greatly excited by the number of shawls and scarfswhich her brother deemed it possible for a lady to bring into use duringa season. As may be supposed, it was not difficult to lure the lively Frenchwomaninto talking of the head of the establishment; and she very speedilygratified Lord Linden by communicating as much of Mademoiselle Melanie'shistory as she herself knew. But had Mademoiselle Melanie lovers? Or washer vestal-like demeanor genuine? This was difficult and delicate groundto tread upon; yet his lordship was too much in earnest not to venture astep or two. The wily Victorine now assumed a mysterious air, for she entertained asuspicion that the gentleman did not make inquiries without being deeplyinterested in the answers. It would be impossible to relate precisely_what_ she said. Her confidences were given more by inuendoes and archglances and knowing shakes of the head, which suggest so much, becausethey leave so much to the imagination. Lord Linden received theimpression that Mademoiselle Melanie, though much admired by theopposite sex, had conducted herself with exemplary decorum _untillately_; but, of late, certain mysterious proceedings had become knownto the forewoman of which she did not wish to speak too unreservedly. The handsome black lace shawl which Lord Linden begged Victorine toaccept delighted her to a point which won further confidence; for, whilefolding it up with caressing touches, and thanking the donor with thatgrace which belongs to her nation, she admitted that there was a certainM. De Gramont who was enamored of Mademoiselle Melanie, and for whom thelatter had evinced a marked preference, though Mademoiselle Melanieevidently wished to act with all possible discretion, and keep hisattentions from the eyes of the public. Be it understood, that with Victorine's lax ideas of morality, keepingan _affaire de coeur_ from the eyes of the public was all that wasnecessary to preserve the honor of a woman who chose to indulge in a_liaison_. Lord Linden had no alternative but to believe that Mademoiselle Melanie, in spite of her air of exquisite purity, and the chaste dignity whichcharacterized all her words and actions, was, after all, notinaccessible. It was (he reflected) as much out of the question for theViscount de Gramont to marry a mantua-maker as it was for Lord Linden tomarry her; as a natural sequence, their intentions must be the same; andit remained to be proved which would be the successful lover. He quitted the house enraged with himself for having been deceived;indignant with Madeleine for her successful acting; furious withMaurice, because he looked upon him as a rival; determined to seize anearly opportunity of quarrelling with him, and resolved to find somepretext to gain admission to Mademoiselle Melanie's presence through theaid of her obliging forewoman. Let us return to Maurice, whom we left in Madeleine's boudoir. When thedoor had closed upon Lord Linden, he said, in a wounded tone, -- "I thought only especial friends were admitted to this sanctum of yours. I did not know, Madeleine, that you were acquainted with Lord Linden. " "He came to bring _Mademoiselle Melanie_ an important piece ofinformation; and one which concerns you, Maurice. " Maurice was exasperated, rather than soothed, by this intelligence, andanswered, hastily, -- "I am sorry for it. He belongs to a class of men whom I hold in supremecontempt;--a _blasé_ idler, whose chief occupation in life is to killtime. Madeleine, forgive me! What a brute I am to speak so harshly whenI come to thank you! But the sight of that senseless _roué_ in yourboudoir, and apparently upon a familiar footing, has made an idiot ofme. I will not pay you so bad a compliment as to suggest that _he_ isthe mysterious lover whom you have refused to name. But why is he hereto-day? Why did I see him here yesterday? Why did he, yesterday, when hecaught sight of me, suddenly disappear, as though desirous of eludingobservation?" "Maurice, if there be true affection between us, " said Madeleine, gently, and laying her delicate white hand upon his, "if there be true, _cousinly_ affection between us, we should trust each other wholly, and_in spite of appearances_. Though it is easy for me to explain _why_ Iadmitted Lord Linden to a private interview, it may not always beequally easy to give you explanations; and we may bring great futuresorrow upon each other if either give entertainment to a doubt. " "No, Madeleine, I can never doubt that all you do is well and wiselydone. Would that I had no cause to doubt your affection for me; no causeto be distracted by jealousy when I see any other man allowedprivileges which I long to claim as mine alone! But how is it possibleto love you, and not to be hourly tormented by the position in which Iam placed? Since you have rejected me as a lover, could I even be knownto the world as your cousin, I might, at least, have the joy ofprotecting you. Must that, too, be denied me?" "Yes, Maurice. Do you not know how important it is that our relationshipshould remain undivulged, unsuspected?" "No; I cannot see the importance! I cannot submit to such aninterdiction! Let my grandmother and my father say what they will, I amnot bound to yield to so unnatural a request!" "You will yield to it as my petition, Maurice. Think of it as a favor, asacrifice I ask of you. If you refuse me, I shall believe that you feelI have no right to ask favors. " "No right? There you touch me deeply! Madeleine, I am here to-day tolearn whether you have not laid me under the deepest obligation--whetherit was not by you"-- Madeleine, though she was not a little discomposed by learning that herrecent interference in his behalf was suspected, had presence of mindleft to endeavor to divert his thoughts. She interrupted him by saying, in a lively tone, -- "I have made several vain attempts to explain Lord Linden's presencehere, and you will not permit me to do so, though his visit concernsyourself. Have you no curiosity? I am half inclined to punish you foryour indifference. " Before Maurice could reply, Count Tristan de Gramont was announced. "It is _you_ whom I have to thank, --you, good, generous, nobleMadeleine, I am sure it is!" said he, excitedly. "It is your hand whichhas saved me and my son from the precipice over which we were suspended!I could scarcely credit the good news. " "If you talk of good news, " replied Madeleine, "I have some to give youwhich I have just received from Lord Linden. Mr. Rutledge has promisedhis vote for the left road. " The count looked at her as though he could not trust his ears; then hesaid, in a tremulous voice that broke into a childish sob, "It is allwonder! You are the Fairy they called you, the magician, --the--the--the"-- Robert opened the door and announced the Countess de Gramont andMademoiselle de Merrivale. CHAPTER XXXIII. MADAME DE GRAMONT. The countess entered the room casting disdainful glances around her. Madeleine, who could not suspect the object of her visit, accosted herin astonishment. "You, madame, beneath my roof; this is an unhoped-for condescension!" "Do not imagine that I come to be classed among your customers, andorder my dresses of you, " returned the countess, disdainfully, andwaving Madeleine off as the latter advanced toward her. Bertha felt strongly inclined to quote from a former remark of Gaston deBois, and retort, "You have done that already, and the transaction wasnot particularly profitable, " but she restrained herself. "Nor do I come, " continued the imperious lady, "as one who stoops to beyour visitor! I came to rebuke impertinence, and to demand by what rightyou have dared to make use of my name as a cloak to give respectabilityto _charities_ forced upon your poor relations. " Madeleine was silent. "Then the aid which came to me at such an opportune moment _was_ yours, Madeleine?" said Maurice. "It was you who saved me from worse thanruin?" Still no answer from Madeleine's quivering lips. "Do not force her to say, --do not force her to acknowledge her owngoodness and liberality, " said Bertha, "we all know that it _was_ she, and she will not deny it. Does not her silence speak for her?" "You thought, perhaps, " resumed the countess, even more angrily thanbefore, "that because my son has flown in the face of my wishes, and hasmingled himself up with business matters, and because Maurice has chosento degrade himself by entering a profession, --you thought that you mighttake the liberty of coming to his assistance, in some temporarydifficulty, and might also be pardoned the insolence of using my name;but I resent the impertinence; I will not permit it to pass uncorrected!I will write to the person whom you have deceived and let him know thatthe name of the Countess de Gramont has been used without her authority. I shall also inquire at whose suggestion he ventured to address anepistle to me. " "No need of that, madame, " said M. De Bois, who had entered the room intime to hear this burst of indignation. "_I_, alone, am to blame for theliberty of using your name. Knowing how desirous Mademoiselle de Gramontwas to conceal her relationship to your family, I suggested that themoney indispensable to her cousin should be sent in such a manner thatit might be supposed to come from you. I also took the responsibility ofsuggesting to Mr. Emerson that it would be well to send a line to you, enclosing a receipt for the sum paid into his hands by me; one of mymotives was to insure that the news of its payment would at once reachMaurice. " "You presumed unwarrantably, sir, " replied the countess. "You presumedalmost as much as did Mademoiselle de Gramont, in supposing that shecould use the money acquired in a manner so degrading to our _noblehouse_ for the benefit of my grandson. " "That money, madame, " rejoined M. De Bois, warmly, "has saved the honorof your _noble house_! I will leave you to learn of Count Tristan how itwas imperilled, and how it would have been sullied but for MademoiselleMadeleine's timely aid. " "It has been _sullied_, " began the countess. "Not by Mademoiselle de Gramont, " returned M. De Bois. "Once more, Itell you that she has saved your escutcheon from a stain which couldnever have been effaced. And for this act you spurn her, you scorn hergenerosity; you tell her she is not worthy of rendering you a service, instead of bowing down before her as you, --as we all might well do, inreverence and admiration; thanking Heaven that such a woman has beenplaced in the world, as a glorious example to her own sex, and aninspiration to ours. The burden of her nobility has not crushed thenoble instincts of her heart, or paralyzed her noble hands. But you donot know all yet; you owe her another debt"-- "Another debt?" Count Tristan was the first to exclaim. "Yes, " continued M. De Bois, in a tone of pride, "through her influence, the influence of the duchess-mantua-maker, the votes you could neverotherwise have secured have been obtained; the committee met an hourago, and the road to the left, which you so much desired, has beendecided upon, and this, this too, you owe to Mademoiselle Madeleine'sexertions. " Neither Maurice nor Count Tristan was allowed to speak, for M. De Boiswent on without pause, -- "And do you deem _this, too_, madame, an impertinence, a presumption, acrime, upon the part of your niece? Do you say that this is a favorwhich you desire to reject? Happily it is not in your power! And now, after she has been cast off, despised, and denounced by you and yourson, you are bound to come to her with thanks, if not to implore herpardon. " "Sir, " answered the countess, "you have forgotten yourself in a mannerwhich astonishes me, and must astonish all who hear you; and henceforth, I beg you to understand"-- Bertha prevented the sentence of banishment, which the countess wasabout to pronounce against M. De Bois, from being completed, by saying, abruptly, -- "You will readily understand, M. De Bois, that we are so much surprisedthat astonishment deprives us of fitting words. " Maurice now turned to Madeleine and said, with the emotion of agenuinely manly nature which is not ashamed to receive a benefit, -- "To owe you so much is not oppressive to me, Madeleine. There is nobeing on earth, man or woman, to whom I would so willingly be indebted. I know the happiness it confers upon you to be able to do what you havedone. I know your thankfulness is greater even than mine; though howgreat that is, even you cannot"-- "What, Maurice!" broke in the countess; "are you so thoroughly withoutpride or self-respect that you talk of accepting the bounty ofMademoiselle de Gramont? You consent to receive this charity doled outby the hands of a _mantua-maker_?" Maurice grew livid with suppressed anger at this new insult, because itwas levelled at Madeleine, rather than at himself. "My grandmother, when you are calmer, and when I myself am calmer, Iwill speak to you on this subject. " "How pale you look, Madeleine!" cried Bertha, suddenly. "Surely you areill!" These words caused Maurice and M. De Bois to spring to the side ofMadeleine. Her strength had been over-taxed by the emotions of the lastfew days, and it suddenly gave way. It was by a strong effort ofvolition that she prevented herself from fainting. Maurice, who hadcaught her in his arms, placed her tenderly in a chair, and for a momenther beautiful head fell upon his shoulder; but she struggled against theinsensibility which was stealing over her, and feebly waved her hand inthe direction of a small table upon which stood a tumbler and a carafeof water. M. De Bois poured some water into the glass and would haveheld it to her lips; but Maurice took the tumbler from him, and, asMadeleine drank, the delight of ministering to her overcame his alarm ather indisposition, and sent shivering through his frame a thrill ofalmost rapture. In a few moments she lifted her eyes over which the lids had droopedheavily, and, trying to smile, sat up and made an effort to speak; butthe pale lips moved without sound, and her countenance still wore aghastly hue. "Are you better, my own dear Madeleine? What can I do for you?" askedBertha, who was kneeling in front of her. Madeleine murmured faintly, -- "I would like to be left alone, dear. Forgive me for sending you away. Ishall soon be better when I am alone. " "Impossible, Madeleine!" cried Maurice, his arm still about her waist. "You will not ask _me_ to leave you. " Perhaps she only at that moment became conscious of the supporting arm;for she gently drew herself away, and the palest rose began to tinge herashy cheek; but it deepened into a sudden crimson flush, as she saw theeyes of the countess angrily fixed upon her. "Yes, Maurice, do not refuse me. I am better, --I am quite well. " And sherose up, forcing her limbs to obey her will. Then, leaning on Bertha'sshoulder, whispered, "I entreat you, dear, to make them go, --make them_all_ go; I cannot bear more at this moment. Spare me, if you love me!" "O Madeleine, how can you?" began Bertha. But M. De Bois, who had perfect reliance in Madeleine's judgment, feltcertain that she herself knew what was best for her, and said, -- "Mademoiselle de Gramont will be better alone. If she will allow me, Iwill apprise Miss Thornton of her indisposition, and we will take ourleave. " Madeleine smiled assent, and sank into her seat; for her limbs werefaltering. M. De Bois could not have uttered words better calculated to induce thecountess to take her leave. She had no desire to be found in the boudoirof the mantua-maker by any of Madeleine's friends. She said, commandingly, -- "Bertha--Maurice--I desire you to accompany my son and myself. Mademoiselle de Gramont, though my errand here is not fullyaccomplished, I wish you good morning. " Neither Bertha nor Maurice showed the slightest disposition to obey theorder of the countess, but Madeleine said, pleadingly, -- "Go--go--I pray you! You cannot help me so much as by going. " They both began to remonstrate; but she checked them by the pressure ofher trembling fingers, for each held one of her hands, and said, pleadingly, -- "Do not speak to me now, --another time, --when you will; but not _now_. " There was something so beseeching in her voice that it was impossible toresist its appeal. Bertha embraced her in silence; Maurice pressed thehand that lay in his to his lips; and both followed the countess out ofthe room. Count Tristan took the hand Maurice had relinquished, and, giving aglance at the retreating figure of the countess, commenced speaking; butMadeleine interrupted him with, -- "Another time, I beg. Leave me now. " Just then Gaston de Bois entered, accompanied by Ruth, and, readingMadeleine's wishes in her eyes, placed his arm through that of thecount, and conducted him out of the room, closing the door behind him. CHAPTER XXXIV. HALF THE WOOER. Count Tristan was about to hand Bertha into the carriage which thecountess had entered, when the young girl paused, with her tiny footupon the step. She shrank from a discussion with her aunt who was in ahigh state of indignation. Madame de Gramont's wrath was not onlydirected against Gaston de Bois, but she was exasperated by Bertha'sinterference just when the haughty lady had been on the point of makinghim feel that he would no longer be ranked among the number of herfriends and welcome visitors. While Bertha's foot still rested upon thestep, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Gaston standing besideMaurice. Her decision was made. She looked into the carriage and said, -- "You will have the kindness to excuse me from accompanying you, aunt; Iwill take advantage of the beautiful day and walk home with Maurice. " Having uttered these words, she drew back quickly and tripped awaybefore the answer of the countess could reach her. Maurice walked on oneside of her, and what was more natural than that Gaston should occupythe place on the other side? For a brief space all three pursued their way in silence, then Berthamade an effort to converse. Maurice answered in monosyllables and thosewere followed by deep sighs. Gaston seemed to be hardly more master oflanguage, though his taciturnity had a different origin; it wasoccasioned by the unexpected delight of finding himself walking besideBertha, who constantly lifted her sweet face inquiringly to his, asthough to ask why he had no words. Maurice was in a perplexed state of mind which caused him a nervouslonging for entire seclusion. Even sympathy, sympathy from those whowere as dear to him as Bertha and Gaston, jarred upon his highly-strungnerves. All at once, he stopped and said, -- "Gaston, I will leave you to conduct Bertha home; I fancy you will notobject to the trust, " and trying to simulate a smile, he walked away. Gaston, left alone with Bertha, quickly regained his power of speech. They were passing the Capitol; how lovely the grounds looked in theirspring attire! The day, too, was delicious. The opportunity of seeingBertha alone was a happiness that might not soon return. "These grounds are Mademoiselle Madeleine's favorite promenade, "remarked M. De Bois. "Have you ever seen them?" Bertha made no reply, but she moved toward the gate and they entered. Ashort silence ensued, then she said abruptly, "What an heroic characteris Madeleine's!" "A character, " returned Gaston, tenderly, "which exerts a holy influenceupon all with whom she is thrown in contact, and works more good, teaches more truth by the example of a patient, noble, holy life thancould be taught by a thousand sermons from the most eloquent lips. " Hepaused, and then continued in a tone of deep feeling, "_I_ may well sayso! I shudder to think what a weak, useless, self-centred being I shouldhave been but for her agency. " "You seem far happier, " replied Bertha, smiling archly, "than you did inBrittany! And this change was wrought by"-- "Mademoiselle Madeleine! It was she who made me feel that we are all tooready with our peevish outcries against the beautiful world in which wehave been placed; too ready to complain that all is sadness and sorrowand disappointment, when the gloom exists _within_ ourselves, not_without_ us; it is from ourselves the misty darkness springs; it is weourselves who have lost, or who have never possessed, the secret ofbeing happy, and we exclaim that there is no happiness on the face ofthe globe! It is we ourselves who are '_flat_, _stale_, and_unprofitable_, ' not our neighbors; though we are sure to charge themwith the dulness and insipidity for which we, alone, are responsible. " Bertha answered, "One secret of Madeleine's cheerfulness is herunquenchable _hope_. Even in her saddest moments, the light of hopenever appeared to be extinguished. It shone about her almost like avisible halo, and illumined all her present and her future. Have you notremarked the strength of this characteristic?" "That I have!" he replied with warmth. "And it forced upon my convictionthe truth of the poet's words that '_hope_ and _wisdom_ are akin'; thatit is always wise to hope, and the most wise, because those who havemost faith, ever hope most. She taught me to hope when I was plunged inthe depths of despair!" Bertha blushed suddenly, as though those fervently-uttered words hadawakened some suggestion which could not be framed into language. "This seat is shady and retired, and commands a fine view of thegarden, " remarked Gaston, pausing. There was an invitation in hisaccents. Bertha, half unconsciously seated herself, and Gaston did the same. Thencame another pause, a longer one than before; it was broken by Bertha, who exclaimed, -- "You defended Madeleine nobly and courageously! and how I thanked you!" "I only did her justice, or, rather, I did her far less than justice, "returned Gaston. "Yet few men would have dared to say what you did in my aunt'spresence. " "Could any man who had known Mademoiselle Madeleine as intimately as Ihave had the honor of knowing her, through these four last painful yearsof her life, could any man who had learned to reverence her as Ireverence her, have said less?" "But my aunt, by her towering pride, awes people out of what they_ought_ to do, and what they _want_ to do; at least, she does _me_; andtherefore, --therefore I honored you all the more when I saw you had thecourage to tell her harsh truths, while pleading Madeleine's cause soeloquently. " Gaston was much moved by these unanticipated and warmly utteredcommendations. He tried to speak, but once again relapsed into his oldhabit of stammering. "Your praises are most pre--pre--pre"-- Bertha finished his sentence as in by-gone days. "Precious, are theyindeed? I am glad! I am truly glad that they are precious. " M. De Bois, notwithstanding the happiness communicated by this frankdeclaration, could make no reply. What _could_ he answer? And what righthad he to give too delightful an interpretation to the chanceexpressions of the lovely being who sat there before him, uttering wordsin her ingenuous simplicity, which would have inspired a bolder, moreself-confident man, with the certainty that she regarded him withpartial eyes. His gaze was riveted upon the ground, and so was hers. Neither spoke. How long they would have sat thus, each looking for some movement to bemade by the other, is problematical. The double reverie was broken by awell-known voice, which cried out, -- "Ah, M. De Bois, you are the very man I wanted to see. Good-morning, Mademoiselle de Merrivale. " Lord Linden and his sister, Lady Augusta, stood before them. M. De Boisinstantly rose, and Bertha invited Lady Augusta to take the vacantplace. Lord Linden had already seized Gaston's arm, and drawn him aside. "My dear fellow, " began the nobleman, "Do you know that I have beenvainly seeking you for a couple of days! I am in a most awkwardpredicament; but I suppress particulars to make a long story short; in aword, I have discovered the fair unknown! I expected, --you know whatsort of woman I expected to find. " "Perfectly, " answered Gaston, laughing, "a walking angel, minus thetraditional wings. I remember your description. Perhaps the lady growsmore earthly upon a better acquaintance?" "No, not by any means. I found her more enchanting than ever; but hangit, unless you had seen her, you could not comprehend how I could havemade such a confounded mistake. This lovely being is--is--is--don'tprepare to laugh. I shall be tempted to knock you down if you do, forreally my feelings are so much interested that I could not bear even afriend's ridicule. " "Well, go on, " urged M. De Bois. "The lady in question is, --not anangel, unless it be a fallen one; that I understand; good; then _what_is she?" "A _mantua-maker!_" exclaimed Lord Linden, in accents of deepmortification. Well might he have been startled by the change that came over Gaston'scountenance; the merriment by which it had been lighted up suddenlyvanished; he looked aghast, astounded, and his features worked as thoughwith ill-suppressed rage. "I see you are amazed: I thought you would be! You did not take me forsuch a greenhorn! But, in spite of her trade, --her _profession_, as itis considerately called in this country, --she is the most peerlesscreature; any man might have been duped. " "And her name?" inquired Gaston, in an agitated voice, though he hardlyneeded the confirmation to his fears contained in Lord Linden's answer. "Mademoiselle Melanie!" "Good heavens! how unfortunate!" exclaimed Gaston, not knowing what hewas saying. "Unfortunate, " repeated Lord Linden; "you may well say _that_. But asmarrying her is out of the question, there may possibly be analternative"-- "_What_ alternative? _What do you mean?_" demanded Gaston, turning uponhim fiercely. "It does not strike me that my meaning is so difficult to divine, "replied the other, lightly. "When a woman is not in a position to becomethe wife of a man who has fallen desperately in love with her, there isonly one thing else that he will very naturally seek to"-- "Forbear, my lord! I cannot listen to such language, " cried Gaston, angrily. "You could not insult a pure woman, no matter in what stationyou found her, by such a suggestion. I will not believe you capable ofsuch baseness. " Lord Linden looked at him in questioning amazement; then answered, somewhat scornfully, -- "Really, I was not aware that instances of the kind were so rare, orthat your punctilious morality would be so terribly shocked by anevery-day occurrence. If the lovely creature herself consents to myproposition, I consider that the arrangement will be a very fair one. " "Consents?" echoed Gaston, lashed into fury. "Do you know of whom youare speaking? This Mademoiselle Melanie is one of the noblest, --that isto say, one of the most noble-minded, and one of the most chaste ofwomen. " "You have heard of her then? Perhaps seen her?" inquired Lord Linden, eagerly. "As for her vaunted chastity, that is neither here northere, --that _may_ or _may not_ be fictitious. I have heard from thebest authority that she receives the private visits of titled admirers, whose attentions can hardly be of a nature very different from mine. Yousee, it is fair game, and if I succeed"-- "For Heaven's sake stop!" said Gaston, losing all control of his temper. Then reflecting that this very energy in defending her might compromiseMadeleine, he said, more calmly, "I beg your lordship to pause beforeyou insult Mademoiselle Melanie. I know something of her history. Shebears an unblemished name; she has a highly sensitive, a most delicateand refined nature. Could she deem it possible that any man entertainedtoward her such sentiments as those to which you have just givenutterance, it would almost kill her. " Lord Linden's lips curled sarcastically, but he did not feel disposed tocommunicate how completely Mademoiselle Melanie was already aware ofthose sentiments. He now essayed to put an end to the conversation bysaying, -- "I shall bear your remarks in mind; though the accounts we have heard ofthe fair mantua-maker differ materially. " "Who has dared to slander her?" demanded Gaston, with an air whichseemed to assert his right to ask the question. "I have not said that she has been slandered. I see we are not likely tounderstand each other; let us join the ladies. " As he spoke, he walked toward Lady Augusta and Bertha. His sister roseand made her adieu. When Lord Linden and Lady Augusta had passed on, Gaston was surprised tosee that Bertha did not appear desirous of returning to the hotel. Shesat still, and, when he approached her, drew her dress slightly aside, as though to make room for him to resume his seat. Could he do otherwisethan comply? She sat with her head bent down. The shining ringletsfalling in rich, golden showers, partly concealed her face. She wastracing letters upon the gravel-walk with her parasol. Gaston was toomuch moved by his painful conversation with Lord Linden to start anyindifferent topic; and Bertha's manner, so different from her usualfrank, lively bearing, made it still more difficult for him to know howto accost her. At last, without raising her eyes, she said, "You and Lord Linden werehaving a very animated discussion. At one time I began to be afraid thatyou were quarrelling. " "We certainly never differed more. I doubt if we shall ever be friendsagain. " This assertion was uttered so earnestly that Bertha involuntarily lookedup into Gaston's face. It was flushed by his recent anger, and theexpression of his countenance betokened perplexity mingled withvexation. What woman ever saw the man she loved out of temper without seeking topour oil upon the troubled waters, even at the risk of being chargedwith her sex's constitutional curiosity? for an attempt to sootheincludes a desire to fathom the secret cause of annoyance. If there bewomen who are not stirred by impulses of this kind they are cast inmoulds the very opposite to that of Bertha. She said, in a soft and winning tone, "Has he done you wrong?" "He has grossly wronged one whom I esteem more highly, perhaps, than anywoman, --any being living, " answered Gaston, firing up at therecollection of Lord Linden's insinuations; then he corrected himself. "I should have said any--any oth--oth--other--but"-- "It was a woman--a lady, then, whom he wronged?" inquired Bertha, betraying redoubled interest at this inadvertent admission. Gaston perceived that he had said too much; but, in adding nothing more, he did not extricate himself from the difficulty. His silence could onlybe interpreted into an affirmative. "And one whom you esteem more highly than all others?" persisted Bertha. "Whom do you esteem so highly as Madeleine? Surely it could not havebeen Madeleine? Lord Linden did not speak disrespectfully of Madeleine?" Gaston had gone too far for concealment. "He spoke of MademoiselleMelanie, the mantua-maker; but I warrant I have silenced him!" "Madeleine is very happy in the possession of such a true friend as youare! one upon whom she can always lean, --always depend, --one who cannever fail her! Yes, she is very, very happy! When I heard you defendingher before my aunt, I said to myself, 'Oh that I had such a friend!'" Would not Gaston de Bois have been the dullest of mortals if those wordshad failed to infuse a sudden courage into his heart? He replied with impetuous ardor, "Would--would that you could be inducedto accept the same friend as your own! Would that he might dare to hopethat some day, however distant, you would grant him a nearer, dearertitle! Would that he might believe such a joy possible!" Bertha spoke no word, made no movement, but sat with her eyes bent onthe ground. Her manner emboldened Gaston to seize her hand; she did notwithdraw it from his clasp; then he comprehended his joy, and poured outthe history of his long-concealed passion with a tender eloquence ofwhich he never imagined himself capable. If, when he awoke that morning from a dream in which Bertha's lovelycountenance was vividly pictured, some prophetic voice had whisperedthat ere the sun went down he would have uttered such language, and shehave listened to it, he would not have believed the verification of thatdelightful prediction within the bounds of possibility. Yet, when thehappy pair left the capital grounds to return to the hotel, Gastonwalked by the side of his betrothed bride. It is true that the wealthy heiress had lured on her self-distrustinglover to make a declaration which he had not contemplated; but who willcharge her with unmaidenly conduct? The most modest of women are dailydoing, unaware, what Bertha did somewhat more consciously. Shakespeare, who read the hearts of women with the penetrating eyes of a seer, andwho never painted a heroine who was not the type of a class, pictured norare or imaginary order of being in his beauteous Desdemona, -- "A maiden never bold, Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion Blushed at herself, "-- who was yet "_half the wooer_. " And there is no lack of men who cantestify (in spite of the feminine denial which we anticipate) that theyowe their happiness (or misery) to some gentle, timid girl who wasnevertheless "_half the wooer_. " CHAPTER XXXV. A REVELATION. Bertha was too happy as she walked toward the hotel, to dread therebukes which she had good reason to anticipate from the countess. For ayoung lady to traverse the streets alone with a gentleman, howeverintimate a friend, was, according to the strict rules of Frenchetiquette, a gross breach of propriety. And, though the escort of agentleman was deemed allowable in the purer and less conventionalsociety of the land in which they were sojourning, Bertha knew that hersupercilious aunt considered all customs barbarous but those of herrefined native country. The countess was sitting in her drawing-room, evidently in a state ofhigh excitement, when Bertha and Gaston entered. Count Tristan appearedto be endeavoring to palliate his recent conduct by a series ofcontradictory statements, and a garbled explanation of the events whichhad placed Maurice in a dubious position; but his mother had sufficientshrewdness to detect that his object was to deceive, not to enlightenher. The appearance of Bertha and Gaston gave inexpressible relief to thecount, and his satisfaction betrayed itself in a singularly unnaturaland childish manner. He kissed Bertha on both cheeks as though he hadnot seen her for a long period, asked her how she did, shook handswarmly with Gaston as if they had not parted a couple of hours before, offered them chairs, put his arm about Bertha, and drew her to him, asthough he were making her his shield against some imaginary assailant. "What is the meaning of this prolonged absence, Bertha?" demanded thecountess, without appearing to notice M. De Bois. "Where have you been?Why did you not return immediately? Where is Maurice?" "The day was so fine, " answered Bertha, trying to speak with some showof dignity and composure, but failing lamentably, "that I thought Iwould enjoy a walk in the capitol grounds. We met Lady Augusta and LordLinden. Maurice did not return with us. " "Are you aware of the singular impropriety of your behavior, Mademoiselle de Merrivale? Is it possible that a niece of mine can havebecome so perfectly regardless of all the rules of decorum?" "Will you excuse me for the present, aunt?" interrupted Bertha, retreating toward the door in a rather cowardly fashion. "I leave M. DeBois to--M. De Bois wishes to"-- Gaston had risen and opened the door for her to pass, with as muchself-possession as though bashfulness had not been the tormenting evilgenius of his existence. His look reassured her, and, without finishingher sentence, she disappeared. The countess rose with even more than her wonted stateliness, and wasabout to follow her niece; but M. De Bois, pretending not to perceiveher intention, closed the door and said, -- "There is a communication which I desire to have the honor of making toMadame de Gramont and Count Tristan. " "You can make no communication to which I feel disposed to listen, "answered the countess haughtily, and advancing toward the door. "I regret to hear the aunt of Mademoiselle de Merrivale say so, as Ihave this morning ventured to solicit the hand of that young lady inmarriage, and have received a favorable answer to my suit, as well aspermission to request the approval of her relatives. " The countess sank into the nearest chair. She knew that her consent wasa mere form, and that Bertha could dispose of her hand in freedom. Count Tristan, still speaking in a confused, incoherent manner, exclaimed, -- "Bless my soul! How astonishing! The game's up, and Maurice has lost hischance! Bertha's fortune is to go out of the family! It's very puzzling. How did it all come about? De Bois, you sly fellow, you lucky dog, Inever suspected you. Managed matters quietly, eh? Should never havethought you were the man to succeed with a pretty girl. " "Really, " returned Gaston good-humoredly, "I am almost as astonished asyou are by Mademoiselle de Merrivale's preference. Let me hope that theCountess de Gramont and yourself will render my happiness complete byapproving of Mademoiselle Bertha's choice. " "Of course, of course; there's nothing else to be done; we have lost ourtrump card, but there's no use of confessing it! Very glad to welcomeyou as a relative, sir; very happy indeed; everything shall be asMademoiselle de Merrivale desires. " Count Tristan uttered these disjointed sentences, in the flurried, bewildered manner which had marked his conduct since Gaston entered. Astranger might easily have imagined that the count was under theinfluence of delirium; for his face was scarlet his eyes shone withlurid brightness, his muscles twitched, his hands trembled nervously, and he was, to all appearance, not thoroughly conscious of what he wasdoing. His mother's look of rebuke was entirely lost upon him, and he rattledon with an air of assumed hilarity which was painfully absurd. Gaston was disinclined to give the disdainful lady an opportunity ofexpressing her opposition to his suit, and, pretending to interpret hersilence favorably, he took his hat, and said, "I thank you for thecordial manner in which my proposition has been received; I hope to havethe pleasure of visiting Mademoiselle de Merrivale this evening; I wishyou a good-morning. " The door had closed upon him before the countess had recovered herselfsufficiently to reply. That evening, before paying his proposed visit to Bertha, M. De Boissought Madeleine, to make her a participator in the happiness which shehad so truly predicted would, one day, be his. He also purposed, ifpossible, to put her on her guard against the advances of Lord Linden. At the door he encountered Maurice, who with unaffected warmth, congratulated him upon his betrothal. When the servant answered their ring, both gentlemen were deniedadmission. Mademoiselle Melanie was not well, and had retired. "Are you going back to the hotel?" asked Gaston, as they left the door. "No, not until late. I hardly know what I shall do with myself; I may goto the reading-rooms. " As their roads were different, they parted, and Maurice, not being ableto select any better place of refuge, took his way to the reading-roomsmost frequented by gentlemen of the metropolis. He was fortunate infinding an apartment vacant. He sat down by the table, took up anewspaper, though the words before him might have been printed in anunknown tongue, for any sense they conveyed. He had been sitting about half an hour, musing sadly, when Lord Lindensauntered through the rooms. The instant he observed Maurice, headvanced toward him, and unceremoniously took a seat at the same table. This was just the opportunity which the _piqued_ nobleman had desired. Maurice returned his salutation politely, but with an occupied air whichseemed to forbid conversation. But Lord Linden was not to be baffled. Heopened a periodical, and, after listlessly turning the leaves, closedit, and, leaning over the table in the direction of Maurice, said, witha sarcastic intonation, -- "I hope you had an agreeable visit, M. De Gramont. " Maurice looked up in surprise. "I beg pardon, --I do not comprehend. To what visit do you allude?" "When we last met, " returned Lord Linden, in the same offensive manner, "I left you in charming company; the lovely mantua-maker, you know!--thevery queen of sirens!" Maurice flushed crimson and half started from his chair, then sat downagain, making a strong effort to control himself, as he answered coldly, "I am at a loss to comprehend the meaning of the language in which youare pleased to indulge. " "'Pon my life, that's going too far; especially as I feel not a littleaggrieved that your inopportune entrance cut short my visit. And youseemed to be a decided favorite. Deuced lucky! for she is the handsomestwoman in Washington. Come, be frank enough to confess that you think so, and I'll admit that I think her the most beautiful woman upon the faceof the globe. " "My frankness, " returned Maurice, sharply, "forces me to confess thatthis conversation is particularly distasteful to me. The lady inquestion"-- Lord Linden interrupted him with a light laugh. "Lady? Oh! I see youadopt the customs and phraseology of the country in which you live; and_here_, a mantua-maker is, of course, a lady; just as a respectableboot-black is, in common parlance, an accomplished gentleman. " "My lord, "--began Maurice, angrily; but Lord Linden would not permit himto continue. "Oh, don't be offended; I suppose you are a naturalized foreigner; youare quite right to accept the manners of the country you adopt; it isthe true diplomatic dodge. And, besides, I admit that the _lady_ inquestion might anywhere be mistaken for a thorough lady. She has all thepoints which betoken the high-bred dame. I'll not quarrel with the termyou use! All I ask is fair play, and that you will not attempt tomonopolize the field. " "Lord Linden, " replied Maurice, unable to endure this impertinence anylonger, "once more I beg to inform you that you are using language towhich I cannot listen. I will not permit any man to speak of that ladyin the manner which you have chosen to employ. I shall consider it apersonal insult if you persist. " "Indeed! Have matters gone so far? Really, I did not suspect that theground was already occupied, and that the _lady_ whose mantua-making andmillinery are the admiration of all Washington, had a protector by whomher less favored acquaintances must expect to be taken to task. " These words were spoken in a tone sufficiently caustic to render theirmeaning unmistakable. "She has protectors, my lord, --legal protectors, --who are ready to provetheir right to defend her, " replied Maurice, with severity, and risingas he spoke. All considerations of prudence, --the wishes of Madeleine and of hisfamily, --were forgotten at the moment: she was insulted, and he wasthere to defend her; that was all he remembered. Lord Linden, though he could not but be struck by the tone and manner ofthe viscount, echoed the words, "The right?" "Yes, the _right_, as well as the _might_. Mademoiselle Melanie, themantua-maker, is in reality Mademoiselle Madeleine Melanie de Gramont, the daughter of the late Duke de Gramont, and the second cousin of myfather, Count Tristan de Gramont. " "Good heavens! of what gross stupidity I have been guilty! How shall Iever obtain your pardon?" Without answering this question, Maurice went on. "You have forced me to betray a secret which my cousin earnestly desiredto keep; but it is time that her family should refuse their countenanceto this farce of concealment. I, for one, will not be a party to it anylonger. I will never consent to calling her, or hearing her called, byany but her true title, and I do not care how soon that is proclaimed tothe world. " "M. De Gramont, " said Lord Linden, whose embarrassment was mingled withundisguised joy, "I am overwhelmed with shame, and I beg that you willforget what I have said. My apology is based upon the error under whichI was laboring. I make it very humbly, very gladly, and trust theViscount de Gramont will accept it generously. Without being able toconceive the circumstances which have placed a noble lady in a positionwhich has caused me to fall into so grave a mistake, I shall only be tooproud, too thankful, to make the one reparation in my power, "-- Lord Linden had not finished speaking, but Maurice was disinclined tohear any more or to prolong the interview, and said, frigidly, "I ambound to accept your apology; but your lordship can hardly expect that Ican find it easy to forget that my cousin, Mademoiselle de Gramont, hasbeen regarded by you in an unworthy light. Good-evening. " Feigning not to see Lord Linden's outstretched hand, and disregardinghis attempt to exculpate himself further, Maurice walked out of thereading-room, leaving the nobleman too much elated by the discovery ofMadeleine's rank to experience a natural indignation at her cousin'scavalier treatment. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE SUITOR. Lord Linden, when the Viscount de Gramont abruptly left him, returned tohis lodgings, and, in spite of the lateness of the hour, wrote toMadeleine, implored her pardon for the presumption into which he hadbeen lured by his ignorance of her rank, and formally solicited herhand. That night the happy nobleman's dreams, when he could sleep, andhis waking thoughts when he courted slumber in vain, had an auroraltinge hitherto unknown. As soon as the sound of busy feet, traversingthe corridor, announced that the much-desired morning had at lastarrived, he rang his bell, gave his letter into the hands of a sleepydomestic, and ordered it to be delivered immediately. What was the next step which propriety demanded? To see Mademoiselle deGramont's relatives, to make known his suit to them, and to solicittheir approval. He considered himself fortunate in finding both Madame de Gramont andCount Tristan at home. The former received him with as much cordialityas her constitutional stiffness permitted, but the latter appeared to bein a half-lethargic state; he scarcely rose to welcome his visitor, spoke feebly and indistinctly, and, as he sank back in his seat, leanedhis flushed face upon his hands. "My visit is somewhat early, " remarked Lord Linden, "but I was impatientto see you, for I came to speak of your niece, Mademoiselle de Gramont. " The count looked up eagerly. Madame de Gramont replied before her son could speak, "The person whomyou designate as my niece has forfeited all right to that title, and isnot recognized by her family. " "I nevertheless venture to hope, " returned the nobleman with markedsuavity, "that, under existing circumstances, the alienation will onlybe temporary. " The countess broke out angrily: "The impertinence of this young personexceeds all bounds! She gave us to understand that she possessed, atleast, the modesty to hide her real name, and had no desire to disgraceher family by proclaiming that it was borne by a person in her degradedcondition; but this, it seems, is only another evidence of her duplicityand covert manoeuvring; she has taken care that your lordship shouldbecome acquainted with a relationship which we can never cease todeplore. " "You do her wrong, " replied Lord Linden, with becoming spirit; "I regretto say she so scrupulously concealed her rank that I was led into agreat error, --one for which I now desire amply to atone. It was from M. Maurice de Gramont that I learned the true name of the so-calledMademoiselle Melanie. " "Maurice!" cried the countess and her son together. "I received the information from him last evening, " said Lord Linden, "and I have now come to solicit the hand of Mademoiselle de Gramont inmarriage. " The suggestion that Madeleine could thus magically be raised out of herpresent humiliating condition, and that all her short-comings might becovered by the broad cloak of a title, took such delightful possessionof the haughty lady's mind that there was no room even for surprise. While Count Tristan was vehemently shaking hands with Lord Linden, andstammering out broken and unintelligible sentences, his mother saidgravely, -- "We consider your lordship, in all respects, an acceptable _parti_ for amember of our family. I have ever entertained for Mademoiselle deGramont the strongest affection, in spite of her lamentableeccentricities. But these I would prefer to forget. " "Yes, that's it! That's the trump card now!--forget, --forget all aboutit!" cried Count Tristan, hilariously. He had recovered his power ofutterance, yet spoke like a man partially intoxicated. "Let the past beforgotten, bury it deep; never dig it up! There are circumstances whichhad better not be mentioned. I myself have been mixed up with theaffair; of course, I was an innocent party; I beg you to believe so. It's all right--quite right--quite right!" Though it was so evident that Count Tristan's mind was wandering, --atall events, that there was no connection in his ideas, --his mother couldnot stoop to admit any such possibility, and said sternly, -- "My son, your language strikes me as singular. Lord Linden, of course, comprehends that he has our consent to his union with Mademoiselle deGramont; but we also wish him to understand we expect him to remove hiswife to his own country, or some other land where her history will notbe known. Upon this condition we will pardon our relative's vagaries, and give our sanction to her nuptials. " Lord Linden was not a man who could, with any complacency, consent tohave conditions enforced upon him by the family of the lady whom heselected as his wife; his pride was quite as great as theirs; but beforehe had obtained Madeleine's consent to his suit, it was politic topreserve the favor of those who could influence her decision. Turning to Count Tristan, he observed, "I sent a letter to Mademoisellede Gramont this morning, and I hope to be honored by an answer duringthe day. Would it be asking too much if I begged that you would see thelady, and inform her of the flattering reception which Madame de Gramontand yourself have given my proposals?" "I will go at once, " replied Count Tristan. "An open visit, of course;no need of concealment now! Where's my hat? What has become of it? It'sgot a trick lately of getting out of the way. " Count Tristan, though his hat stood on the table before him, totteredacross the room, looking about in a weak, flurried way. His mother wasnot willing to attribute his singularly helpless, troubled, and childishdemeanor, to the perturbed state of his brain, and said severely, thoughaddressing her words to Lord Linden, -- "Count Tristan's gratification at the intelligence you havecommunicated, and his desire to serve your lordship, appear to havesomewhat bewildered him. He was always very much attached toMademoiselle de Gramont. " "Attached to her? Certainly! _Certainly!_" replied the count. "Thoughshe did not always think so! I was devotedly attached to her when sheimagined quite the contrary! This is my hat, I believe. " He took up Lord Linden's. "I beg pardon, --_that_, I think is mine, " replied his lordship; andthen, indicating the one upon the table which Count Tristan apparentlydid not see, asked, "Is not this yours?" "I suppose so; it cannot be any one's else; there are only two of us. Iwish you a good-morning. " With a forced, unnatural laugh, he left the room. Count Tristan's deportment, in general, was almost as calm and statelyas that of his august mother; though it was only a weak reflex of hers;accordingly the change in his demeanor surprised Lord Lindenunpleasantly; but he took leave of the countess without endeavoring tosolve an enigma to which he had no clew. CHAPTER XXXVII. A SHOCK. Count Tristan, on reaching Madeleine's residence was ushered into herboudoir. He found her reclining upon the sofa, with a book in her hand. She had not entirely recovered from her indisposition, and wiselythought that one of the most effectual modes of battling against illnesswas to divert the mind: an invaluable medicine, too little in vogueamong the suffering, yet calculated to produce marvellous ameliorationof physical pain. As all _matter_ exists from, and is influenced by, spiritual causes, the happy workings of this mental ministry are verycomprehensible. Madeleine invariably found medicinal and restorativeproperties in the pages of an interesting and healthful-toned volumewhich would draw her out of the contemplation of her own ailments. Shehad trained herself, when the prostration of her faculties or othercircumstances rendered it impossible for her to read, to lie still andreflect upon all the blessings that were accorded to her, to count themover, one by one, and _compel_ herself to estimate each at its fullvalue. In this manner she successfully counteracted the depression andunrest that attend bodily disease, and often succeeded in lifting hermind so far above its disordered mortal medium that she was hardlyconscious of suffering, which was nevertheless very real. Scepticalreader! you smile in doubt, and think that if Madeleine's wisdom andpatience could accomplish this feat, she was a rare instance ofwomanhood. Try her experiment faithfully and then decide! Madeleine only partially rose when Count Tristan entered. "My dear niece, --my dearest Madeleine, --I hope you are not ill?" Although the count spoke with an air of exaggerated affection, hismanner was far more self-possessed than when he left the hotel. Thefresh air had revived him. Madeleine was not struck by any singularityin his deportment. "Not exactly ill, yet not quite well, " she answered, without pretendingto respond to his oppressive tenderness; "and I was trying to forgetmyself. " "That was always your way, Madeleine; you are always forgetting yourselfand remembering others. I always said so. I always appreciated yourbeautiful traits. The time has come when your whole family willappreciate them, and rejoice that you are restored to us. My mother isin a very different frame of mind to day; you must forget all that tookplace yesterday. You must forgive the past, and accept the hand ofreconciliation which she extends to you. " "Is it possible that the Countess de Gramont has charged you to say thisfor her?" "This, and a great deal more. She opens her arms to you; hereafter youtwo are to be as mother and daughter. " Count Tristan spoke with so much earnestness, that probably he hadsucceeded in believing his own liberally invented statements. "It seems very strange, " returned Madeleine; "yet I thank the countessfor her unlooked-for cordiality. I do not know what good angel hasopened her heart to me; but I am grateful if she will give me a placethere. " "The good angel in question was Lord Linden, " answered the count, quiteseriously. "His lordship called this morning. I left him with mymother. " "Lord Linden?" "Yes, it was at his suggestion that I hastened here; not that I thoughtany influence of mine was needed; but just now it is well to keep inwith every one, and you must oblige me by permitting Lord Linden toimagine that it was through my advocacy you were induced to lookfavorably upon his suit. " "That is impossible. " "Not at all; a mere suggestion in your letter will have the desiredeffect. You have not answered Lord Linden's letter yet, --have you. " "No, --I intend to reply this morning, and"-- "That's right! You will grant me this favor, I know you will! Say that_after having conversed with me_, you accept the offer of his hand. " "I mean to decline it in the most definite manner. " "Decline?" cried Count Tristan, breathing hard, while his face rapidlychanged color; for at one moment it was overspread with a death-likepallor, and then, suddenly grew purple. "Decline? Such a thing is not tobe thought of; you are jesting?" "I was never more serious in my life. " "But you will think better of the matter; you will listen to reason; youwill reverse your decision, " pleaded the count, his nervous incoherenceand confusion increasing as he grew more and more agitated. "It's forthe honor of the family to say 'yes, ' and therefore 'yes' is the proper_answer_, --eh, Madeleine? Don't joke any more, my dear; it troubles me;it gives me such a throbbing and heavy weight in my brain. All'sright, --is it not?" Count Tristan lay back in his chair, and continued muttering, though hiswords were no longer comprehensible. Madeleine now began to be alarmed, and, approaching him, said kindly, "Can I give you anything? You are not well. Let me order you a glass ofwine. " He stared at her with vacant, glassy eyes, while his lips moved andtwitched without giving forth any distinct sounds. He lifted up his armsin appeal; they dropped suddenly, as if struck by a giant's invisiblehand, and his head fell forward heavily. Madeleine, greatly terrified, spoke to him again and again, shook himgently by the shoulder, to rouse him, --tried to lift his head; the faceshe succeeded in turning toward her was frightfully distorted; whitefoam oozed from the lips; the eyes were suffused with blood. She hadnever before seen a person in a fit, but instinct told her the nature ofthe seizure. Her violent ringing of the bell quickly brought servants to herassistance, and she ordered Robert to summon Dr. Bayard with the utmosthaste. This distinguished physician pronounced the attack apoplexy; and, afterapplying those remedies which recent discoveries in science have provedmost efficacious, ordered the patient to be undressed and put to bed. Madeleine's own chamber was prepared for the count's use. The attack wasof brief duration, and he recovered from its violence soon after thephysician arrived, but remained exhausted and insensible. Another critical case required Dr. Bayard's immediate attendance, andafter giving Madeleine minute directions, he took his leave, saying thathe would return in a couple of hours. Then Madeleine, who had been engrossed by the necessity of promptlyministering to the sufferer, remembered that the count's family shouldat once be made aware of his condition. What a frightful shock thecountess would receive when she heard of her son's state! And Mauriceand Bertha, --would they not be greatly alarmed? How could intelligenceof the calamity be most gently communicated? Should Madeleine write? Anote bearing the tidings might startle his mother too much. Madeleinesaw but one alternative, --it was to go in person and break the sorrowfulnews as delicately as possible. She did not waste a moment in ponderingupon the manner in which the haughty countess might receive her, butordered her carriage, and drove to the hotel, leaving Count Tristanunder the charge of Ruth, and Mrs. Lawkins, the housekeeper. Arrived at her destination, Madeleine ordered her servant to inquire forthe Viscount de Gramont. He was not at home. Was Mademoiselle deMerrivale at home? The same reply. Was the Countess de Gramont at home?Madeleine could not help hoping that a negative would again be returned, for she grew sick at heart at the prospect of encountering her auntalone. The countess was within. Madeleine's card was requested. She had none. What name should theservant give? Here was another difficulty: she was only known as"_Mademoiselle Melanie_;" she could not make use of her real name;besides, she feared that the countess would deny her admission if madeaware who was her visitor. But something must be done. Madame de Gramonthad issued orders that prevented any guest from entering her presencewithout permission. Madeleine asked for a sheet of note-paper, and, withher pencil, hastily wrote, -- "Madeleine entreats the Countess de Gramont to see her for a moment. Shehas a matter of importance to communicate. " The servant returned almost immediately, and, replacing the note inMadeleine's hand, said, "The Countess de Gramont desires me to say thatshe is engaged. " "It is absolutely necessary that I should see Madame de Gramont, "replied Madeleine. "I will bear the blame of her displeasure if you willshow me to her apartment. " "The lady is very rigid, ma'am. I don't dare. " "She will be angry at first, I admit, " returned Madeleine; "but herdissatisfaction will not last when she knows upon what errand I havecome. I can confidently promise you _that_. Perhaps you will considerthis money sufficient compensation for her displeasure, should I provewrong; and if I am right, you can keep it in payment for having servedme. " She handed him a piece of gold, which the man took with so littlehesitation it left no doubt upon Madeleine's mind that he was wellacquainted with the nature of a bribe. "I'll do what I can, ma'am, if you will take the blame, " replied he. Madeleine alighted, followed him to the door of the room which hedesignated as the drawing-room of the countess, and then desired him toretire; he obeyed with well-pleased alacrity. The young girl had been trembling from agitation until that moment; butthere was necessity for calmness in executing her mission. She openedthe door with a firm hand, and entered the apartment with unfalteringsteps. The countess was sitting with her back turned to the entrance; she didnot perceive Madeleine until the latter stood beside her. Madame de Gramont pushed back her chair with a repellant gesture, and, before her niece could speak, asked indignantly, "What is the meaning ofthis intrusion? Did you not receive my message, Mademoiselle de Gramont, and understand that I declined to see you?" "I received it, madame, " returned Madeleine, mildly and mournfully; "butI feel sure you will pardon an intrusion I could not avoid when youlearn the cause which brings me here. " "I can divine your errand, Mademoiselle de Gramont; you probably imaginethat, because I permitted my son to say that your marriage with LordLinden would, _after a proper interval_, allow me to acknowledge youonce more as a relative, your mere acceptance of his lordship's handentitles you to seize upon any frivolous excuse to force yourself uponmy privacy. You are mistaken. I have no intention of recognizing _themantua-maker_, and I forbid her to make any attempt to hold the mosttransient intercourse with me. I have already said, I will receive LadyLinden when I meet her in another country, where her history is unknown;but not until then. And now I must request you to retire, or you willcompel me to leave my own apartment. " Madeleine had made one or two fruitless attempts to interrupt thecountess; but now, as the latter moved toward the door, about to put herthreat into execution, the young girl sprang after her and said, beseechingly, -- "I implore you not to go until you hear me! I did not come to speak ofmyself at all. I came in the hope of sparing you too severe a shock. " "Very generous on your part, but somewhat misjudged, as your unwelcomepresence has given me as great a shock as I could well sustain. " "Ah, aunt, --Madame de Gramont, --do not speak so harshly to me! I havescarcely strength or courage left to tell you; I came to speak of--ofCount Tristan. " "My son seems to have chosen a somewhat singular messenger, and one whohe was well aware would be far from acceptable, " returned the countess, wholly unmoved. "He did not send me; I came myself; He is not aware of my coming, for--for"-- Madeleine's voice failed her, and the countess took up her words. "_For_ you desired to make me fully sensible of the length to which youcarried your audacity. So be it! I am satisfied! Mademoiselle deGramont, for the second time I request you to retire. " "I cannot, until I have told you that Count Tristan is--is not, notquite well; that is, he became indisposed at my house. " "In that case, it would have appeared to me more natural, and certainlymore proper, if he had returned to his old residence, and spared me thepain of being apprised of his indisposition by an unwelcome messenger. " "He had no choice, or, rather, I had none. I feared to have the newsbroken in a manner that might alarm you too much, and therefore I wouldnot even trust myself to write. Count Tristan was seized with, --I meanwas taken ill while conversing with me. He is not in a state to returnhome at present, and I came to beg that his mother or his son will go tohim. " "I comprehend you, Mademoiselle de Gramont; you were always politic inthe highest degree. You know how to make the best of opportunities. Youfind my son's temporary indisposition an admirable opportunity to lurehis relatives to your house, and to make known to the world yourconnection with them. Your well-laid, dramatic little plot will fail. Your good acting has not succeeded in alarming me, and I see no reasonwhy Count Tristan de Gramont, in spite of his sudden illness, should notsend for a carriage and return to the hotel. By your own confession, thestep you have taken is unwarranted; for you admitted that my son was notaware of your intention. " "Because he was too ill to be aware of it, madame, " replied Madeleine, with an involuntary accent of reproach. The cold and cruel conduct of the countess did not render her niece lesscompassionate, less fearful of wounding; but it inspired her with theresolution, which she had before lacked, to impart the fearful tidings. "He is too ill to be moved at this moment. I sent for medical aid atonce, and everything has been done to restore him. " "_Restore him?_ What do you mean?" almost shrieked the countess, nowbecoming painfully excited, and struggling against her fears, as though, by disbelieving the calamity which had befallen her son, she could alterthe fact. "Why do you try to alarm me in this manner? It is veryinconsiderate! very cruel! You do it to revenge yourself upon me! Whereis Maurice? Where is Bertha? I must have some one near me on whom I candepend! Why am I left at your mercy?" "I asked for Maurice and Bertha before I attempted to force my way toyou, " returned Madeleine. "I was told that neither was at home. Pray donot allow yourself to be so much distressed. I have no doubt that weshall find Count Tristan better. " "_We_ shall find! What do you mean by _we_ shall find?" sternly demandedthe countess, whose grief and alarm did not conquer her pride, thoughher voice trembled as she asked the question. "My carriage is at the door: I thought I might venture to propose thatyou would enter it, and return with me to my house, that no time mightbe lost. " Madeleine said this with quiet dignity. "_Your_ carriage? And you expect me to be seen _with you_, in _your_carriage? I cannot comprehend your object, Mademoiselle de Gramont. Whatpossesses you to try to exasperate me by your insolent propositions?" "Pardon me; I did not mean to add to your trouble; if my suggestion wasinjudicious, disregard it. Nothing can be easier than to send foranother carriage. Will you allow me to ring the bell for you to do so?And, since you would not wish to be seen in my company, I can leave thehouse before you. " "And you expect me to follow? You expect that I will order the carriageto drive to the residence of _Mademoiselle Melanie_, the_mantua-maker_?" "You need only say, 'Drive to ---- street, number ----. ' My errand hereis at an end. I pray you to pardon me, if I have executed it clumsily. My sole intention was to spare you pain, and I almost fear that I havecaused you more than I have shielded you from. " Madeleine was retiring, but the countess called her back. "Stay! You have not told me all yet. What is the matter with my son? Wasit a fainting fit? I never knew him guilty of the weakness of fainting. " It was difficult to answer this question without explaining the gravenature of the attack. Madeleine was silent. "Did you not hear me? Why do you not answer?" "The doctor did not call it a fainting fit, " was Madeleine's vagueresponse. "Yet Count Tristan was in a state of insensibility, and hadnot spoken when I left him. " "Why did you leave him, then? How could you have been so neglectful?"The countess burst out as though it was a relief to have someone on whom she could vent her wrath. "If he is seriously ill, --soill as to continue insensible, --you should have remained by hisside, and not left him to the improper treatment of strangers:it is abominable, --outrageous!" "I will gladly hasten back. Pray be composed, madame, and let us hopefor a favorable change. I expect to find him better. Before you reachthe house, his consciousness may have returned. " Madeleine retired, without waiting for any further comment; for she hadan internal conviction that whatever she did or said would be unpleasantto her aunt in her present troubled state. There was no perceptible alteration in the condition of Count Tristan. Ruth, who was sitting by his side, said he had scarcely stirred. Hisface still wore a purplish hue, and his glassy, bloodshot eyes, thoughwide open, were vacant and expressionless. He lay as still as ifdeprived of sensation and motion. Madeleine had been at home nearly an hour before she heard the carriagewhich contained the countess stop at the door. Madame de Gramont, evenin a case of such extremity, was not able to complete her arrangementshurriedly. Madeleine, when she went forth to receive her relative, was muchrelieved to find her accompanied by Bertha. Bertha threw herself in Madeleine's arms, whispering, "Is he _very_ill?" "Yes, I fear so, " answered Madeleine, in too low a voice for thecountess to hear. Then turning to Madame de Gramont, she inquired, gently, "Do you wish to go to him at once?" "For what other purpose have I come?" was the ungracious rejoinder. Madeleine led the way to the apartment, and motioned Ruth to withdraw. The countess walked up to the bed with a firm step, as though nervingherself to disbelieve that anything serious was the matter. "My son!" she said, in a voice somewhat choked, but which expressedconfidence that he would immediately reply, "My son! why do you notanswer me?" She took his hand; it remained passive in hers; his eyes still staredvacantly. His mother more tightly grasped the hand she held, shook it alittle, and called out to him again in a hoarser tone; but there was noanswer. Bertha burst into tears, and knelt down sobbing by the bed. "Hush!" said the countess, angrily. "You will disturb him. Why do youcry so? It is nothing serious, --nothing _very_ serious;" and she lookedaround appealingly, her eyes resting, in spite of herself, uponMadeleine. "We must hope not, " said the latter, now venturing to draw near. "Thedoctor will be here again shortly, and, if you would permit me toadvise, I would suggest that Count Tristan should remain undisturbed. " "I only ask that he will speak to me once!" exclaimed the countess, inpeevish distress. "A _mother_ may demand that! Do you not hear me, myson? Why, why will you not answer?" Her voice was raised to a high pitch, but it did not seem to reach theears of the insensible man. Voices in the entry attracted Madeleine's attention; the sound ofwell-known tones reached her ears, and she hastily left the room. The servant was communicating to Maurice the sad event which had justtaken place. Madeleine beckoned her cousin to follow to her boudoir, and, in a few words, recounted what had just taken place. Maurice had listened, too completely awe-stricken for language, untilMadeleine rose and asked, "Will you not go to him now, Maurice?" Then he ejaculated, "How mysteriously all things are ordered, Madeleine!Truly you are the ministering angel of our family!" As Maurice, with Madeleine, entered the chamber where Count Tristan lay, the countess experienced a revulsion of feeling at beholding them sideby side, and cried out, in a louder tone than seemed natural in thatchamber at such a moment, -- "Maurice! Maurice! I have wanted you so much to advise me! You see yourfather's condition: he does not seem to recognize us; but it cannot beanything serious. The great point is to make arrangements for removinghim at once to the hotel. You must attend to that; I wish no time to belost. " Maurice was gazing in dumb anguish upon his father's altered face, and, though no tears moistened his eyes, his frame shook with emotion farmore painful to man than weeping is to woman. "You will see to his immediate removal, " repeated his grandmother, authoritatively, finding that he did not notice her request. "That cannot be done with safety, I feel certain, " answered Maurice. "But he cannot remain here, " persisted the countess. "He must be takento the hotel, where I can watch by him. " "You would not have the attempt made at the risk of his life?" remarkedMaurice, with more sternness than he intended. Madeleine gently interposed. "Dr. Bayard, the physician who was called in, promised to return in acouple of hours: he must be here shortly: will it not be best to ask hisopinion? And if he says Count Tristan cannot yet be removed with safety, I entreat, madame, that you will allow me to place this suite ofapartments at your disposal and his. They are wholly disconnected withthe rest of the house, and you can be as private as you desire. " "Do you expect _me_ to remain under this roof? _Your roof?_ Do youimagine that I will allow my son to remain here, even in his presentcondition? Oh, this is too much! This would be more terrible than allthe rest! I could not humble myself to endure _that!_" The countess spoke in a perfect agony of mortification. Madeleine only replied, "There is no necessity for a decision until youhave consulted the physician. " Maurice thought it wise to echo her words; the countess was partiallysoothed, for the time being, and sat down to await the coming of Dr. Bayard. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE MANTUA-MAKER'S GUESTS. Around Count Tristan's bed were grouped in silence his four nearest ofkin, waiting for the physician who was to decide upon the possibility ofremoval. The countess sat erect and motionless by her son's head. Hercountenance wore a look of granite hardness, as though she were fightingher grief with _Spartan_-like determination which would not let heradmit, even to herself, that any anguish preyed upon her heart. Mauricesat at the foot of the bed, mournfully watching the spasmodic movementsof his stricken father: they were but feeble and few. Madeleine hadplaced herself upon the other side of the couch. Her instinctivedelicacy prompted her to withdraw as far as possible from the countess. Bertha had softly stolen to Madeleine's side, and sat silently claspingher hand, and leaning against her shoulder; for hers was one of thoseclinging, vine-like natures that ever turn for support to the objectnearest and strongest. This was the disposition of the group when Ruth Thornton entered theroom on tiptoe and placed a card in Madeleine's hand. "Did you tell him what had occurred?" whispered Madeleine. "I did, and he still begged to see you. " Though Ruth spoke in a low voice, Bertha was so near that she heard herreply, and it caused her, almost unconsciously, to glance at the card. "Say that I will be with him directly, " said Madeleine. "It is M. De Bois. I will go with you, " murmured Bertha, rising at thesame time as her cousin. The countess did not move her eyes, but Maurice turned his head to lookafter them. Madeleine could never pass from his presence without hisexperiencing a sense of loss which inflicted a dull pang. M. De Bois had been ushered into Madeleine's boudoir. He had notanticipated the happiness of seeing Bertha. When she entered, his startand flush of joy, and the gently confident manner in which he took herhand, and drew her toward him, might well have surprised Madeleine; butthat surprise was quickly turned to positive amazement, for Bertha'shead drooped until its opulent golden curls swept hisbreast, --and--and--(if we record what ensued be it remembered thatconstitutionally bashful men, stirred by a sudden impulse, have lesscontrol over their emotions than their calmer brothers)--and--in anothersecond, his own head was bent down, and his lips lightly touched herpure brow, just where the fair hair parting ran on either side, inshining waves. Truly was that first kiss "The chrism of Love, which Love's own crown With sanctifying sweetness did precede. " Gaston's ideas of what amount of tender demonstration punctiliousdecorum permitted a lover, had finally undergone an alarmingmodification, through the corrective influence of the social atmospherehe had inhaled during the last few years. In his own land the limitedprivileges of an accepted suitor do not extend thus far until the daybefore a wedding-ring encircles the finger of a bride. Is it on thisaccount that the Parisian _Mrs. Grundy_, dreading some irresistibletemptation, never allows affianced lovers to be left alone? Bertha's conceptions of propriety must also have been in a veryunsettled state; for, albeit "to her brow the ruby mounted, " that firstkiss seemed to her to lie there as softly as an invisible gem, and shedid not withdraw her head, nor look up reproachfully, nor utter one wordof chiding. Gaston noticed Madeleine's wonder-struck look, and said, "You did notknow, then, Mademoiselle Madeleine, how happy I am?" Then Bertha escaped from the arm that encircled her, and nestling in hercousin's bosom, faltered out, "I was so much troubled about CousinTristan that I could not tell you. " "One of my most cherished hopes has become reality!" returned Madeleine, fondly. "M. De Bois knows how much I have wished for this consummation;and I think you have known it, Bertha, ever since you made me a certainconfession. " "What? Mademoiselle Bertha confessed to you, and you kept me inignorance?" cried Gaston, reproachfully. "I did _as I would be done by_, --an old rule that wears well, and keepsfriendships golden. " There was a significance in Madeleine's look comprehended by Gaston. Itwarned him that any confidence which she had reposed in him must besacred, even from his betrothed bride. Dr. Bayard was announced, and Madeleine conducted him to the chamberoccupied by her suffering guest, and withdrew. It strikes us that Madeleine's interpretation of the rules of decorummust also have suffered by her residence in America; for she very coollyleft the lovers to themselves, and, passing through the dining-room, walked into the garden. When she reëntered her boudoir she found Gaston and Bertha conversing ashappily as though no sorrow found place upon the earth, or certainlynone beneath that roof; but, since the world began, lovers have beenpronounced selfishly forgetful of the rest of mankind. We have ourdoubts, however, whether their being wholly wrapped up in each otherdeserves so harsh a name as _selfishness_, since that very closeness ofunion renders souls richer and larger, and gives to each additionalpower to receive and communicate happiness, while thoroughly selfishpeople lack the capacity to impart good gifts, and are content withbeing recipients. Madeleine had just seated herself opposite to the lovers, and wasthinking what a pleasant picture to contemplate were those two radiantcountenances, when Maurice entered with the physician. "I fear, sir, you look upon my father's state as very critical?" "Very, " replied Dr. Bayard, who was a man of such acknowledged abilitythat he could afford to be frank without being suspected of a desire tomagnify the importance of a case under his treatment. "Apoplexy may beproduced by various causes, hereditary disposition, high living, oranxiety of mind, or all united. I cannot decide what was the origin ofCount Tristan de Gramont's seizure. One side is entirely paralyzed, andthe other slightly. " "Can he be removed to his hotel with safety?" inquired Maurice. "Assuredly not. The risk would be very great. It should not beencountered if there is any possibility of his remaining here for thepresent. " He looked questioningly toward the mistress of the house. Madeleine promptly replied, "These apartments are entirely at theservice of Count Tristan and his family, if they will honor me byoccupying them. " "That is well, " returned the doctor. "Let the count remain undisturbeduntil he is convalescent. I will see him again in the evening. " Dr. Bayard took his leave, and Maurice turned to Madeleine, -- "This is most unfortunate. It is a great burden to be thrown upon you, Madeleine. " She interrupted him quickly. "You could hardly have spoken words lesskind, Maurice. If this shock could not have been spared your father, Iam thankful that it fell beneath my roof. He will be more quiet herethan in a hotel, and can be better tended. If the countess will permitme, I will gladly constitute myself his chief _garde malade_. I have hadsome experience"-- That inadvertent remark increased the agitation of Maurice, and heanswered, in a voice tremulous from the rush of sad recollections, "Whocan testify to that better than _I_? Do you think I have forgotten thegood _soeur de bon secours_ whose movements I used to watch, and whosefeatures, dimly traced by the feeble light of the _veilleuse_, I neverceased to gaze upon, as she moved about my bed?" Madeleine smiled and sighed at the same moment, and then remarked, perhaps to turn the conversation, -- "But your grandmother, --I fear it will be very difficult to obtain herconsent to Count Tristan's remaining under my roof. " "She cannot desire to risk my father's life!" returned Maurice, somewhatangrily. "I may as well tell her what is decided upon, at once. " Madeleine detained him. "First let me explain to you the arrangements I propose making. If thecountess will condescend to remain here, I will have the drawing-room, which opens into the room Count Tristan occupies, made into abed-chamber for her. The apartment beyond is the dining-room. Thislittle boudoir can be converted into a chamber for you. There is anapartment upstairs which I will occupy; and, as Bertha cannot remain atthe hotel alone, I shall be truly happy if she will share my room, orthat of the countess. " "Yours! yours!" exclaimed Bertha. "Oh, what a pleasant arrangement! Andhow quickly and admirably you have settled everything, just as youalways used to do; and nobody could ever plan half so well!" "It will be your turn to play the hostess, and to them all!" criedGaston. "Who would have believed such a revolution of the great wheelpossible! That's what I call _compensation in this world_; for fewthings, I know, can make you happier; and nothing can strike such asevere blow at the pride of the Countess de Gramont as to find herselfthe compulsory guest of the relative she has despised and persecuted. " Gaston, in his ardor and desire to see Madeleine avenged, had forgottenthe presence of the viscount; but Madeleine's look of reproach and herglance toward her cousin recalled his presence to the mind of herenthusiastic defender. "I beg pardon, Maurice, " said he; "I ought not to have spokendisrespectfully of the countess; that is, while you were by. " "I understand and can pardon you, Gaston. Now I must go to mygrandmother and learn what she says; for I can see Madeleine's 'fairyfingers' are impatient to commence their magical preparations for ourcomfort. " He spoke sadly; though his words were half gay in their import. Very few minutes elapsed before Maurice returned, accompanied by thecountess. She swept into the room, towering as majestically as thoughshe could rise above and conquer all the assailing army of circumstancesarrayed against her. Madeleine made a movement toward the door. "Remain! I wish to speak to you, Mademoiselle de Gramont, " cried thecountess in her most icy tone. "Permit me first to request Miss Thornton to watch beside Count Tristan. He ought not to be left alone. " Madeleine had been more thoughtful of the patient than his mother, andthe latter could not detain her. "Are you positive that your father cannot be moved? I am not convincedthat it is out of the question. " The countess addressed these words to Maurice. "The physician has just declared that the risk would be too great. Thatquestion, then, is definitely settled. It only remains for you to sayhow far you will accept Madeleine's hospitable proposition. " "_Hospitable!_ Do not talk of _hospitality_ but of _degradation!_ Whatwill be said when it is known that Count Tristan de Gramont wassheltered, during his illness, by his _mantua-maker relative!_--his_tradeswoman niece!_ There is only one condition upon which I can beforced to consent. " Here Madeleine reëntered, and the countess accosted her. "Mademoiselle de Gramont, the tide of fortune has, for the moment, setagainst our ill-fated house, and our humiliation can scarcely be morecomplete. You are aware that the physician you have employed (and withwhom I trust you are not in league) says that my son cannot be removedwithout danger. " "Yes, madame, and I hope Maurice has communicated the suggestion which Ihave hesitatingly, but very gladly, made for your accommodation. " "He has done so, " replied the countess, with undiminished stateliness. "As for myself, it is asking too much, --it is an impossibility that Ishould stoop to take up my abode here; but, while my son lies in hispresent state, which I am told is alarming (though I believe I ammisinformed), I, as his mother, should feel bound to visit him though itwere in a pest-house. Your offer is declined for myself and Mademoisellede Merrivale. Maurice gives me to understand that he considers his placeto be by his father's side, night and day; therefore for him it will beaccepted upon certain conditions; upon these only can I allow my son andgrandson to remain beneath your roof. " "Name them, madame. I will promptly, joyfully comply with your wishes ifit be in my power to do so. " "You will immediately close your establishment, that none of thetransactions of the trade which has sullied your rank may go on withinthese walls; and you will at once make known to the public your intendednuptials with Lord Linden. " "I never had the remotest intention, madame, of becoming the wife ofLord Linden. " "Has he not offered you his hand?" "Yes, and but for the accident which has wholly diverted my thoughts, hewould have received a distinct refusal before now. " "What reason can you advance for declining so eligible an offer?" "The same I gave at the Château de Gramont, nearly five years ago. Myaffections belong to another. " Madeleine spoke with fervor, as though she experienced a deep joy inthus proclaiming her constancy. Maurice, with a stifled sigh, turnedfrom her, and pretended to be gazing at the flowers in the conservatory. "And may we, at last, be favored, " demanded the countess, scornfully, "with the name of this unknown lover, who has been able to inspire youwith such a rare and romantic amount of constancy?" "It is one, madame, I cannot now mention with any more propriety than Icould have done years ago. " "Then it must be one of which you are ashamed! But how can I doubt that?Has he not allowed you to become a tradeswoman? Has not the whole affairbeen a disgraceful and clandestine one? You may well refuse to mentionhis name! It can only be one which your family can object to hear. " "You are right in one respect, madame: it is one which they object tohear; but, as I shall never be the wife of any other man, --yet never, inall probability, the wife of _that one_, --let the subject of marriage beset aside. In regard to closing this establishment, you are hardlyaware, madame, what you request. It would not be in my power to close itsuddenly, granting that I had the will to do so. I should not merelythrow out of employment some fifty struggling women, who are at presentoccupied here, but would prevent my keeping faith in fulfillingengagements already made. I will not dwell upon the great personal lossthat it would be to me. I should be glad to believe you are convinced ofthe impossibility of my complying with your wishes. " "Do you mean to say that you actually refuse?" "I am compelled to do so; but I will exert myself to render your visitsprivate. I will devise some method by which you will be entirelyshielded from the view of those who come here on business. " "You presume to think, then, that in spite of your insolent refusal, Iwill allow my son to remain here?" Madeleine felt that she could say no more, and looked beseechinglytoward Maurice, who exclaimed, -- "My father must remain here, for he cannot be removed. I gladly acceptmy cousin's kind offer, and will remain to watch beside my father. Bertha and yourself can continue to live at the hotel and visit him asoften as you feel inclined. " "Let me go! Let me go! I am suffocating! I stifle in this house!" burstforth the countess, as though she were really choking. "I cannot remain. Bertha, I want you. Maurice, give me your arm, --let me get awayquickly. " Maurice reconducted his grandmother to the hotel, almost without theirexchanging a word by the way. Bertha accompanied them, but she walkedbehind with Gaston de Bois. CHAPTER XXXIX. MINISTRATION. Maurice, exasperated as he was at his grandmother's insolence to hiscousin, well knew that any attempt to soothe Madame de Gramont, or evento reconcile her to the inevitable, would be fruitless. Her domineeringspirit could not bow itself to be governed, even by the pressure ofinexorable circumstance; she strove to control events by ignoring theirexistence, and to break the force of her calamity by encasing herself inan iron mail of resistance, which, she thought, no blows couldpenetrate. This was her state when she hastened to her own chamber, andwas about to lock herself in, under the conviction that she could shutout the phantom of misery which seemed to dog her steps. "I will return this evening, and let you know how my father progresses, "said Maurice, as she was closing the door. She reopened it without moving her hand from the silver knob. "Then youpersist in going back to that house?" "Would you have me leave my father without a son's care? I shall remainat Madeleine's while it is necessary for my father to stay there. " Maurice spoke with a decision that admitted no argument. The countess shut her door, and the sound of the turned key wasdistinctly audible. How she passed the succeeding hours no one knew; shewas not heard to move; she answered no knock; she took no notice ofBertha's petition that her dinner might be brought to her; she was notagain seen until the next morning. There is no proverb truer than the one which suggests that even an illwind blows some one good. Bertha was the gainer by her aunt's seclusion:she had full liberty, and for a large portion of the time she did notenjoy her freedom _alone_. Madeleine had been actively employed during the absence of Maurice. Herfirst step was to send for an upholsterer. Other arrangements followedwhich quickly converted the drawing-room into a comfortable bed-room. She herself proposed to take such rest as she found needful upon thesofa in her boudoir. The upholsterer had arrived, and Madeleine had no little difficulty inmaking him comprehend her plan of completely shutting off the staircasewhich led to the exhibition and working rooms above, by means ofdrapery. She had felt bound thus far to consult the countess' desire forprivacy. A separate entrance from the street was out of the question, but the draperies were to be disposed in such a manner that the instantMadame de Gramont and her family passed the threshold they werecompletely secluded. Madeleine was standing in the hall giving her orders, when Mauricereappeared. Finding her occupied, he passed on to his father's chamber. It was now six o'clock. Dinner was served for three persons. Madeleinesummoned her housekeeper and requested her to watch beside Count Tristanwhile his son dined. On entering the count's room Madeleine assured herself that there was nochange in the patient's condition, and then said, "Come, Ruth, dinner isserved; come, Maurice, if you assume the office of _garde malade_, Imust take care that your strength is not exhausted. " Her cheerfulness dispelled some of the heavy gloom that hung aboutMaurice, and he rose and followed her. She led the way through theapartment which had been the drawing-room, and pointing to the bed, said, -- "That is for you; this is your bed-chamber. " "Mine? I do not expect to need a bed; I mean to sit up with my father. " "Yes, to-night; but not every night, " she added, with playfulimperativeness. "I shall not allow _that_, and you see I have taken thereins into my own hands, and show that a little of the de Gramont loveof rule has descended to me with its blood. " They entered the dining-room. Maurice was struck by the air of combinedsimplicity and elegance which characterized all the appointments. Thedinner, too, was simple, but well-cooked. Maurice had no appetite atfirst, but was soon lured to eat, --everything placed before him appearedso inviting. Then, it was delightful to see Madeleine sitting quietlyopposite to him, looking even lovelier than she did in those happy, happy, by-gone days in the ancient château! Ruth's pretty and pleasantcountenance at another time might have been an addition; but we fearthat Maurice at that moment, did not appreciate the presence of a verymodest and attractive young girl who reflected in her own person not afew of Madeleine's virtues. The repast was of brief duration; butMadeleine was the one who partook of it most sparingly. She enjoyed somuch seeing Maurice eat that she could not follow his example. Maurice and Madeleine returned to Count Tristan's apartment together. Soon after, Dr. Bayard paid another visit, but expressed no opinion. Maurice went back to the hotel to keep his promise to his grandmother. There was no response when he knocked at her door; no reply, though hespoke to her, that she might hear his voice and know who was there. Bertha and Gaston were sitting together. Albeit the conversation inwhich they were engaged appeared to be singularly absorbing, the lattersaid, -- "Do you return immediately to Mademoiselle Madeleine's? If so, I willaccompany you; and, as I suppose you will watch beside your father, wewill sit up together. " Maurice assented and they set forth; that is, as soon as Bertha, whodetained them, first upon one plea and then upon another, would permit. But when Madeleine learned Gaston's friendly proposition, she answered, "We shall not need you. Maurice is hardly experienced enough for me totrust him just yet. I intend to sit up to-night; to-morrow night Mauricemust rest, at least part of the night, and then, M. De Bois, we will beglad to claim you as a watcher. " There was no appeal from Madeleine's decision. She exerted a mildauthority which was too potent for argument. After Gaston departed, Madeleine, for a brief space, left Maurice alonewith his father. When she stole back to her place at the head of thebed, she was attired in a white cambric wrapper, lightly girded at thewaist; a blue shawl of some soft material fell in graceful folds abouther form. She had entered with such a soundless step, that when Mauricesaw her sitting before him, he started, and his breath grew labored, asthough, for a second, he fancied that he gazed upon some unreal shape. The flowing white drapery, and the delicate azure folds of the shawlhelped the illusion, which her musical voice would scarcely havedispelled, but for the sense of reality produced by the words sheuttered. "It is just eleven; that is the hour at which the medicine was to begiven. " She took up the cup and administered a spoonful of its contents, beforeMaurice had quite recovered himself. The silence which followed did not last long. Madeleine began toquestion Maurice concerning his life in America, his opinions, hisexperiences, the people he had known and esteemed; and he responded, insubdued tones, by a long narrative of past events. It was the first time that Maurice had been called upon to watch besidea bed of sickness, and his was one of those vivacious temperaments towhich sleep is so indispensable that an overpowering somnolence willfling its charms about the senses, and bear the spirit away captive, even in the soul's most unwilling moments. Five o'clock had struck whenMadeleine perceived that her companion's eyes had grown heavy, and thathe was making a desperate struggle to keep them open. With womanly tactshe leaned her elbow on the bed, and rested her forehead on her hand, insuch a manner that her face was concealed, and thus avoided any furtherconversation. In less than ten minutes, the sound of clear but regularbreathing apprised her that Maurice had fallen asleep. When she looked up, at first timidly, but soon with security, Mauricewas lying back in his arm-chair--his hands were calmly folded together, his head drooped a little to one side, the rich chestnut curls (for hishair had darkened until it no longer resembled Bertha's golden locks)were disordered, and fully revealed his fair, intellectual brow; thepallor of his face rendered more than usually conspicuous the chisellingof his finely-cut features; the calm, half-smiling curve of hishandsome mouth gave his whole countenance an expression of placidhappiness which it had not worn, of late, in waking hours. Madeleine satand gazed at him as she could never have gazed when his eyes might havemet hers; she gazed until her whole soul flashed into her face; and ifMaurice had awakened, and caught but one glimpse of the fervent radianceof that look, he would surely have known her secret. There is intense fascination to a woman in scanning the face that to heris beyond all others worth perusing, when the soft breath of sleeprenders the beloved object unconscious of the eyes bent tenderly uponhis features. No check is given to the flood of worshipping love thatpours itself out from her soul; then, and perhaps _then only_, in hispresence, she allows the tide of pent-up adoration to break down all itsnatural barriers. However perfect her devotion at other times, there_may_, there always _does_ exist a half-involuntary _reticence_, asecret fear that if even her eyes were to betray the whole wealth of herpassion, it would not be well with her. Men are constitutionally, unconsciously _ungrateful_; give them abundance of what they covet mostand they prize the gift less highly than if its measure were stinted. And women have an instinct that warns them not to be too lavish. Thosewomen who love most fervently, most deeply, most _internally_, seldomframe the full strength of that love into words, or manifest it in lookseven; that is, in the waking presence of the one who holds their entirebeing captive. Maurice slept on, though the streets had long since become noisy, anddoor-bells were ringing, and there was a sound of hammering in the entry(the upholsterer at work), and steps could be distinguished passing upand down the stair. Madeleine, who at one period of her life had been used to night vigils, hardly felt fatigued; but she knew that she must hoard her strength ifshe would have it last to meet prolonged requirements. She touchedMaurice softly; but he was not aroused until she had made severalefforts to break his slumber. He looked about him in bewilderment, andthen at the white-robed figure before him as though it were anapparition. "It is I, and no ghost, " said Madeleine. "The morning has come; go andlie down for a couple of hours to refresh yourself, --I will do the same. Mrs. Lawkins will stay with your father. " "Have I really been asleep?" asked Maurice, in a tone of mortification. "Asleep, while you were waking? What a stupid brute I am!" "Have brutes easy consciences? for that is said to be man's bestlullaby. You must consider yourself still subject to my orders. Go andlie down. You shall be called to breakfast at nine o'clock; that willgive you two hours' rest. As for me, I shall fall asleep in a fewmoments. " Maurice yielded. Madeleine did _not_ fall asleep quite as soon as she predicted; but, after a time, she sank into a refreshing slumber. At nine o'clock theringing of the alarum she had taken the precaution to set, awoke her. She stole to Maurice's door, but had to knock several times before shecould arouse him; he was again enjoying that blessing which he hadlately professed to despise. "What is it? Who is there?" he cried out, at last. "It is I, Madeleine. Nine o'clock has just struck. We will breakfast assoon as you are ready to come into the dining-room. " She returned to her boudoir and made a hasty toilet, substituting, forher simple white wrapper, another, somewhat richly embroidered, andtrimmed with pale blue ribbons. We reluctantly venture upon thesuggestion, for it would indicate a decided weakness, quite unworthy ofMadeleine's good sense; but there is just a possibility that sheremembered she was to breakfast once more with her lover, and herartistic eye selected the most becoming morning-dress in her possession. Ruth had breakfasted some hours before; Madeleine and Maurice sat downto table alone. In spite of the grief which lay in the depths of boththeir hearts, it must be avowed that both experienced a sense of calmfelicity which made them shrink from contemplating the past, or lookingforward to the future; the delicious _present_ was all sufficient. Maurice wondered at himself, --was almost angry with himself, --and thenhe looked across the table and wondered no longer. Madeleine was less astonished at her own pleasant emotions. Partlythrough discipline, and partly through temperament, she always caught upall the sunshine of the passing hour, even though she did not lose sightof the clouds that lay in the distant horizon. And how often the presentbeams had pierced their way through thick darkness to reach her! "Come and tell me what you think of my invention, " said she, as theyrose from the table and opened the door which led into the hall. The upholsterer had already completed his work. A crimson drapery wassuspended from the ceiling to the ground, along the whole length of theentry, and entirely shut out the staircase. At the street door thisdrapery was so skilfully arranged that a person visiting the apartmentson the first floor could, at once, pass out of sight. "Will not these curtains render this portion of the house quitesecluded? I hope they will make your grandmother feel less aversion tocoming here. " "What resources you have, Madeleine! And how kindly you employ yourfertile ingenuity! _Who_ would have thought of such an arrangement?" "Why _any one_ who took the trouble to sit down and think about thematter at all! Possibly some people might not have been in the habit ofexercising their ingenuity enough to do that; but _any one_ who took thetrouble to reflect how the desired object could be accomplished wouldhave seen the difficulties melt away. " "Under the touch of 'Fairy Fingers, '" returned Maurice, admiringly. "Ah, that is an old superstition of yours which you have not quiteoutlived. Will you not go to your grandmother now? She may be expectingyou, and must be anxious for news. " "She showed great anxiety last night, " replied Maurice, bitterly. "Maurice, we have no right to judge her! Unless we ourselves haveexperienced her sensations, we cannot even comprehend her state. Speakto her this morning as though you had parted in all affection yesterday;and bring her here, if you can. For her own sake try to bring her. " Shortly after Maurice left, Madeleine received another letter from LordLinden. Finding that she did not reply to the first, he had called uponher twice on the day previous; but, greatly to his mortification, hadbeen denied. Later in the day, his wounded vanity was somewhat soothedby learning the calamity which had befallen Count Tristan, atMadeleine's house; though his lordship could hardly deem even such anevent sufficient excuse for her tardiness in replying to a letter of somuch importance. In reality, Madeleine had entirely forgotten her suitorand his letter. She glanced hastily over his second epistle, and, without further delay, wrote a few frigid lines conveying a definiterefusal of the proposed honor with which he had followed his propositionof dishonor. It is needless to describe Lord Linden's emotions when this responsereached him. Madeleine's language was so cuttingly cold, yet so full ofdignity, that he could only curse the rash blindness which could havepermitted him to make dishonorable advances to such a woman. He orderedhis trunk to be packed, and left Washington by that afternoon's train. Bertha had not seen Madame de Gramont from the time she locked herselfin her chamber until the breakfast hour, next day. The maid Mademoisellede Merrivale brought with her from Paris was in the habit of attendingthe countess as punctiliously as she did her own mistress; but herservices were, for the first time, dispensed with on the night previous. Bertha was oppressed by a vaguely uncomfortable sensation when sheentered the room where breakfast awaited her, and found the apartmentvacant. In a few moments the countess entered. How frightfully old she had grown in a single night! Her step, whichused to be so firm and measured, was feeble, uncertain, and heavy. Sixty-six years had not bowed her straight shoulders; but now theystooped. The blow of an iron hand had bent them at last! Her featureshad grown sharp and hard, and the lines looked as though they had beencut to twice their usual depth; the mouth appeared to have fallen, thecorners pressing downward; one might have thought that tears had scaldedaway the lustre and dimmed the vision of the dark eyes that yesterdayflashed with such steel-like brilliancy. The soft, white locks, thatwere usually arranged with so much skill, hung partially uncurled, andscarcely smoothed about her face, adding to the desolation of her wholeappearance. Bertha was impressed with greater awe than she had ever experiencedtoward her aunt in the latter's most imperious moments; yet the younggirl mustered courage to advance and embrace her, --more timidly, perhaps, but also more tenderly than was her wont. The countesspermitted her own cold lips to sweep Bertha's forehead; but they couldhardly be said to press upon it a kiss. As they sat at table, Bertha, whose tongue had a gift for prattling, could not make an effort to speak. The countess had not tasted foodsince the light, noonday repast of the day previous, yet she nowswallowed her cup of coffee as though it nearly choked her, and tried, in vain, to force down a few morsels of bread. Nothing would haveinduced her to depart from the custom of her country where coffee andbread are considered all-sufficient for the first meal. They had returned to the drawing-room when Maurice entered. The countessgreeted him with an inclination of the head, but asked no questions. "My father seems to be in the same state, " said he. "There was no changeduring the night; he does not appear to suffer; but, as yet, he is notconscious. " Madame de Gramont made no reply, but her breast visibly heaved. "Did you sit up?" asked Bertha. "Are you not very much fatigued? DidMadeleine watch also? Is she not very weary?" "Not very; nor am I. " Then he turned to his grandmother. "Will you comewith me to see my father? You will find that every arrangement possiblehas been made for your privacy. " The lips of the countess curled scornfully, but she rose and passed intoher chamber. "I must make ready also, " cried Bertha, flying out of the room. "I am soglad that we are to go. " She returned wearing her bonnet and mantle. It was sometime before thecountess reëntered, prepared to depart. Maurice had ordered a carriage, and they were soon at Madeleine's door. If the countess noticed the draperies which closed off a portion of thehouse, she gave no sign of doing so. Madeleine was sitting beside Count Tristan, but rose to yield her placeto his mother. Madame de Gramont only betrayed that she was aware of herniece's presence by a slight movement of the head, while her eyes lookedpast her toward the passive figure lying on the bed. She took the vacantseat with a sort of frozen quietude, and her limbs seemed to settlethemselves rigidly into positions where they remained immovable. Madeleine at once retired, knowing that her presence must be galling tothe proud relative whom circumstance thus forced into contact with her;nor did she reënter the room again while the countess was there. Mauriceremained with his father and grandmother, but Bertha stole away toMadeleine's boudoir. M. De Bois, who had called to inquire after the count, and to know ofwhat service he could be, found the cousins together. Madeleine, whosewealth of energy rendered idleness, when it could be avoided, anothername for weariness, had seated herself at her desk, and was makingsketches for Ruth to copy. Bertha sat beside her, destroying pencils inher awkward attempt to sharpen them. Madeleine did not desist from heroccupation, but Bertha's was quickly at an end. She and her lover conversed for a while; then Gaston offered to show herMadeleine's conservatory, and then they passed into the garden. Whatwonder that they found unknown charms in the opening flowers! Was it nota spring morning? And was there not spring in their hearts? Was it notlife's blossoming season with them? At noon luncheon was served; and Madeleine, in remembrance of herguests, had given such especial instructions to Mrs. Lawkins that theluncheon closely resembled the _déjeuner à la fourchette_ served at thathour in France. As Bertha was still in the garden, Madeleine passed intothe conservatory and called her. "Will you not go in, Bertha, and see if you can induce the countess toaccompany you and Maurice to the dining-room? Say that I will remainwith Count Tristan while they take luncheon. " Bertha went on her errand, but quickly returned with Maurice. "My aunt does not seem disposed to eat. " In reality Bertha had received no answer from the countess. DidMadeleine expect that Madame de Gramont would break bread under herroof? The haughty aristocrat would sooner have perished of hunger. "Then we will go to table together, " replied the hostess, disappointed, in spite of herself. "M. De Bois, you will join us?" The meal passed off very quietly, but very pleasantly. Bertha and Gastonwere happy enough in each other to have thought a repast of bread andcheese a banquet. Maurice could not but be penetrated by the charm ofsharing Madeleine's home; and, at table, where she presided with suchgraceful ease, he never forgot that it was in _her_ home he wasdwelling. Madeleine herself could not gaze upon the little circle ofbeloved ones, from whom she had been so long separated, and who were nowso singularly drawn around her, without feeling supremely happy. In themidst of sorrow there are often given, to soften and render itendurable, passing flashes of absolute joy. When they rose from table Maurice returned to his father's chamber. Hisgrandmother still sat erect and statue-like in her chair as though shehad not moved. The hours flew by only too rapidly with Bertha, however they might havedragged in the sick-chamber. M. De Bois, also, must have lost allconsciousness of time, for he did not propose to take his departure, andcould Madeleine, even by a hint, dismiss him from her own house? "Past five o'clock, " said she, looking up from her drawing. "Bertha, pray ask Maurice to come to me. " When Maurice obeyed the summons, Madeleine remarked, showing him herwatch, "You see how late it is; I fear the countess will becomeexhausted for want of food. It is in vain to hope that she could beinduced to dine here; had you not better conduct her home and return?" "Yes, certainly; it would be the wisest plan; how thoughtful you are!" "Shall I send for a carriage? I fear she would not enter mine, or Iwould order that. " "I suppose not; it is wonderful to what cruel and inconsistent lengthshe carries her pride. " "It is not our place, Maurice, to measure its length or analyze itsworkings. There is Robert in the hall; tell him to call a carriage. " When the carriage arrived, the countess, Bertha and Maurice, drove awaytogether. CHAPTER XL. RECOGNITION. With electric rapidity flashed the news through Washington thatMademoiselle Melanie, the fashionable dressmaker, was a lady of rank, --aheroine, --a being hardly inferior to those disguised princesses whofigure in popular fairy tales. Numberless romantic stories werefabricated and circulated, and the startling and improbable motivesassigned for her incognita bore witness to the fertile imagination ofthe American public. It may well be imagined that there was but one all-engrossing themediscussed in the working-rooms of Mademoiselle Melanie's establishment. Mademoiselle Victorine was not a little disgusted when she learned thata secret of such moment had been so successfully concealed from her. Butthe quick-witted foreigner had too much tact to betray her ignorance byevincing astonishment in the presence of the _employées_, or the patronsof Mademoiselle Melanie. On the contrary, Mademoiselle Victorine gavethem to understand that she had all along been the repository ofMademoiselle de Gramont's secrets, and knew more of her past history andfuture plans than was yet suspected. Madeleine's thoughtful kindness prompted her to make a brief explanationto Ruth Thornton, whom she had so long treated as a friend, or youngersister. Ruth was moved and gratified by the unsought confidence; but hergenuine, up-looking veneration for Madeleine could not be increased bythe knowledge that she was the daughter of the late Duke de Gramont. Madeleine concluded her narrative by saying, -- "One may be very poor, and very dependent, and yet be the daughter of aduke; and even a duke's daughter may find it less irksome to earn herown bread than to eat the bread of charity. " Ruth asked, tremblingly, "But now will all go on as before? Will yournoble relatives permit you to continue your present life?" "My relatives can exert no influence which will turn me from the path Ihave chosen, " replied Madeleine, divining her young _protegée's_thoughts. "While Count Tristan remains in my house, _you_ will act as myrepresentative. When he is restored, or, rather, when he is no longer myguest, I shall resume my former duties. " Ruth's sinking heart was lifted up by this assurance, and the cloud thathad gathered upon her sweet face passed away, and left it as placid asMadeleine's own. Madeleine's tranquillizing influence over others wasone of her most remarkable traits. She was not merely calm andself-possessed herself, but her presence communicated a steadfast, hopeful calmness that was irresistible. The _beau monde_ had decided that as Mademoiselle de Gramont's familyhad claimed her, she would unhesitatingly abandon her humble occupation, and assume her legitimate position in the social sphere; and great werethe lamentations over the noble _couturière's_ supposed abdication ofher throne. The next question to be settled was whether her former patrons shouldrecognize and visit her as an equal, ignoring their previousacquaintance. Madame de Fleury was the first to reply to that query. Wewill not make ourselves responsible for the assertion that she wasprompted by purely disinterested motives, and the unqualified admirationwith which Mademoiselle Melanie had long since inspired her. It is _justpossible_ that other incentives had their weight in her light head, andthat believing herself about to be deprived of the inventive geniuswhich had rendered her toilet the glory and delight of her life, shemight have determined to preserve Mademoiselle Melanie's friendship thatshe might secure her advice on all important occasions. Be that as itmay, Madame de Fleury immediately left cards for Mademoiselle deGramont, and her example was followed by the Countess Orlowski, and ahost of other ladies, who conscientiously walked in her footsteps. The morning of the third day after Count Tristan's seizure passed muchin the same manner as the second. Maurice conducted his grandmother andBertha to Madeleine's residence. The countess was as silent, as frigid, as immovable as before. She took the same seat, kept the same unbentposition, appeared to be as completely abstracted from what was passingaround her, as on the day previous. Madeleine absented herself, andBertha soon stole to her side. M. De Bois, whose vigils, it appeared, had not fatigued him sufficiently for extra repose to be requisite, joined them at an early hour. About noon, Maurice hastily entered Madeleine's boudoir and said, "Ithink there is some change in my father; his face is much paler and hiseyes appear to be wandering about with a faint sign of consciousness;the motion of his right hand is restored, for he has lifted it severaltimes. Pray come to him, Madeleine. " "I only banished myself in the fear that my presence would not beagreeable to the countess, " replied Madeleine. "Do you think it will notnow pain her to see me?" "I cannot tell, but you _must_ come. " Madeleine obeyed. The countess had risen and was bending over the bed. "My son! Tristan, my son! do you not hear your mother?" she cried, in ahollow, unnatural voice. His eyes still gazed restlessly about, with a helpless, hopeless, supplicating look. "My dear father, " said Maurice, taking the hand which the count hadagain lifted and let fall. No sign of recognition followed. "What do you think of his state, Madeleine? Is he not better?" His cousin softly drew near, and taking in her own the hand Maurice haddropped, said, "You know us, Count Tristan, do you not?" His eyes, as though drawn by her voice, turned quickly, and fastenedthemselves upon her face; his hands made a nervous clutch, his lipsmoved, but the sounds were thick and indistinct, yet the first syllableof her name was audible to all. "Do not try to speak, " said Madeleine, soothingly; "you have been veryill; you are still weak; do not endeavor to make any exertion. " He continued to look at her beseechingly, and to clasp her hand more andmore tightly, --so tightly that it gave her positive pain, and hisquivering lips again made a fruitless effort to utter her name. "Tristan, my son!" exclaimed the countess, motioning Madeleine to moveaside. Madeleine attempted to obey, but could not release her hand from itsimprisonment. Count Tristan did not appear to hear, or rather to recognize the voiceof his mother, although she continued to address him in a loud tone, andto beg, almost to command, him to listen to her. Maurice also spoke tohim, but without making any impression on his mind. There was no meaningin his gaze when it rested on the faces of either; but his eyes, theinstant they fell upon Madeleine's countenance, grew less glassy, more_living_, and through them the darkened soul looked dimly out. Whatever might have been the internal sufferings of the countess, theydid not conquer her stoicism. She resumed her seat, and her lips wereagain sealed; their close compression and ashy hue alone told that thetorture of the mental rack upon which she was stretched had beenaugmented. As soon as Madeleine felt the count's hand relaxing its firm grasp, shewithdrew hers, though he made a faint attempt to detain her. As sheretired from the bed, his eyes followed her, and his lips moved again. "You are not going, Madeleine?" questioned Maurice. "My father evidentlyknows you, --wants you near him; you are the only one he recognizes; donot leave us!" Was that low, stifled sound which reached their ears, in spite of thefirmly-compressed lips of the countess, an inward sob or groan? As Madeleine sat down, Dr. Bayard entered. Maurice related what hadpassed, and the doctor requested Madeleine to address the patient. Thathe made an effort to reply was unmistakable. Dr. Bayard then spoke tothe count, but without attracting his attention. He desired Maurice toaccost him, but no better result ensued. He signified to the countessthat she should do the same; but the agony of beholding her sonrecognize, cling to one toward whom she entertained the bitterestenmity, while the voice of his mother--his mother who loved him with allthe strength of her proud nature--was unheeded, became intolerable. Sherose up, not quickly, but with all her wonted stateliness, and with afirm and measured pace walked out of the room. She had no definitepurpose, --she did not know where she was going, or where she wished togo, --but she could not abide the sight forced upon her eyes in thatchamber. "Maurice, attend your grandmother, " whispered Madeleine. Maurice had not thought of stirring, but he rose and opened the door ofthe adjoining room. "Leave me! I would be alone!" said the countess, as he entered. He returned to his father's side. Dr. Bayard was giving his orders to Madeleine. A crisis had just passed, he said. Count Tristan was better; there was reason to hope that hewould recover. One side was still paralyzed and there was partialparalysis of the tongue. His mind, too, was in a torpid state, but mightgradually awaken. As Madeleine was the person whom he recognized, itwould be well for her to remain near him and minister to his wants. Madeleine was more than content. An hour passed and the countess did not return to her son's bedside. Maurice, at Madeleine's suggestion, ventured to intrude upon her. Sheappeared to be lost in a deep revery, and did not raise her eyes at hisapproach. "I fear you are not well, my grandmother; will you not allow me toconduct you home?" "I am _well_, " she answered bitterly, "but I will go. My presence is ofno use here; my own son ignores it!" She spoke as though the invalid had refused to recognize her for theexpress purpose of adding a fresh insult to those which an evil fortune, a malicious chance (to use her own expressions), had heaped upon herhead. Without again visiting her son's chamber, she entered the carriage whichMaurice had ordered; he took his seat opposite to her, and neitherremembered, until they entered the hotel, that Bertha was left behind. "I was thinking so much of my poor father that I quite forgot Bertha, "he said, apologetically. "I will return for her at once. " "Yes, go, go!" was all the countess replied. CHAPTER XLI. UNBOWED. Maurice did not suspect how Bertha was employed at that moment, and howmuch his heart would have had cause to rejoice if she proved successfulin her undertaking. She was so happy herself in her betrothed that shewas possessed by a strong desire to make some effort by which a likefelicity might be secured to Madeleine. It had been one of theday-dreams of Bertha's girlhood that she and Madeleine should receivetheir wedding rings in the same hour. Gaston was entreating his_fiancée_ to name a period, even though it might be some months hence(only a few days before, we think, he declared himself content withknowing that he might hope for this crowning joy _at the most distantdate_), when he might call her his. Bertha replied, tantalizingly, "The time depends upon Madeleine, notupon me. She must name the day. " "May she, indeed?" asked M. De Bois, joyfully, for he was convinced thathe could influence Madeleine's decision. "Yes, she will name it in naming the day for her own wedding. I havealways intended that we should be married together. " M. De Bois's countenance fell. "But Mademoiselle Madeleine is not even engaged. " "Is she not? Are you sure?" "Quite sure, " returned Gaston. "But she loves some one, --does she not?" questioned Bertha, artfully. "She has said she did, " was the cautious response. "Then, if she loves some one, we have only to find out who it is andbring them together, and get them to understand each other, and helpthem to fix the day. Would not that be charming?" "Yes, very, " replied M. De Bois; but he sighed as he spoke, rememberinghow improbable it was that anything of the kind would take place. Bertha had a suspicion that he must have some knowledge of Madeleine'smysterious lover, and her idea of the perfect confidence that ought toexist not only between husband and wife, but a lover and his betrothedbride, would of itself have been sufficient inducement to make herendeavor to discover the secret. "You have been near Madeleine all these years that she has been lost tous. " "Yes, happily for _me_; and if she can only say happily for _her_, Ishould be proud as well as thankful. " "She does, --I am sure she does say so, " responded Bertha, affectionately. "What could she have done without you? It was becauseyou were so much to Madeleine that you became so much to--to--that isso--so--I mean"-- Many a sentence of Gaston's had she finished when his words becameentangled through confusion; it was but a fair return for him toconclude this one of hers, though perhaps he did so in a manner thatadded to her embarrassment. Bertha recovered herself, and shook back her curls as though they werein fault. Then looking up archly in Gaston's face she said, -- "And if I wanted an excuse for what I have done, could I have found abetter?" "Not easily, " returned the delighted lover, "and I excuse you for apiece of bad taste which has rendered me the happiest and proudest ofmen. " "But we were talking of Madeleine, " persisted Bertha; "you know everyone whom she knows, --do you not?" "What, all her patrons? Heaven forbid!" "No, --no, --you are very tantalizing, --I did not mean those. I mean thepersons who visit her: you know them all?" "Most of them, I believe. " "Then you must be acquainted with this invisible lover of hers!" Now was M. De Bois puzzled. Bertha saw the advantage she had gained. "You must have seen him, --you must know all about him, --and _I mustknow_ also. Not to satisfy my curiosity, --do not imagine _that!_--I amnot in the least curious; but because I want to assist Madeleine. I wantto judge whether nothing can be done to bring about her union with him. " "Nothing, --I fear, nothing, " replied M. De Bois, sadly. "Then you _do_ know who he is? There, you have admitted that you did!" "Are you laying snares for me, then, sweet Bertha? But I shall not letyou exult over my falling into one of these well-laid traps. I only saidI feared nothing could be done to bring about Mademoiselle Madeleine'sunion with any one. " "But you know whom she loves?" "She has never told me. " "But you at least _suspect_?" "What right have I to _suspect_? And you know I am _dull_, --I did noteven suspect _whom_ her cousin Bertha loved. " Bertha hung her head for a moment, but quickly returned to the attack. "Tell me, at least, whom you think Madeleine _prefers_. " "I have no right to do that, --it would not be fair to MademoiselleMadeleine, --she would never forgive me!" "Ah, then you and I may have secrets from each other? That is theinference I shall draw if you refuse, " said Bertha, provokingly. This was a most distasteful suggestion to Gaston, who had a masculinetouch of jealousy in his composition, --just enough to make him desire tomonopolize Bertha _entirely_. He was not willing that she should have athought which she could not communicate to him; to hide anything fromhim was to rob him! Was his an exceptional case, or are men in generalas _exigeant_? "Well, you do not answer?" Bertha observed. "I should be grieved if I had not your _whole_ confidence, now andever, " he replied. "So shall I be if I have not yours. Should one exact more than one iswilling to give? Tell me who it is that you suspect Madeleine of loving. Tell me at once!" "I cannot, --I have no right!" "I think you have no right to withhold the knowledge from me. " "I think so too, " answered Gaston, sorely perplexed; "and yet I must nottell you! Will you not be generous enough to pity me, and ask me nomore?" Bertha only pouted at this appeal; but Gaston must have found some meansof soothing her, for, by and by, she said, coquettishly, -- "Of course, I only wanted to know on Madeleine's account and on yours. " "_Mine?_" exclaimed Gaston. "Yes, _yours_; because if I had discovered who this lover was, I mighthave given him some valuable hints, and all might come right veryquickly; as it is, you may have to wait a long time for a bride. " "I? Why, I am not Mademoiselle Madeleine's lover!" "No, but you are very dependent upon him. You cannot encircle yourbride's finger with a wedding-ring until he passes one on the taperfinger of his. " "Bertha, that is unreasonable!" remonstrated Gaston. "All the more womanly! Of course it is unreasonable; I never laid claimto being _reasonable_; but, on the other hand, I am obstinate. WhenMadeleine names the day for her marriage she names the day for mine. " "But if she should never marry, and that is possible. " "Then _I never shall!_" said Bertha, with a petulant little air ofdetermination which looked only too real. M. De Bois had no opportunity at that moment to test the effect of hisnewly-acquired eloquence, for Maurice entered. "Bertha, will you believe that I have escorted my grandmother home andactually forgotten you? The carriage waits, and I am deputed to see yousafely to the hotel. " "Do you suppose I shall accept as an escort one who thought me of toolittle importance to bear me in mind?" asked Bertha, who was not wantingin feminine tact, that sixth sense of womanhood, which becomeswonderfully quickened when love sharpens the faculties. Gaston joined in; "My dear fellow, you could scarcely hope to be treatedcivilly after such a confession. But I will do my utmost to relieve youin this unpleasant predicament. Mademoiselle Bertha refuses you as anescort--but, as she cannot return alone, I will take your place. " "And you may dismiss your carriage, " returned Bertha. "I prefer towalk. " "And you really will not let me accompany you?" asked Maurice. "Whatwill my grandmother say?" "No doubt we shall hear _that_ when we reach the hotel, " was the younglady's saucy reply. But they did _not_ hear; for the countess had closed her door, and didnot open it again until she summoned Adolphine to undress her. The watchers beside Count Tristan that night were Madeleine and Maurice. The count was somewhat restless and often muttered unintelligible words;but he continued to recognize Madeleine and seemed pleased to have hernear him. Maurice did not fall asleep again; he and Madeleine talked, inwhispers, the whole night through, with the exception of those briefintervals when the count was awake. The themes of conversation were soabundant, so self-increasing, there was always so much which remaineduntold, that the topics of interest appeared to be inexhaustible. Madeleine had given orders that Ruth and Mrs. Lawkins should commencetheir watch at five o'clock; but she could hardly believe that hour hadarrived when the housekeeper entered, followed by Ruth. Maurice declaredthat he was not in the slightest degree fatigued, or sleepy, and did notneed rest; but Madeleine, with smiling imperativeness, ordered him tobed; and certainly Maurice, when he obeyed, slept remarkably sound for aman who was not in the least fatigued or sleepy, and who was inclined tobattle against sleep because he could not bear to lose the consciousnessof being beneath the same roof as the one so long loved, so long andvainly sought; and because it was a joy inexpressible to lie still andthink over all the words she had just uttered, and to picture her faceuntil it seemed actually before him. Yet, in spite of this delightfuloccupation, inexorable sleep would suddenly fling her mantle over hissenses, and even refused to grant him the happiness of continuing hisblissful dreams in her own realm. Maurice sought his grandmother the next morning, at the usual hour, andcarried her the tidings that Count Tristan moved his limbs more freely, and that he had even spoken several words which could be comprehended. She gave no sign of preparing to accompany her grandson, and, afterwaiting awhile, he asked, -- "Will you and Bertha be ready soon? It is later than usual. " "I shall not go, " replied the countess slowly, and as though it cost hera great effort to force out the words. Maurice made no remonstrance; he well knew that to endeavor to alter aresolution of hers would be a fruitless attempt. "And you, Bertha?" he inquired. Bertha looked toward the countess: "Perhaps you would not like me toleave you?" "_All leave me!_" she almost groaned out. "Why not you?" "I will stay with my aunt, " replied Bertha, without hesitation. And she remained all day beside the afflicted, but ever haughty, countess. They did not converse, for the latter rarely spoke, even inanswer to Bertha's questions, and Bertha could invent no mode ofarousing and amusing her. M. De Bois, not finding Bertha at Madeleine's, came to the hotel; buthis presence was obviously very distasteful to the countess. She did notwithdraw, she would have suffered martyrdom (as she did) rather thancommit the impropriety of leaving Bertha alone with her lover; but shesat with knitted brows, her stony eyes turned scrutinizingly upon them, listening to and passing judgment upon every word they uttered, andlooking a rebuke if Bertha ventured to smile. The icy chill of such apresence rendered Bertha and Gaston so thoroughly uncomfortable, thatthe young girl, although she was one of those beings who could hardlybear to live out of the sight of those she loved best, felt relievedwhen Gaston rose and bade her adieu. His visit had been brief, yet itseemed longer than all the combined hours they had passed togetherduring the last three days. The visage of the countess relaxed somewhatafter Gaston had gone, but she remained lost in thought without furthernoticing her niece. Bertha was, at least, spared the nervous unrestproduced by those piercing eyes ever upon her. Unfortunately Bertha's resources for self-diversion were of the mostlimited description. Hers was a social, a wholly dependent nature; shecould not, like Madeleine, create her own amusement, and make her ownoccupation. She tried to read, but could not fix her attention; shetried to embroider, but quickly threw down her work; she could onlywander in and out of the room, now watching at the window as though sheexpected some one; now sitting down and jumping up again; now turningover books and papers, and looking about for something, she did not knowwhat, until she had thrown the room into complete disorder; andcertainly her restless flitting backward and forward would have halfdistracted any one less absorbed than the countess. During one ofBertha's fits of contemplation at the window, she exclaimed, -- "Here comes Maurice, at last! I thought he would never be here!" "I think my father is decidedly improving, " said Maurice, as he entered. "I feel certain he recognized me to-day, and I thought he attempted topronounce my name. " A faint light gleamed in the eyes of the countess at these words, but itwas quenched by those which followed. "Madeleine, he always seems to know, and he evidently likes to have hernear him. His eyes wander after her when she leaves the room, andto-day, I thought he tried to smile when she returned. " "He is better then; it will soon be possible to move him; he can soonhave that care which _should_ be most acceptable to every son, and, Itrust, has ever been to mine. " The countess made this assertion proudly, in spite of the deep wound shehad received through her son's recognition of Madeleine; she had triedto forget that blow, or to persuade herself that it had not been dealt. Maurice did not know what answer to make, and remained silent. "Aunt, you would not think of having cousin Tristan brought here untilhe is nearly well, --that is, well enough to walk about, --would you?"asked Bertha; and her accents expressed her disapproval of such anattempt. "He shall come the very moment that it is possible! Do you suppose thatI would submit to his remaining where he is one instant longer than isabsolutely necessary?" No reply to this declaration was needed or expected. Maurice returned toMadeleine's house with a sense of thankfulness that the count's seizurehad taken place where it did. Gaston and the housekeeper were the watchers beside the count thatnight, taking the places of Madeleine and Maurice at midnight, --thisexchange having now become the established rule for alternate nights. In spite of the iron-like constitution, and iron-like character of thecountess, --in spite of her valiant, her desperate struggles, --herstrength began to fail under the pressure of her hidden sorrow. She wasunwilling to admit that she was subject to bodily any more than tomental infirmities. She belonged to that rare class described by thepoet when he speaks of one who "Scarce confesses That his blood flows, or that his appetite Is more to bread than stone. " And though she had been suffering for days from a low nervous fever, neither her words nor actions gave the slightest indication that she wasnot in her usual health. But, one morning, when she endeavored to rise, her limbs refused to support her, --her head swam, --it was withdifficulty that she poured out a glass of water to cool her parched andburning lips, and she was so fearful of falling (there seemed somethingpositively awful to her in the possibility of _prostration_, perhaps onaccount of the fall it typified) that she staggered back to bed andthere remained. Neither Bertha's persuasions, nor those of Maurice, could induce her toallow a physician to be summoned. Maurice suggested Dr. Bayard, who wasattending Count Tristan, but the countess was even more opposed to himthan to any other medical attendant. Was he not aware of herrelationship to the _mantua-maker_? Had he not seen Count Tristanrecognize that humble and degraded relative when he did not know his ownmother?--his own son? No, --she never allowed physicians to approach her;she never had need of them; she had none now, so she affirmed. Bertha was not particularly well fitted to preside in a sick-room, andher maid, Adolphine, was versed in the arts of the toilet alone. Shecould have made the most charming cap for an invalid, but would haveproved particularly clumsy in smoothing a pillow for the head by whichthe cap was to be worn. Yet the countess obstinately refused to have aproper attendant engaged. She wanted nothing, she said, except to beleft to herself, --not to be disturbed, --not even to be accosted. The position of Maurice grew far more painful than ever. He could nolonger devote himself exclusively to his father. Even though he could, in reality, do nothing for his grandmother, yet he felt bound to pass aportion of the day by her side; for Bertha was too much distressed andtoo inefficient to be left with no assistance save that of her frivolousmaid. Madeleine longed to seek her aunt, and make some few, needfularrangements for her comfort; but she could not doubt that her presencewould do more harm than good. All that she could effect was to instructMaurice, as far as possible, in the requirements of a sick-room, and tohave prepared, in her own kitchen, the light food suitable to aninvalid, which it would be difficult to obtain in a hotel. Every daydelicate broth, beef tea as clear as amber, panada, simple jellies, andchoice fruit were sent to Bertha for her aunt, without the knowledge ofthe countess; indeed, the only nourishment the invalid tasted wasprovided by the thoughtful Madeleine. CHAPTER XLII. DOUBLE CONVALESCENCE. A fortnight passed on. At its close the vigorous constitution of thecountess, united to her powerful volition, gained a victory over hermalady. She had remained unshaken in her resolution not to receivemedical advice; she had taken no remedies, --used no precautions; yetthe fever had been conquered. Her strength began to return, and sheinsisted upon leaving her bed, and being dressed, not as befits aninvalid, but in her usual precise and _soigné_ style. Adolphine timidlysuggested that a wrapper would be more comfortable than her ordinaryattire, and a morning cap would allow her to repose her head. Thecountess awed her into silence by remarking: "I keep my chamber no longer. I shall dress in a manner suitable to thedrawing-room. " During the progress of the tedious toilet, it was more than onceapparent that she was battling against a sense of faintness; but eventhis discomfort did not induce her to allow a single pin to be lessconscientiously placed, a single curl less carefully smoothed. Adolphinedid not dare to betray that she perceived the failure of her mistress'strength, and had not courage to offer her a glass of water. When thefolds of her heavy black silk dress were adjusted, her collar andsleeves, of rich lace, arranged, her girdle tightly clasped with abuckle of brilliants which was an heirloom, and her snowy hairornamented with a Parisian head-dress of mingled lace, velvet, andflowers, she contemplated herself in the mirror as complacently asthough she perceived no change in her shrunken, haggard, alteredfeatures, and rose up to proceed to the _salon_. Her first steps were so feeble and uncertain that Adolphine startedforward involuntarily, to offer her arm; but a look from her mistressmade her draw back, and the tread of the countess grew firmer as sheentered the drawing-room. She did not sink into the nearest seat, butcrossed the apartment to the arm-chair which she was accustomed tooccupy; but she had hardly sat down, before her eyes closed and her headfell back; her face was as white as that of the dead. Adolphine caughtup a bottle of cologne; but she stood in such fear of the countess, thatwithout using the restorative she ran to summon Bertha. Berthaapproached her aunt in great alarm, but sprinkled the cologne on herface with lavish hands, applied it to her nostrils, and bathed hertemples. In a few moments Madame de Gramont opened her eyes and said, -- "A little on my handkerchief, Bertha. Adolphine carelessly forgot togive me any. " Her proud, unconquered spirit would not admit the passing insensibilityof its mortal part. There was nothing to be done except for her nieceand maid to appear unconscious of the weakness which she herselfignored. Adolphine placed a footstool beneath her mistress' feet andretired. Bertha went to the window and looked out, --a favorite amusementof hers, as we are aware. The fortnight had been one of severe privation and discipline to her. She had not once seen Madeleine, for she could not have left her aunt, except when Maurice was with her, and the countess would not havepermitted her niece to go forth unprotected by Maurice or her maid, andthe latter could not be spared. The escort of Bertha's affianced husbandMadame de Gramont would have considered highly improper. Gaston's visits, though he came every day, were brief andunsatisfactory; for the countess, who could not forbid them, (as shefelt inclined to do), ordered the large folding-doors which divided herchamber from the drawing-room to be left open, and desired Adolphine totake her work into the latter apartment. Conversation in an ordinarytone was quite audible to the countess, and could not but be heard byAdolphine, who had a tolerable knowledge of English. What lover cares toconverse to more than one listener? Bertha pined for the fresh air, --for a drive in the country, or, betterstill, a stroll in the capitol grounds with Gaston; but this latter wasa happiness almost as far out of her reach as the paradise which shedeemed it foreshadowed. The countess had grown highly irascible during her illness, and asBertha and her maid were the only ones upon whom she had a chance ofventing her spleen, she spared neither. She experienced a sick longingfor her native land; she more than ever detested the republican countryin which she was sojourning, and she heaped upon Bertha the bitterestreproaches as the instigator of the exile which had been followed by somany calamities. The countess never condescended to remember that herwealthy young relative had liberally borne all expenses since they leftthe Château de Gramont, where its owners had no longer the means ofresiding. Of this fact she might be supposed to be ignorant, as shenever vouchsafed a thought to _money matters_; it, however, had beenmade known to her by Count Tristan before she consented to the journey;but the _trivial circumstance_ was quickly forgotten. While Bertha was dreamily looking out of the window, and wondering whenshe would be freed from this prison-like life, she heard the door open, and turned quickly, hoping to greet the all-brightening presence. It wasRobert, Madeleine's servant, who entered bearing a silver salver. Berthahad not supposed that the countess would, without warning, occupy herusual place in the drawing-room, and had not guarded against Robert'sbeing seen. The young girl was so much discomposed that she stoodmotionless, aghast, expecting some terrible outburst from her aunt. Robert had admitted the countess at each of her compulsory visits to theresidence of "Mademoiselle Melanie, " and it seemed hardly possible thatshe would not recognize him again. Bertha ought to have known Madame deGramont better than to have supposed she would have stooped to bestowglances enough upon a servant of Madeleine's, or, indeed, any servant, to know his features. Robert placed the salver upon the table, andeither because he was naturally a silent man, or because the presence ofthe countess struck him dumb, or because he had no message to deliverthat morning, retired without speaking. Bertha looked anxiously at heraunt; the immobility of her features was reassuring. The salver bore a pitcher of admirably prepared chocolate, made byMadeleine herself, a plate carefully covered with a napkin, containing adelicate species of Normandy cake, to which the countess had beenparticularly partial in Brittany (Madeleine had remembered the recipe), and a dish of enormous strawberries, served, according to the Frenchcustom, with their stems. It occurred to Bertha, for the first time, that perhaps there was a cipher upon Madeleine's plate which wouldbetray from whence it came; she examined a spoon before she ventured topresent the tray to her aunt. The silver only bore the letter "M. "Bertha, considerably relieved, but still flurried by the peril she hadjust escaped, placed a small table before Madame de Gramont, then pouredout and handed her the chocolate in silence, fearing to provoke somequestion. The countess, who was growing faint again, gladly accepted thenourishing beverage, and even ate several cakes. She seemed to enjoythem, for it was long since she had spoken in so pleasant a tone as whenshe remarked, -- "These cakes remind me of our noble old château; one would hardlysuppose that they would be found in America. " Bertha suspected who had made the cakes, and, to draw her aunt'sattention away from them, said, -- "What delicious strawberries! And how fragrant they are!" The countess took one by the stem, and dipped it in the sugar, but witha disparaging look. It was large and juicy, and possessed a rich flavorand an aromatic odor which French strawberries can seldom boast; but thecountess would not have admitted the superiority even of American fruitover that of her own country, and after tasting a few of thestrawberries returned to the cake which reminded her of her forsakenhome. How fared it with Count Tristan during the fortnight in which he had notseen his august mother? Under judicious and tender care, he hadsteadily, rapidly improved. His mental faculties had been sufficientlyrestored for him to recognize every one around him, but his memory wasstill clouded, and his thoughts sadly confused. He had partiallyrecovered his articulation, though his speech continued to be thick andat times unintelligible. His limbs also had been partly freed from thethraldom of paralysis, but were still heavy and numb, as though they hadlong worn chains. He clung to Madeleine more eagerly than ever, andseemed to be disturbed and uncomfortable except when she was near him. He had a vague consciousness that she was the medium through which allgood flowed in to him, and often repeated, as he held her hand, -- "You, --you--yes, you, Madeleine, you saved us all! Good angel--goodangel!" That her ministry in the sick-room was so grateful to the sufferer wasnot surprising; for a gentle, efficient hand which knows precisely howto make a pillow yield the best support, --a low, soft, yet encouragingvoice, --a cheerful, yet sympathizing face, --a soundless step, --garmentsthat never rustle, --movements that make no noise, --are among the chiefblessings to an invalid. The count seemed less happy at the sight of his son; his mind washaunted by an undefined fear that there was something Maurice wouldlearn which would make him shrink from his father, --which would disgraceboth; the sufferer had quite forgotten that the discovery he dreaded hadalready been made. When he looked at Maurice he often muttered thewords, -- "Unincumbered, --no mortgage, --of course it's all right, --power ofattorney untouched, --leave all to me!" At other times he would plead, in broken sentences, for pardon, anddenounce himself as a villain who had ruined his only son. It was a somewhat singular coincidence that the very morning thecountess had risen and dressed for the first time for a fortnight, CountTristan appeared to be so much more restless than usual that Madeleinesuggested he should be conducted to her boudoir. Maurice assisted him torise, enveloped him in a comfortable _robe de chambre_, and, with thehelp of Robert, led him to that pleasant, peace-breathing apartment, where she had arranged an easy-chair with pillows, had opened the doorsof the conservatory to admit the odorous air, and had shaded the windowsthat the light might be softened to an invalid's eyes. He smiled placidly and gratefully as he looked toward the flowers, andstretched out his hand to Madeleine. She took her place on a low seat, her little sewing-chair, and, unbidden, sang some of the wild, oldstrains to which he had often listened in the ancient château. The sighhe heaved was one of pleasure, as though his heart felt too full, butnot of care. Madeleine sang on, ballad after ballad, for she could notpause while he appeared to be so calmly happy, and her voice only diedaway as she felt the hand that clasped hers relax its hold, and, lookingup, she found that her patient was gently slumbering. Maurice had sat listening and gazing as one spellbound, but Madeleineroused him by saying, -- "It is long past your usual hour for visiting your grandmother. Had younot better go? I think it likely your father will sleep some time. Thechange of scene and the fresh air have lulled him into a tranquilslumber. " "And your voice had nothing to do with his rest?" asked Maurice, tenderly. "Any old crone's would serve as well for a lullaby, " she answered, playfully. "Now go, and be sure you find out whether the countess likedthe chocolate and those Normandy cakes. " CHAPTER XLIII. OUTGENERALLED. Madame de Gramont welcomed Maurice that morning with more animation thanshe had evinced during her illness. He did not anticipate finding her inthe drawing-room; and was even more surprised to see her not in aninvalid's _déshabille_, but dressed for visitors; not reclining, butsitting up almost as stiffly as in the days of her grandeur. Hecongratulated her upon her convalescence with mingled warmth andastonishment. "Thank you, I am quite well, " she replied; though her colorless lips andwan, sunken face solemnly contradicted the words. "How is your father?"This question was asked apparently with newly-awakened anxiety; for oflate she had made no inquiries, but listened in silence to Maurice'sdaily report, and turned sullenly from him as though he were responsiblefor its unfavorable nature. He now answered in an unusually cheerful tone, -- "My father is better, much better, to-day; improving fast, I think. " Some of the old triumphant light flashed out of the countess' black eyesas she ejaculated, -- "Thank God! Then he can be brought here at once!" Maurice perceived his mistake too late. He had not foreseen that thecountess would have drawn this conclusion from the intelligence justcommunicated. "My dear grandmother, you cannot think of desiring to remove my fatherat present?" "Cannot think of it? What other thought fills my mind night and day? He_must_ be removed from that house. I say _must_, the very instant hislife would not be perilled by the attempt. Better that it should havebeen placed in jeopardy than that he should have remained there thuslong. " "We will talk of this when he is more decidedly convalescent, " returnedMaurice, perceiving that some generalship must be employed to protecthis father. "I will let you know how he progresses, and we will make allthe necessary arrangements for his change of abode in due season. " The countess was too shrewd not to see through this answer, and she wasquite competent to return Maurice's move by generalship of her own; for, in the battle of life, it is the tactics of womanhood that oftenest winthe day. She allowed the conversation to drop; and Maurice secretlyrejoiced at her having, as he supposed, yielded the point. He chattedawhile with Bertha; then his eyes chanced to fall upon the salver whichMadeleine had prepared. It called to mind her request. "What have you here? Chocolate? Did you find it well made?" The countess took no notice of the inquiry. "These are very fine strawberries, " persisted Maurice. "Did you enjoythem? And these cakes, "--he tasted one, --"used to be favorites ofyours. " The countess checked a rising sigh; for her aversion to betraying even apassing emotion was insuperable. "They reminded me of Brittany, " shesaid, involuntarily. "You liked them, then? They are to your taste?" questioned her grandson, hoping to be able to tell Madeleine that her labors had been rewarded. But the countess answered coldly, -- "I find very little in this country, even though the object be imported, which is to my taste. " She did not open her lips again until Maurice was taking his leave. Thenshe said, -- "Has your father's physician been to see him to-day?" "No; he had not come when I left, though it was past his usual hour. " "Let him know that I wish to see him, " ordered the countess. Had Maurice suspected her object he would not have replied socordially, -- "I am truly glad that you will accept medical aid at last. You look veryfeeble. " The countess considered such a suggestion an insult; and drew herself upas she replied, -- "You are mistaken. I am far from feeble. Feebleness does not belong tomy race. My strength does not forsake me readily; it will last while Ilast. Still you may inform your father's physician that I desire to seehim. " "I will send him to you at once. You shall certainly see him to-day. " "Thank you. " These two words were spoken dryly by the countess, and with an emphasiswhich might have struck Maurice and caused him to suspect her intentionsand possibly to frustrate them, had he not been so thoroughly convincedthat her own state required medical care, and had he not known that herstoical fortitude made it easier for her to suffer than to admit thatshe _could_ suffer. Maurice found Madeleine where he had left her. The count had justawakened, much refreshed. He was softly stroking her head and sayingwith the same indistinct utterance, "Good angel! good angel!" At the sight of Maurice the old troubled look passed again over hisface, and he whispered hoarsely, -- "He shall never know. Never, never let him know. It would kill me! killme!" Maurice had told Madeleine how much better he had found his grandmother, and was giving her the gratifying intelligence that Madame de Gramonthad said the cakes reminded her of Brittany (the highest praise possiblefor her to bestow on anything), when the doctor entered. His patient, he said, had made marvellous progress; but that was owing, in a great measure, to admirable nursing; and he nodded approvingly toMadeleine. "If physicians had only at their disposal a train of well-informed, efficient, conscientious nurses to distribute among their patients, medical services might be of some use in the world; but, as it is, wemight make a new application of the old proverb, that God sends usdinners, and the devil sends us cooks who make the dinners valueless; aphysician gives his orders and prescriptions, and a careless nurserenders them null. " Dr. Bayard was not a man who dealt in compliments, even in a modifiedform; he was sagacious, abrupt, straightforward, and at times spoke hismind rather sharply. He had been impressed by Madeleine's unremittingcare of his patient, and, in declaring that the count's convalescencewas, in a large degree, due to her prudence and vigilance, he simplysaid what he thought. "I am glad to see you have removed your charge to this room, " hecontinued. "Change of scene and of air is always good, when practicable. I recommend a short drive to-morrow. I never keep an invalid imprisonedone hour longer than is necessary. " Maurice delivered his grandmother's message; and Dr. Bayard promised tocall upon her before his return home. The claims upon his time, however, were so numerous that it was evening before he reached Brown's hotel. The countess would not, even to herself have admitted that she could besubject to such an unaristocratic sensation as impatience; but we areunable to hit upon any other word to express the state of unquietanxiety with which she awaited his coming. He was announced at last. At that hour in the day, it was not unnatural for Dr. Bayard to be in agreat hurry to get home to his dinner; and consequently his manners wereeven more blunt and informal than usual. Without losing a minute, hetook a seat in front of the lady whom he supposed to be his patient, looked scrutinizingly into her face and said, -- "Well, and what's the matter? A touch of fever, I suspect. We shall soonbring that under. " Without further ceremony he placed his fingers on her wrist. The countess drew her hand away, as though something loathsome had daredto pollute her; and the bright red fever spot on either cheek deepenedinto the crimson of wrath. "Sir, I am perfectly well. I did not send for you to ask your adviceconcerning myself. " Dr. Bayard drew back his chair an inch or two, but made no apology. "I am the mother of Count Tristan de Gramont whom you are attending. " Dr. Bayard bowed. "I hear that he is much better. " "Much better, " was the physician's laconic reply. "It would no longer be dangerous for him to be removed from his presentmost unfit abode, " the countess asserted rather than interrogated. Dr. Bayard, in answering the queries of patients, or those of theirfamilies, did not follow the practice of physicians in general, butadhered to the exact truth. He replied, "It would not be dangerous, madame, but it would be unwise, --confounded folly, I might say. He isvery comfortable where he is, and he has capital care. I do not believethere is such another nurse as Mademoiselle Melanie in Christendom. " If fiery arrows ever flash from human eyes, as some who have felt theirwound declare they do, such darts flew fast and thick from the eyes ofthe countess as she regarded him. "Sir, it is not a question of nurses. A mother is the fittest person towatch beside her son. " Dr. Bayard differed with her, but did not give her the benefit of hisprivate opinion. "As Count Tristan is in a state to be removed, I will give orders tohave him brought here to-morrow. I suppose it is too late to-night?"observed the countess. "I have already said that I do not see the necessity of his being movedat all, until he is perfectly restored, " persisted the doctor. "It is enough that I see it!" remarked the countess, frigidly. "Ibelieve my inquiries only extended to asking your medical opinion as tothe _danger_ not the _propriety_ of moving my son. " "Then I have nothing more to say, " replied the physician, rising. "Ihave already stated that his removal, if advisable in other respects, would not be dangerous. Allow me to wish you good-evening. " Though Dr. Bayard's visit had highly irritated Madame de Gramont, exultation prevailed over all other emotions. Bertha had been present during the interview, and albeit she was filledwith grief at the prospect of Madeleine's sorrow and mortification, shehad not the moral courage to remonstrate. The countess was up betimes on the morrow. It may be that her strengthhad really returned; it may be that excitement supplied its place; butthere was no recurrence of the feebleness which she had not been ablewholly to conceal on the day previous. Before Bertha was dressed forbreakfast her aunt had sent to borrow her writing-desk (having nocorrespondents, the countess did not travel with one of her own), andBertha experienced a heart-sickening foreboding at the request. When sheentered the drawing-room, Madame de Gramont was writing slowly andelaborately, as though she were preparing some document which was topass into the hands of critical judges; but she never wrote in any othermanner. A hasty, impulsive, dashing off of words and ideas would havelacked dignity. The whole character of the haughty lady might easilyhave been read in the stiff but elegant hand, the formal and carefullyconstructed phrases, the icy tenor of her simplest missive. She folded the note, told Bertha where to find her seal with the deGramont arms, impressed it carefully upon the melted wax, desired Berthato ring the bell, and bade her send the note at once to Maurice. Thecountess could not have stooped to name to the servant the residence ofthe mantua-maker. Though Madame de Gramont expected that her command would be instantlyobeyed, she was too little used to attend to household matters, orbestow a thought upon the comfort of others, to give any ordersconcerning her son's room, or even to reflect that additional care inits preparation was needed for an invalid. Count Tristan had passed the best night with which he had been favoredsince his attack. He had slept so uninterruptedly that Gaston and Mrs. Lawkins (whose turn it was to replace Madeleine and Maurice) hadfollowed the invalid's example and travelled with him to the kingdom ofMorpheus. In the morning he expressed a desire to rise. The first words he utteredshowed that his articulation was clearer. Madeleine had arranged thepillows in his arm-chair and placed it where he could look into theconservatory. He walked into the boudoir supported only by Maurice. There was a rare amount of stamina, a wondrously recuperative power inthe de Gramont constitution, as was manifested both by mother and son. When the count was comfortably seated, Madeleine placed before him alittle table with his breakfast so neatly arranged that merely to lookat it gave one an appetite. She served him herself, and the tranquilpleasure he felt in receiving what he ate from her hands wasunmistakable. His own hands were still weak and numb, and she cut up thedelicate broiled chicken, and broke the bread, disposed his napkincarefully, and then steadied the cup of chocolate which he tried tocarry to his lips. Maurice stood watching her, just as he always did;for it was difficult for him to remove his eyes from her face when shewas present, though, in truth, when she was absent he saw her before himhardly less distinctly. The trio was thus agreeably occupied when the note of the countess wasplaced in the hands of Maurice. His consternation vented itself in anirrepressible groan, which made Madeleine and the count look up. The latter trembled with alarm, and, his haunting fear coming back, heasked, in a terrified tone, -- "What has happened? What do they want? What would they make you believe?No harm of me, --you wont! you wont! Here's Madeleine will make allright!" "Do not trouble yourself, " said Madeleine, soothingly; "there are nobusiness matters to fret you now. " Her sweet, quieting voice, or the assurance, calmed him, and he repeatedonce more, for the thousandth time, "Good angel! good angel!" "It is a note from my grandmother, " said Maurice, biting his lips. "Shehas seen Dr. Bayard, and insists on carrying out certain views of hers, and she informs me that she has his permission to do so. " Madeleine had not nerved herself against this blow; it fell heavily uponher; she could not at once resign the precious privilege of ministeringto her afflicted relative; and she could not hope that the countesswould allow her to approach him if he were removed to the hotel. "Surely she will not be so cruel! It will harm him, --it will retard hisrecovery. " "I will see her, at once, and try what argument and remonstrance cando, " replied Maurice. And he set forth on his difficult mission. A moment's reflection convinced Madeleine that if the countess hadreceived the doctor's consent, she would prove inexorable. There was noresource but to submit as patiently as possible. Count Tristan must bereconciled to the change, and to effect that was the task now beforeher. She tried to break the news gently; she told him his mother had notseen him of late because she had been ill; and now, hearing he was somuch better, she desired him to return to the hotel that he might benearer to her. The count answered peevishly, "No--no, --I'll not go! I'm betterhere, --better with you, my good angel!" "But if Madame de Gramont is determined, " said Madeleine, "I have noright, no power to resist her authority. " "Can I not stay? Let me stay!" he pleaded, pathetically. "I would be only too thankful if you could; but you know the wishes ofthe countess cannot be disregarded. " "I cannot go! It will kill me if I go back! I am better here. I'm safewith you! I'll not go!" He seemed so much distressed that Madeleine dismissed the subject bysaying, "Maurice has gone to see his grandmother; we need not tormentourselves until he returns. " The count was easily satisfied, and the remembrance of his trouble soonfaded from his mind. Madeleine asked him if she should sing, and henodded a pleased assent. She could not give voice to any but the saddestmelodies, for a sorrowful presentiment that she would never sing to himagain, filled her mind. She continued to charm away his cares by thewitchery of her accents until Maurice returned. The result of hisadvocacy was quickly told. The countess was inflexible, and awaited herson. CHAPTER XLIV. A CHANGE. The strongest heart will sometimes betray that it is overtaxed throughthe pressure of a sorrow which appears trivial contrasted with thestupendous burdens it has borne unflinchingly; the firmest spirit issometimes crushed at last, by the weight of a moral "feather" thatbreaks the back of endurance. Madeleine's courage proved insufficient toencounter calmly this new trial. She could not see that poor, wretched, brain-shattered sufferer, that proud man bowed to the dust, clinging toher with such a strange, perplexed, yet steady grasp, and know that shecould no longer tend, amuse, and soothe him! Her composure was forsakingher, and she could only hurriedly whisper to Maurice, -- "I will pack your father's clothes; make him comprehend that we have noalternative; reconcile him if you can. Since he must go, it had betterbe at once; the countess is no doubt anxiously expecting him. " She passed into the count's room, gathered together all his wearingapparel, and knelt down beside his trunk. Her heart swelled as thoughit would burst; she bowed her head upon the trunk she was about to open, and sobbed aloud! Madeleine's tears were not like Bertha's, --mere summer rain which sprangto her eyes with every passing emotion, and fell in sun-broken showersthat freshened and brightened her own spirit. Madeleine seldom wept, andwhen the tears came, they sprang up from the very depth of her trueheart, in a hot, bitter current which was less like the bubbling of afountain than the lava bursting from a volcano. It is ever thus withpowerful, yet self-controlled natures, and Madeleine's equanimity in themidst of trials which would have prostrated others, was not a lack ofkeen, quick sensibility, but an evidence of the supremacy she had gainedby discipline over her passions. Madeleine wept and wept, forgetting the work before her, the time thatwas passing, the necessity for action! All the tears that she might haveshed during the last few weeks, if it were her nature to weep as mostwomen weep, now rushed forth in one passionate torrent. She did not heara step approaching; she was hardly conscious of the encircling arm thatraised her from the ground, nor was she startled by the voice thatsaid, -- "Madeleine! my own Madeleine! Is it you sobbing thus?" "I feel _this!_ O Maurice, I feel _this!_ My aunt has never had power tomake me feel so much since that day in the little _châlet_ when my eyeswere opened, --when she cast me off, and I stood alone in the world. " "Ah Madeleine, dearest and best beloved, if you had only loved methen, --if I could only have taught you to love me, --you would not havestood alone! I should have battled against every sorrow that could comenear you; or, at least, have borne it with you. O Madeleine, why couldyou not love me?" For one instant Madeleine was tempted to throw herself in his arms andconfess all. The high resolves of years of self-denial were on the vergeof being broken in one weak moment; but the very peril, the verytemptation calmed her suddenly. She brushed away her tears, and, gentlywithdrawing the hand Maurice held, said, in broken accents, -- "I have caused you too much pain in other days, Maurice. I should nothave added more by allowing you to witness my weakness. Help me to bestrong; for you see I have sore need of help. " "All that I can offer, Madeleine, you reject, " said Maurice, reproachfully. "My heart and life are yours, and you fling them fromyou. " "Maurice, my cousin, my best friend, spare me! I have no right to listento this language. " "But the right to hear it from the lips of another, " retorted Mauricebitterly. "Be generous, Maurice. For pity's sake, do not speak on that subject. " There was so much anguish depicted in Madeleine's face that Maurice wasconscience-stricken by the conviction that his rashly selfish words hadcaused her additional pain. "This is a poor return, Madeleine, for all the good you have done myfather, --all the good you have done me, --you have done us all. You seewhat a selfish brute I am! My very love for you, which should shield youfrom all suffering, has, through that fatal selfishness, added to yoursorrow. Can you pardon me?" "When you wrong me, Maurice, I will; but that day has yet to come. Leaveme for a few moments, and I will complete what I have to do here andjoin you. " Maurice complied, but slowly and reluctantly, and looking back as heleft the room. Madeleine wept no more; she bathed her face and smoothed her disorderedhair, and then collected all the articles scattered about, placed themcarefully in the trunk, shut it and locked it, looked about to see thatnothing was forgotten, ordered her carriage, and with a composed mienentered the little boudoir. Maurice must have used some potent argument with his father whichreconciled him to his change of habitation, or made him comprehend thatresistance was useless, for when Robert announced that the carriage wasat the door, and Madeleine brought the count's coat to exchange for hisdressing-gown, he allowed her to assist him, only repeating the term ofaffection so often on his lips. The count was ready, and Madeleine signed to Maurice not to linger. Hegave his arm to his father, and they passed through the entry. Madeleinepreceded them; she opened the street door herself; father and son passedout, but without bidding her adieu. The steps of the carriage were letdown; just as Maurice was assisting his father to ascend them, the countdrew back with native politeness and said, -- "Madeleine first. " Madeleine was still standing in the doorway ready to wave herhandkerchief as the carriage drove off. "Come, Madeleine, come! come! We are waiting for you!" cried the count. Maurice expostulated in vain; his father insisted that Madeleine shouldgo with them. "Only get into the carriage, my dear father, while I speak with her. " "Get in before a lady? No--no! We are not backwoodsmen, --are we? Come, Madeleine, come!" Madeleine saw that argument would not avail with the count; his mind wasnot sufficiently clear; it only had glimpses of reason which allowed himto comprehend by fits and starts. Ever quick of decision, she said cheerfully, "Yes, in one moment, " andwithdrew; but before Maurice had divined her intention, returned, wearing her bonnet and shawl, and sprang into the carriage. "Drive into the country, " was Madeleine's order to the coachman. Maurice looked at her with inquiring surprise. "Dr. Bayard said a drive would do your father good. We can first take ashort drive, then return, and go to the hotel. " Count Tristan looked happy. The motion of the carriage was agreeable tohim, and the fresh air revived him; he gazed eagerly out of the windowas though the commonest objects had caught the charm of novelty. Hispleasure was of brief duration; for when they had driven about a mile, prudence suggested to Madeleine that it would be well to return beforethe patient became fatigued. She pulled the check-cord, and herself gavethe order, "To Brown's hotel. " Count Tristan paid no attention to the command. The hotel was quicklyreached; the carriage stopped; Maurice descended and handed out hisfather. "Let me hear good news of you, " said Madeleine to Count Tristan, encouragingly, and kept her seat. Leaning heavily on his son's arm, the count mounted the hotel steps, buthe did not comprehend Madeleine's words as an adieu, and turned to speakto her, thinking she was beside him. The coachman was closing thecarriage-door preparatory to driving away. "Madeleine! Madeleine!" cried out the count, stretching his handimploringly toward her. "Madeleine, come! come!" Madeleine perceived that Maurice was remonstrating with his father, andtrying to lead him on, but that the count would not move, and stillcried out, "Come! come!" in a voice of piteous entreaty. Curious strangers began to collect; Madeleine knew that if the scenecontinued even a few moments, a crowd would gather, and all manner ofinquiries be made of her coachman, the hotel-keepers, the servants. Sheleaped out of the carriage, hastened to the count's side, and said, -- "I will go upstairs with you; the assistance of Maurice may not besufficient; lean on my arm also. " And Count Tristan did lean upon her, for his limbs were too feeble toascend a long flight without difficulty. The door of the countess's _salon_ was but a few paces from the top ofthe stair. Madeleine paused, took the count's hand affectionately inhers, and pressed it several times to her lips, saying, -- "Now I must bid you adieu. It would not be agreeable to the countess tosee me. She would think my coming with you impertinent. You will notforce me to bear the pain of seeing her displeasure? Bid me adieu andlet me go!" The count, easily swayed by her persuasive voice, and inspired with avague dread of his mother's anger, kissed her forehead, and did notremonstrate, but stood still and watched her gliding swiftly down thestairs. Maurice had whispered to her, "I will be with you as soon as possible, Madeleine. Be brave, for my sake!" The countess had only betrayed her anxious expectancy by changing herusual seat to one where she could watch the door, and by looking upeagerly every time it opened. When, at last, Maurice entered, supportingCount Tristan, there was a gleam of mingled joy and triumph in hismother's eye. It was doubtful whether the triumph of having compelledobedience to her commands, and of having wrested her son from Madeleine, did not surpass the joy she experienced in beholding that son onceagain. From her greeting, a stranger would hardly have imagined that when shesaw him last his life was in imminent peril, and that she had rushedfrom his presence overcome by grief and mortification. She now receivedhim as though she had cheated herself into the belief that she was doingthe honors in her ancestral château, and that his brief absence had nograver origin than some ordinary pleasure party. "Welcome, my son, welcome!" said she, kissing him on either cheek. "Wehave missed you greatly; you are thrice welcome for this briefseparation. " Count Tristan returned her salutation, but looked strangelyuncomfortable, as though the atmosphere oppressed and chilled him. "Dear cousin Tristan, I am so glad to see you better; you will soon bequite well again, " said Bertha, embracing him far more warmly than hismother had done. The countess made no allusion to his illness; she preferred wholly toforget the past. Maurice led his father to an arm-chair, and asked Bertha to bring apillow. Under Madeleine's tuition Maurice had become quite expert inpromoting an invalid's comfort, and yet he now failed to arrange thepillow satisfactorily. Perhaps his father's chair was not easy, or theone to which he was accustomed was more commodious, or Maurice was moreclumsy than usual; for though Bertha also lent her aid, the count keptrepeating, fretfully, -- "It's not right, --it does not support my shoulders! You can't do it!Leave it alone! Leave it alone!" They desisted, and sat down beside him. The countess had no faculty of starting conversation, and Bertha's merrytongue had of late lost its volubility; she had so often irritated heraunt by her remarks that she had become afraid to speak. Maurice was toosad to be otherwise than taciturn. Thus the reunited little family satin solemn silence. Count Tristan looked around him drearily for a while, and then having for a moment lost recollection of what had just takenplace, exclaimed disconsolately, -- "Where is Madeleine?" These unfortunate words roused the countess. She rose up as loftily asin her proudest, most unchastened days, and approaching him, asked, in arebuking voice, -- "For _whom_ do you inquire, my son? Am I to understand that a mother'spresence is not all-sufficient for her own child? Is not hers the placeby his side? If that place has been, for a season, usurped, should henot rejoice that she to whom it legitimately belongs occupies it oncemore?" The count looked awed, and did not attempt to reply. Maurice perceivedthat he must exert himself to shield his father from as much discomfortas could be warded off, and inquired, without directly addressing eitherthe countess or Bertha, -- "Is my father's room prepared for him? But I suppose that it is. Hisdrive must have fatigued him, and I think he would like to retire. " The countess disclaimed any knowledge of the state of the apartment, signifying that she was not in the habit of occupying herself withmatters of this nature. Bertha was equally ignorant, but said she wouldgo and see. Maurice prevented her by going himself. The room looked as though it had not been entered since the day when hehad packed up his father's clothes to move them to Madeleine's, and thatwas more than a fortnight ago. There was some delay in getting achambermaid; servants are always busy, yet never to be had in anAmerican hotel; after several ineffectual attempts, he obtained theservices of an Irish girl; and he induced Adolphine to lend her aid, that the room might be aired, swept, and put in order more rapidly. Adolphine was rather a hinderance to the bustling Irish help, for aParisian lady's-maid knows one especial business, and knows nothingelse, however simple; she is an instrument that plays but one tune, andshe boasts of her _speciality_ as a virtue. In something more than anhour Adolphine announced that the apartment of _M. Le Comte_ was inreadiness. Count Tristan was very willing to retire, and after Maurice had playedthe valet without assistance, his father seemed disposed to sleep, andMaurice closed the blinds and sat down quietly until he perceived thatthe invalid had fallen into a deep slumber. Henceforth he was to watchbeside him, when watching was needed, alone! Those blessed nights, shorter and sweeter than the happiest dreams, when he had sat in thepale light, with that beautiful face beaming opposite to him, --that softvoice sounding melodiously in his ears, --they were gone, never toreturn! At that very moment Madeleine herself was haunted by the samereflections. When she drove home alone, and reëntered her house, howdesolate and dreary it appeared! How empty and lonely seemed thoseapartments so lately occupied by the ones nearest of kin and dearest toher heart! She wandered through the rooms, up and down, up and down, with restless feet, pondering upon the singular events of the last fewweeks; she had not before had leisure to dwell upon them. Was it indeedtrue that her roof had sheltered Count Tristan de Gramont?--CountTristan de Gramont, whose persecutions in other days, had driven herfrom his own roof, and whose hatred had embittered and blighted herlife? And had he learned to depend upon her? to love her? To talk toher, even when his mind wandered, of _gratitude_, as though that emotionwas ever uppermost in her presence? And Maurice, her dearcousin, --Maurice, the beloved of her soul, who must never know that hewas all in all to her, --had he been her guest for more than two weeks?And had she been permitted the joy of promoting his comfort in athousand little, unnoted, womanly ways? Had he sat at her table? Hadthey watched together, night and day, by his father's bed?--talkingthrough the night hours, unwearied when the morning broke, unwilling towelcome the first rays of the sun, because their sweet, inexhaustibleconverse came to an end? Had they shared the happiness of amelioratingCount Tristan's melancholy state, and seeing him daily improve? And nowit was all over: she must resume her old course of life, her temporarilylaid aside labors! To muse too long upon departed happiness would unfither for those. Even the sad joy of recollection was denied her. She sent for Mrs. Lawkins and directed everything to be restored to itsusual order. The draperies in the entry were to be taken down;--no, letthem remain; Madeleine had been accustomed to see that portion of thehouse divided from the rest; let them stay. In passing through thedrawing-room she noticed Maurice's trunk, which he had not thought ofpacking. Though it gave her many a pang, because she was forced torealize more keenly that he was surely gone, it was also with a sense ofpleasure that she collected together the articles belonging to him andpacked them carefully. Hers was a nature peculiarly susceptible to thepure delight of serving, aiding, sparing trouble to those whom sheloved. The meanest household drudgery, the severest labor, the mostprosaic making and mending, would have gained a charm and been idealizedinto pleasures, if they contributed to the well-being of those dear toher; but, when performed for the one more precious than all others, theybecame positive joys. She left Mrs. Lawkins busied in the arrangement of the apartments, andwent upstairs to the workroom, which she had not entered for nearlythree weeks. She had not seen any of her _employées_, except Ruth, andMademoiselle Victorine, since they all had learned her rank. Herunexpected appearance created a great commotion. No one but Ruth hadexpected to behold her in that apartment again. The women all roserespectfully; but an unwonted restraint checked the expression ofgratification which her presence ever imparted. Madeleine smilingly badethem to be seated; then passed around the table and spoke to everyneedle-woman in turn, inquiring after the personal health of each, orasking questions about her family, --for she knew the histories of all;and then learning particulars concerning the work that had been done, and the work in hand. The obsequiousness of Mademoiselle Victorine was perfectly overwhelming, yet she experienced no little disappointment. She had made up her mindthat since Mademoiselle Melanie was known to be Mademoiselle de Gramont, she would never again be able to appear among her workwomen, even tosuperintend their labors, and a large portion of the resigned power mustbe delegated to the accomplished forewoman. Ruth Thornton, Madeleine'sfavorite, as Victorine considered her, was in the way; but what were aFrench woman's wits worth if they could not devise some method ofremoving a dangerous rival? Madeleine lingered long enough to be _au courant_ to the present stateof affairs, and she found that the business of the establishment had somuch increased during her seclusion, that every day, a host of ordershad to be declined. This overwhelming influx of patronage was partiallyattributable to the reports circulated concerning Mademoiselle Melanie'sromantic history, and also to the strong desire of the public (ademocratic public) to secure the honor of procuring habiliments from theestablishment of a dress-maker whose father was a duke. Madeleine had taken a seat near Ruth, and was listening to MademoiselleVictorine's _histories_ and suggestions, when Robert made known thatMonsieur Maurice de Gramont begged to see Mademoiselle Melanie. Maurice had left his father as soon as he slept; he was impatient toreturn to Madeleine. He was tortured by the remembrance of her burst ofgrief, and her bitter words. The forced composure by which they weresucceeded could not hide from him the deep wound she had received. Though the period which had elapsed since his father was conducted fromMadeleine's house was so brief, the rooms, grown familiar to Maurice, already wore a different aspect; he actually felt hurt that Madeleinecould have made the change thus rapidly. Men are so unreasonable!Maurice resembled his sex in that particular. Then, too, he found histrunk packed, and he knew by whose hand that duty had been performed. Doubtless, he was grateful? Not in the least! It seemed to him thatMadeleine was in too much haste to remove the last vestige of hissojourn near her. When she entered the drawing-room he was standingcontemplating the neatly filled trunk, and was cruel enough to say, -- "You used your _old magic_ to make ready for us, Madeleine, and youhave used it again to efface all our footprints here. I can hardlypersuade myself that I occupied this room. " Madeleine felt the implied reproach; but without answering the unmeritedrebuke, she asked, "Is your father doing well?" "He is sleeping at this moment; but it is very evident that he is goingto have a sorrowful time; he will miss you so much; and my grandmotheris as cold and hard as though her illness had petrified her morecompletely than ever. " That was another observation to which Madeleine could find no reply. Without essaying to make an appropriate answer, she said, "It will neverdo to let the whole burden of nursing your father devolve on you, Maurice; you will be broken down. May I plan for you? You need anexperienced _garde malade_. It would be difficult, at short notice, toprocure any so reliable, and so well versed in the duties of a nurse asMrs. Lawkins. Then, too, your father is accustomed to see her near him;and a familiar face will be more welcome than a stranger's. Do you thinkit would be wrong to engage her without your grandmother's knowing thatshe had been in my employment?" "I have no scruples on that head, " returned Maurice; "but there areothers which I cannot readily get over. She is your house-keeper, and Ihave heard you say she was very valuable to you. I know that it isexceedingly difficult to obtain good domestics in this country; youcannot replace her at once. How can you spare her?" "Easily, --easily; do not talk of that. I will speak to her and she willgo to you to-morrow morning. Meantime, I advise you to inform thecountess that a nurse is coming. One charge more: your father is so muchbetter that instead of wearing yourself out by sitting up with him, itwould be wiser to have a sofa, upon which you could take rest, placedbeside his bed. M. De Bois will gladly take his turn in watching, butafter a few nights, I think Count Tristan will need no one but Mrs. Lawkins. " "Ah, Madeleine"-- Madeleine interrupted him. "One word about the delicacies which youcannot readily procure in a hotel, and which it would deprive me of agreat happiness if I could not send. As the countess is now up, andmight see and recognize Robert, I will order him to deliver the salverto the waiter who attends upon your rooms. Would it not be advisable tosay a few words to this man to prevent any inadvertent remark in thepresence of your grandmother?" "Well thought of. How do you keep your wits so thoroughly about you, Madeleine? How do you manage to remember everything that should beremembered, and at the right moment?" "If I do, --though I am not disposed to admit that such is the case, --itis simply through the habit of taking the trouble to _think at all_, toreflect quietly upon what would be best, what is most needed, --a verysimple process. " "And, like a great many other simple but important processes, rare justbecause it _is so simple_, " remarked Maurice, with great justice. During this conversation Maurice and Madeleine had been standing whereshe found him on entering the room; but he had not resolution to tearhimself quickly away, and said, -- "Let me sit a little while in your boudoir, and talk to you, Madeleine. _I_ have not been able to reconcile myself so quickly to my own changeof abode as you seem to have done to our departure from yours. " Was it not surprising that such a noble-minded man as Maurice could makean observation so ungracious, so ungenerous, and one which in his hearthe knew was so unjust, to the woman he loved? Yet it would be difficultto find a lover who is incapable of doing the same. Why is it that men, even the best, are at times stirred by an irresistible prompting, themselves, to wound the being whom they would shield from all harmdealt by others with chivalric devotion? Let a woman commit theslightest action that can, by ingenious torturing, be interpreted into amoment's want of consideration for the feelings of her lover, and allhis admiration, his tenderness, his reverence, will not prevent hisbeing cruel enough to stab her with some passing word that strikes assharply as a dagger. "You think me a true philosopher, then?" replied Madeleine, gravely. Butshe added, in a lower and less firm tone, while a soft humility filledher mild eyes, "Do you think _I am reconciled_, Maurice?" "Do you not think I am a heartless, senseless brute to have grieved you?Do not look so sorrowful! You make me hate myself! Ah, you did well notto trust your happiness to my keeping; I was not a fit guardian. " It was far harder for Madeleine to hear him say _that_ than to listen toan undeserved reproach; but she led the way to her boudoir withoutreplying, and for the next hour Maurice sat beside her, and theyconversed without any jarring note breaking the harmony of theircommunion. CHAPTER XLV. REPARATION. Maurice, with as much _nonchalance_ as he could assume, informed hisgrandmother that he had engaged a _garde malade_ to assist in the careof his father. When good Mrs. Lawkins made her appearance the nextmorning, looking as plump, rosy and "comfortable" as English nurses (andhouse-keepers) are wont to look, the countess merely bestowed upon her apassing glance and then took no further notice of her presence. It neveroccurred to Madame de Gramont to inquire into the fitness of this personfor her position and duties. Besides, the countess seldom addressed a"hireling, " except to utter a command or a rebuke. Maurice was greatlyrelieved when he perceived his grandmother's perfect indifference to theindividual whom he had selected. Mrs. Lawkins had been thrown "into aflutter" by Madeleine's cautions and the prospect of being obliged toparry a series of cross-questions; but the reception she receivedquickly restored her equanimity. Count Tristan was sitting near hismother; the worthy house-keeper made her obeisance to both in silence, then turned to Maurice for directions. "You have brought your trunk with you?" inquired the latter. "I left it in the entry, sir. " The count looked up at the sound of that voice. Immediately recognizingone whose association in his mind with Madeleine struck the chord whichvibrated most readily, he exclaimed, in a piteous tone, "Madeleine!Madeleine! Why don't she come? Wont Madeleine come soon?" Maurice, Bertha, and Mrs. Lawkins were filled with consternation atthese words, which they imagined must arouse the suspicions of thecountess; but she had not condescended to waste sufficient attentionupon the domestic her son had hired to perceive that Count Tristan'sejaculations had any connection with her presence. The disdainful lady'seyes sparkled with anger at the unexpected mention of one whose name shedesired never more to hear. She drew her chair close to Count Tristan'sand said in harsh accents, -- "I trust, my son, that you have no wish ungratified? When your _mother_is by your side, _whom_ else _can_ you desire?" Count Tristan was too easily cowed by her manner to venture a reply, even if his disordered intellect could have suggested any appropriateanswer. "I rejoice at your restoration to me, " continued his mother; "and thefilial duty I have the right to expect prompts me to believe that youalso rejoice at our reunion. " The invalid looked very far from rejoicing; but the countess solacedherself by interpreting his silence into an affirmative. From that time he never breathed Madeleine's name in his mother'spresence; but those who watched beside him, often heard it murmured whenhe slept, or just as he wakened, before full consciousness was restored. From the day that he returned to the hotel, he sank into a state of deepdejection. He would sit or lie for hours with his eyes wide open, without apparently seeing or hearing what passed around him, while anexpression of despair overshadowed his deeply furrowed countenance. The manifest weakness of his brain was a severer trial to Madame deGramont than his enfeebled bodily condition; but she dealt with it aswith her other trials; she would not acknowledge to herself theexistence of his mental malady; she refused to admit that he lackedpower to reason, at the very moment when she was exerting the species ofauthority she would have employed to keep an unreasoning child in check. The idea that it would be well to divert his mind, and render the hoursless tedious, never occurred to her, or, if it did, she was totally at aloss to suggest any means of pleasantly whiling away the time. Her ownhealth had not wholly recovered from its recent shock; the slow feverstill lingered in her veins, but the daily routine of her life was asunchanged as though her strength had been unimpaired. Dr. Bayard had ordered his patient to drive out every day, and thecountess considered it her duty to accompany him. The pillows which Mrs. Lawkins carefully placed for the support of the invalid were almost asmuch needed by his mother; but she sat erect, and drew herself away fromthem, as though the merest approach to a reclining posture would havebeen a lapse from dignity. The count no longer gazed out of the windowwith that calm look of enjoyment which Maurice and Madeleine hadremarked; he usually closed his eyes, or fixed them on his son, sittingopposite, with a mournfully appealing look, which seemed to ask, -- "Can no help come to me? Will it _always_ be thus?" Week after week passed on. Maurice, in spite of his unremittingattention to his father, found time to pay daily visits to Madeleine. She no longer made her appearance in the exhibition-rooms, or saw theladies who came to her establishment, upon business; but when CountTristan was removed she had no gracious plea for excusing herself tothose who called as visitors. She received them with graceful ease anddignified composure. Not one of them had courage or inclination to makethe faintest allusion to the past, or to their acquaintance with her as"Mademoiselle Melanie. " It was Mademoiselle de Gramont in whose presencethey sat. Even Madame de Fleury had too much perception to venture toask her advice upon questions of the deepest interest, --namely, the mostbecoming shapes for new attire, the selection of colors, the choice ofappropriate trimmings, or some equally important matter which engrossedthat troubled lady's thoughts, and caused her many wakeful nights. After Count Tristan and Maurice returned to the hotel, Bertha escapedfrom imprisonment. When she informed her aunt that she was sufferingfrom want of fresh air, the countess requested her to accompany CountTristan and herself upon their daily drive; but Bertha maintained thatdriving would do her no good; she detested a close carriage; she wantedmore active exercise, --she would take a brisk walk with her maid. Madamede Gramont would assuredly have mounted guard over her niece in person, were it not that the fatigue experienced even after a couple of hours'driving, admonished her that she lacked the strength for pedestrianism. Bertha was allowed to go forth attended only by Adolphine. Her walkalways lay in one direction, and that was toward the residence ofMadeleine; and, strange to say, she never failed to encounter M. DeBois, who was always going the same way! These invigorating promenadeshad a marvellous effect in restoring Bertha's faded color and vanishedspirits; and in the small, sad circle of which the stern-visagedCountess de Gramont formed the centre, there was, at least, one radiantface. About this time the quiet monotony of Maurice's life was broken by aletter from his partner, Mr. Lorrillard. This gentleman had onlyrecently learned from Mr. Emerson the painful circumstances which hadtaken place in connection with the loan made to the Viscount de Gramontat Mr. Lorrillard's suggestion. Mr. Lorrillard prided himself upon beingtoo good a judge of character and upon having studied that of Mauricetoo thoroughly, not to feel confident that some satisfactoryexplanation could be given to occurrences which wore a very dubiousaspect. He wrote kindly, yet frankly, to Maurice, requesting to knowwhether the account of the transaction which he had received wasthoroughly correct, and more than hinting his certainty that all thefacts had not been brought to light. Maurice was sorely perplexed; but, in spite of his strong desire to shield his father, he finally decidedthat Mr. Lorrillard was entitled to a full explanation, and that his ownposition would never be endurable while a suspicion shadowed his name. He despatched Mr. Lorrillard the following letter. "_My dear Sir_:-- "I cannot but be touched by the confidence you repose in me. I do not thank you less because you have done me the common justice which is due from one man to another. When I received the loan from Mr. Emerson, I as firmly believed that the security I gave him was unquestionable, as he did. I had been led to think that the power of attorney in my father's hands had not been used. I was mistaken. I pass over Mr. Emerson's proceedings, which, however severe, were authorized by the light in which he viewed my conduct. The ten thousand dollars he loaned me were, at once, repaid him by the generosity of one of my relatives, Mademoiselle Madeleine de Gramont, whose debtor I remain. My father's dangerous illness has detained me in Washington. The instant he is sufficiently convalescent I purpose returning to Charleston to resume my professional duties. "I am, my dear sir, "Yours, very truly, "MAURICE DE GRAMONT. " Mr. Lorrillard was highly gratified by the simple, ingenuous, yet manlytone of this letter, and well pleased to find his impressions correct. He immediately despatched an epistle to Mr. Emerson which convinced thelatter that he could only conciliate a valued friend by making everypossible reparation. A few days later Maurice was surprised by Mr. Emerson's card. He couldnot converse with him in the presence of Count Tristan and Madame deGramont, and was obliged to receive him in the general drawing-room ofthe hotel. When Maurice entered, Mr. Emerson extended his hand and said, with anair of frankness, -- "I am a just man, M. De Gramont, and I came to make you an apology. Myfriend, Mr. Lorrillard, has convinced me that I ought to have pausedbefore I yielded to the conviction that one whom he esteemed so highlyhad wilfully taken advantage of my credulity. I am now convinced thatyou were not aware that your property was mortgaged, and I come to tellyou so. " "You have again made me your debtor, " replied Maurice, not a littlegratified. "I give you my word, as a gentleman, that I had not theremotest suspicion the property in question was encumbered. I have noright to complain of the severity of your treatment; it was justifiableunder the circumstances. " "Hardly, " replied the other. "But I shall esteem it a privilege to makeall the reparation in my power. Of course you are aware that therailroad mentioned passes through your property, and that the estate hasalready doubled its former value? I came here to say that I am ready notonly to loan you the ten thousand dollars you originally requested me toadvance, but a larger sum, if you so desire. " What a sensation of thankfulness and relief those words caused Maurice!He would not only be enabled to repay Madeleine the amount she had sogenerously loaned, but he would be in a situation to meet the heavyexpenses which his father and grandmother were daily incurring! Count deGramont had never given his son entire confidence, and the latter wasnot aware of the _exact_ state of the count's affairs; but Maurice hadtoo much cause to believe that they were in a ruinous condition. He hadonly recently become acquainted with the mortifying fact that, from thetime his father left the Château de Gramont, Bertha had been the bankerof the whole party. "I will meet your offer as frankly as it is made, " answered Maurice, after a moment's reflection. "If you feel justified in loaning mefifteen thousand dollars, instead of ten, upon the former security, Iwill esteem it a great favor. " "Willingly; come to my office to-day, at any hour you please, and wewill settle the matter. Make haste, for I must write to Lorrillard bythis evening's mail, and I desire to inform him, in answer to hissomewhat caustic letter, that I have made the _amende honorable_. " CHAPTER XLVI. A MISHAP. Madeleine was accustomed to see Maurice at a certain hour every day, andlooked forward to that period with such joyous expectation that a senseof disquiet, amounting to positive pain, took possession of her mindwhen the time passed without his making his appearance. She could nothelp reflecting how sad and long the days would grow when she could nomore listen for his welcome step, and feel her heart bounding at thesight of his handsome countenance; and yet such days must come, and mustbe borne with the rest of life's burdens. That was his ring at the bell, --those were his firm, rapid steps! Hisface glowed so brightly when he entered the little boudoir thatMadeleine exclaimed, -- "Your father must be much better! You carry the news written in shiningcharacters in your eyes. " Maurice related what had passed between himself and Mr. Emerson, to whomhe had just paid the promised visit, and concluded by saying, -- "Now, dearest Madeleine, I am enabled to repay your most opportune loan, but not able to tell you from what misery and disgrace you saved me. " He laid a check upon the table as he spoke. Madeleine was silent, and looked uncomfortable. Maurice went on, -- "You cannot _conceive_ my happiness at being so unexpectedly able to paythis debt, though that of gratitude must ever remain uncancelled. " "At least, Maurice, I will not _deprive_ you of the happiness, since itis one; and perhaps you will be more pleased when you know that thismoney will enable me to make the last payment upon this house, whichwill now become wholly mine. It has grown more dear to me than Iimagined it could ever become, --more dear through the guests whom it hassheltered, and the associations with which it is filled. I never thoughtof making it mine with so much joy. " "You will remain here then? You will continue your occupation?" askedMaurice. "Yes, undoubtedly. " "But, " persisted Maurice, "do you not look forward to a time when youwill have another home?" "I see no such time in the dim future, " she returned. "Perhaps I maybecome so rich that the temptation to retire will be very great; but asI cannot live unemployed I shall first be obliged to discover someother, wider, and nobler sphere of usefulness. " "But the home I mean, " continued Maurice, with an air of desperation, "is the home of another, --the home of one whom you love. Do you not lookforward to dwelling in such a home?" Madeleine's "No" was uttered in a low tone, but one of unmistakablesincerity. "How can that be?" exclaimed Maurice, at once troubled and relieved. "Do not try to read the riddle, Maurice. You will be happier in settingit aside as one of life's mysteries which will be revealed in the greatday. Will you listen to a new song which I have been learning?" "Will I listen? Will a hungry beggar gather the crumbs falling from arich man's table?" Madeleine laughed and seated herself at the piano. The new song onlymade Maurice desire to hear some of the old ones, and then other newones, and she sang on until an unexpected and startling interruptiondestroyed all the harmony of the hour. But that occurrence we willrelate in due season. We must first return to the hotel which Mauricehad left before his usual hour, that he might pay a visit to Mr. Emersonprevious to calling upon Madeleine. The palatable delicacies which Madeleine daily sent to the invalidsalways reached the hotel at an hour when Maurice had promised to be athome. Robert had strict orders to deliver the salver to one of the hotelservants, and never to appear before the countess. This morning, however, the arrival of a large number of travellers had occupied allthe domestics; not a waiter was to be found. Robert was anxious toinquire about a silver milk-jug which had not been returned. He carriedhis salver to the door of Madame de Gramont's drawing-room, thoughwithout intending to enter. The door happened to be open; he could seethat the room was only occupied by Count Tristan, who was asleep in hisarm-chair, and Mrs. Lawkins. She was the person whom he wished to see. The temptation was too great to be resisted. He entered with soundlessfeet, and placed upon the table a salver bearing a bowl of beef tea, two glasses of calves'-feet jelly, a plate of those Normandy cakes whichthe countess had so much relished, and a dish of superb white and redraspberries. Approaching his mouth to Mrs. Lawkins' ear, Robert said, in a whisper, -- "Mrs. Lawkins, I had to come in, for you were just the person I wantedto see. You never sent back the silver milk-pitcher. " "The milk-pitcher?" replied Mrs. Lawkins. "Bless my heart! You don't sayso? It's not here! I hope it's not been stolen. It must have got mixedup with the hotel silver and gone downstairs. " "You'll be sure to hunt it up, Mrs. Lawkins. I have said nothing toMademoiselle Melanie, --Mademoiselle Madeleine, I mean; but I amresponsible, as you know, for all her silver, and I can't have what Ibring here mislaid; as you were here I thought it was quite safe. How isthe poor gentleman?" "Ah, not so well as he was under Mademoiselle Madeleine's care. I'll seeafter the silver jug, and keep a sharp look-out for the silver infuture. " Robert and Mrs. Lawkins stood with their backs to the door of Madame deGramont's apartment, which opened into the drawing-room. What was theirconsternation on finding the countess herself standing in the door-way!Her countenance was perfectly appalling in its white, distorted wrath. She strode toward the two abashed domestics, and cried out, in a voicewhich broke the count's slumbers, and caused him to sit up in his chairwith terror-dilated eyes, -- "Woman! What is the meaning of this? Of whom are you talking? Whosesilver is that?" (pointing savagely to the salver. ) "And who are you?" Mrs. Lawkins was dumb. "Am I to be answered?" demanded the countess, imperiously. Then she turned to Robert. "Whose silver is that? Whose silver did yousay was missing?" "Mademoiselle de Gramont's, " Robert faltered out. "And Mademoiselle de Gramont has the unparalleled audacity to send hersilver here for my use? Do you mean to tell me that this salver and whatit contains are from her?" Robert could not answer. "Great heaven! that I should endure this! That Madeleine de Gramontshould have the insolence to _force_ her _bounty_ by stealth upon me, and that I should not have suspected her at once! Remove that salver outof my sight, and if you ever dare"-- Mrs. Lawkins had now partially recovered her self-possession, andinterrupted the countess politely but very firmly, -- "Madame, you will do M. De Gramont great injury. Do you not see that youare exciting him by this violence?" "_Who_ are you that you dare dictate to me? Leave this house instantly!Were you sent here by Mademoiselle de Gramont to institute an_espionage_ over me and my family? Go and tell your mistress thatneither she nor anything that belongs to her shall ever again defile mydwelling! I shall watch better in future! I will not be snared by herlow arts, her contemptible impostures!" Mrs. Lawkins, though she was a mild woman, loved Madeleine too well tohear her mentioned disrespectfully without being roused to indignation;affection for her mistress overcame her awe of the countess, and shereplied with feeling, -- "She is the noblest lady that ever walked the earth to bless it! and heronly art is the practise of goodness! Those who are turning upon her andreviling her ought to be on their knees before her this blessed moment!Didn't she nurse that poor gentleman night and day, as though he hadbeen her own father? Did she not bear all the slights put upon her bythose who are not half as good as she?--yes, that are not worthy to wipethe dust from her holy feet, for all their pride? Didn't it almost breakher heart when they forced the poor sick gentleman out of her house, tocage him in this cold, dreary place, where his own mother takes about asmuch care and notice of him as though he were a _Hindoo_ or a_Hottentot_!" (Mrs. Lawkins was not strong in comparisons. ) "And don'the mourn the night through for Mademoiselle Madeleine, crying out forher to come to him, as, I warrant, he never did for his mother? Andisn't that mother murdering him at this very moment?" "Leave the house! Leave the house!" cried the countess, in a voice thathad lost all its commanding dignity, through rage. "Leave the house, Isay! Do you dare to stand in my presence after such insolence?" "Yes, madame I dare!" replied Mrs. Lawkins, coolly. "I am not afraid ofa marble figure, even though it has a tongue; and there's not more soulin you than in a piece of marble; there's nothing but stone where yourheart should be; but even stone will break with a hard enough blow, andperhaps you will get such a one before you die. " "Go! I say, go!" vociferated the countess, pointing to the door. "Am Ito be obeyed?" "No, madame!" replied Mrs. Lawkins, undaunted. "Not until I receive theorders of M. Maurice de Gramont. He placed me here, and here I shallstay until I have his leave to resign my duties. " Count Tristan had caught his attendant's hand when he conceived the ideathat she was to be sent away from him, and when she refused to leavehim, he pressed it approvingly. "I am mistress here!" said the countess, with something of her formergrandeur of bearing. "M. Maurice de Gramont has no authority to engageor discharge domestics, or to give any orders that are not mine. I willhave none of Mademoiselle de Gramont's spies placed about my person! Goand tell her so, and say that after this last outrage, I will never seeher face again. Would that I might never hear her name! She has been mycurse, --my misery; she shall never cross my path more!" The count rose up as if sudden strength were miraculously infused intohis limbs; he raised both his arms toward heaven, and wailed out, "OLord God, bless her! bless her! Madeleine! Good angel! Madeleine!" The next moment he fell forward senseless and rolled to the ground. The countess was stupefied;--she could not speak, or stoop, or stir. The alarmed house-keeper knelt beside him. Robert hastily set down thesalver and lent his assistance. They lifted the count and laid him uponthe sofa. The instant Mrs. Lawkins saw his face, and the foam issuingfrom his lips, she exclaimed, -- "It is another fit! It is his second stroke! Lord have mercy upon him!and upon _you_, " she continued, turning to the countess, solemnly; "for, if he dies, so sure as there is a heaven above us, you have killed yourown son!" The countess' look of horror softened the kindly house-keeper, in spiteof her just wrath, and she added, "He may recover, --he has greatstrength. Robert, run quickly for Dr. Bayard. " Then she unfastened the patient's cravat and dashed cold water upon hishead, and chafed his hands, while his mother, slowly awakening from herstate of stupefaction, drew near, and bent over him. But not a fingerdid she raise to minister to him; she would not have known what to do, so little were her hands accustomed to ministration, --so seldom had theybeen stretched out to perform the slightest service for any one, evenher own son. We left Madeleine chasing away all heaviness from the soul of Maurice byher sweet singing. She was still at the piano, and he still hanging overher, when Robert burst into the room. He was a man almost stolid in hisquietude, and his hurried entrance, and agitated manner, were sufficientto terrify Maurice and Madeleine before he spoke. "Mademoiselle, it was my fault! Oh, if I had been more careful to obeyyour orders it would never have happened!" His contrition was so deep that he could not proceed. "Has Madame de Gramont discovered who sent the salver?" asked Madeleine, with an air of vexation. "That's not the worst, Mademoiselle. The countess has found out how Mrs. Lawkins came there. She overheard us talking about the milk-jug Imissed. Madame de Gramont was very violent; she said such things of you, Mademoiselle, that Mrs. Lawkins, who loves you like her own, couldn'tstand it, and gave her a bit of her mind, and M. De Gramont was rousedup also; he wouldn't hear you spoken against; he took on so it causedhim another attack; down he dropped like dead!" "My father, --he has been seized again, and"--Maurice did not finish hissentence, but caught up his hat. "I've been for the doctor, sir, " said Robert; "he's there by this time. " Maurice was out of the room, and hurrying toward the street door;Madeleine sprang after him. "Maurice! Maurice! Stay one moment! Oh, if I could be near yourfather, --if I could see him! My imprudence has been the cause of thislast stroke; yet I feel that he would gladly have me near him. " "He would indeed, my best Madeleine; but, my grandmother, alas! I haveno hope of moving her. " "If her son were dying, " persisted Madeleine, "her heart might besoftened. If he asked for me, she might let me come to him; it wouldsoothe _him_ perhaps, and how it would comfort _me_! I shall be at thehotel nearly as soon as you are. I will wait in my carriage until youcome to me and tell me how he is. Perhaps I _may_ be permitted to enterif he asks for me. Do not forget that I am there. " Did Maurice ever forget her, for a single moment? As soon as Madeleine's carriage could be brought to the door shefollowed her cousin. It was perhaps surprising that she was moved with so much sympathy forone whom she not only had good reason to dislike, but toward whom shehad formerly experienced an unconquerable repugnance; but, with spiritschastened and purified, as hers had been, a tenderness is always kindledtoward those whom they are permitted to _serve_. The very office ofministration (the office of angels), softens the heart, and substitutespity for loathing, the strong inclination to regenerate for the spiritof condemnation. While Madeleine was daily ministering to the count, shefound herself becoming attached to him, and, with little effort ofvolition, she blotted the past from her own memory. The action of Count Tristan's mind had been peculiar; when the discoveryof his dishonorable manoeuvring caused him a shock which planted thefirst seeds of his present malady, --when he had fallen into the depthsof despair, --it was Madeleine's hand that raised him up, that saved himfrom disgrace, and saved his son from being the innocent participator ofthat shame. For the first time in his life a strong sense of gratitudewas awakened in his breast. Again, it was through Madeleine that thevotes of so much importance to him, and which he had believedunattainable, were procured; she stood before him for the second time inthe light of a benefactress. He had been seized with apoplexy whileconversing with her; when reason was dimly restored, his mind went backto his last conscious thought, and _that_ had been of her, --hence hisimmediate recognition of her alone. Her patient, gentle, tender care hadimpressed him with reverence; he was magnetized by her sphere ofunselfishness, forgiveness and goodness, and some of the hardnesses ofhis own nature were melted away. Count Tristan had practised deception until he had nearly lost allbelief in the truth and purity of others, --had apparently growninsensible to all holy influences. Yet the daily contemplation of acharacter which bore witness to the existence of the most heavenlyattributes silently undermined his cold scepticism, and tacitlycontradicted and disproved his creed that duplicity and selfishness wereuniversal characteristics of mankind, --a creed usually adopted by himwho sees his fellow-men in the mirror which reflects his own image. Madeleine had discovered some small, not yet tightly closed avenue toCount Tristan's soul. Her toiling, pardoning, helping, holy spirit haddone more to lift him out of the bondage of his evil passions than couldhave been affected by any other human agency. CHAPTER XLVII. INFLEXIBILITY. "Oh, you have come at last!" exclaimed the countess, with acrimony, asMaurice opened the door of his father's chamber. Then, pointing to thecount, who still lay in a state of unconsciousness, she added, "Do yousee what calamities you leave me alone to bear?--you who are the onlystay I have left?" By the aid of Mrs. Lawkins and the servants of the hotel, the count hadbeen removed to his room. When Maurice entered, Mrs. Lawkins wasstanding on one side of the bed, Dr. Bayard on the other. The countesswas pacing up and down the small chamber like a caged lioness. Her grandson did not reply to her taunt, but addressed the doctor in atone too low for her to hear. His answer was a dubious movement of thehead which augured ill. Bertha, who chanced to be in her own chamber, writing to her dyspepticuncle, had only that moment become aware of what had happened. She stoleinto the count's room, pale with terror, crept up to Maurice, and clungto his arm as she asked, in a frightened tone, -- "Will he die, Maurice? Is it as bad as that?" "I cannot tell; I have great fears. But see, he is opening his eyes; helooks better. " The senses of the count were returning; the fit had been of briefduration, and hardly as violent as the one with which he had before beenattacked. In a short time it was apparent that he was aware of what waspassing around him. Maurice whispered to Bertha: "Madeleine is in her carriage at the door;put on your bonnet and run down to her, --you will not be missed. Tellher that my father is reviving. " Bertha lost no time in obeying, and was soon sitting by Madeleine'sside, receiving rather than giving comfort. Dr. Bayard, whose visits were necessarily brief, was compelled to leave, but he did so with the assurance that he would return speedily. Count Tristan's eyes wandered about as though in search of some one;they rested but for one instant upon his mother, Maurice, Mrs. Lawkins, and then glanced around him again with an anxious, yearning expression, and he moaned faintly. Maurice bent over him. "My dear father, is there anything you desire?" The count moaned again. "Is there any one you wish to see?" asked Maurice, determined to take abold stand. "Mad--Mad--Madeleine!" The feeble lips of the sufferer formed the word with difficulty, yet itwas clearly spoken. Maurice turned bravely to the countess. "You hear, my grandmother, thatmy father wishes to see Madeleine; it is not usual to refuse therequests of one in his perilous condition. With your permission I shallat once seek Madeleine and bring her to him. " "Have you taken leave of your senses?" she asked with tyrannous passion. "Or do you think that I have not borne insults enough, that you striveto invent new ones to heap upon me? How can you mention the name of thatmiserable girl in my hearing? Has she not occasioned me and all myfamily sufficient wretchedness? Are you mad enough to imagine that Iwill allow you to bring her here that she may triumph over me in theface of the whole world?" "My father asks to see her, " returned Maurice, adding, in a lower tone, "and he may be on his death-bed. " Madame de Gramont, losing all control over herself, replied savagely, "_If_ he were stretched there a corpse before me, --_he_, _my only son_, the only child I ever bore, the pride of my life, --Madeleine de Gramontshould not enter these doors to glory over me! I know her arts; I knowthe hold she has contrived to obtain over him while he was at her mercy. That is at an end! I have him here, and she shall never come near himmore, --neither she nor her _accomplices_!" and she indicated Mrs. Lawkins by a disdainful motion of the hand, as though she feared hermeaning might not be sufficiently clear. Maurice could not yield without another effort; for he perceived, by hisfather's countenance, that he not only heard the contest, but appealedto him to grant his unspoken wish. "This is cruel, my grandmother! It is inhuman! You have nothing to urgeagainst Madeleine, who has too nobly proved her devotion to her family, and her respect for your feelings; but if you _had_ real and just causeof complaint, it should be forgotten at this moment. If my fatherdesires to see her, she should be permitted to come to him. " "Do you presume to dictate to me, Maurice de Gramont? Is this one ofthe lessons you have learned from the _mantua-maker_? Do you intend toteach me my duty to my own child? I _swear to you_ that Madeleine deGramont shall _never_ see my son again, while I live! I, his mother, amby his side, --that is sufficient. No one's presence can supersede thatof a mother!" Maurice saw that contention was fruitless; he sat down in silence, butnot without noticing the look of compassion which Mrs. Lawkins bestowedupon him. The count had closed his eyes again, but low groans, almostlike stifled sobs, burst at intervals from his lips. The countess essayed to unbend sufficiently to attempt the task ofsoothing him. "My son, " she said, in the mildest tone she could command, "do you notknow that your mother is near you?" Without unclosing his eyes, he answered, "Yes. " "And her presence under all circumstances, " she continued, "should leavenothing to desire. In spite of what Maurice with so little respect andconsideration has attempted to make me believe, I know you too well notto be certain that he did you injustice. " No answer; but the countess interpreted her son's silence intoacquiescence with her observation, and remarked to Maurice withasperity, -- "I presume you perceive that your father is fully satisfied. It does notinterfere with his comfort that you have failed in your attempt. I wellknow you were instigated by one who hopes to make use of your father'sindisposition as the stepping-stone by which she can again mount intofavor with her family, and force them into public recognition of her. This is but one of her many cunning stratagems; there are others ofwhich we will talk presently. " She glanced at Mrs. Lawkins, who was arranging the count's pillows, andraising him into a more comfortable position. Maurice bethought him that it was time to let Madeleine know there wasno hope of her obtaining admission to his father. As he left theapartment, the countess followed him into the drawing-room. "I have something further to say to you, Maurice, and I prefer to speakout of the hearing of that woman. Am I to understand that you were privyto her introduction into this house, and that you were aware that shewas a spy of Mademoiselle de Gramont?" "A spy, madame?" "Yes, a spy! Why should Mademoiselle de Gramont wish to place hermenials here except to institute _espionage_ over my family?" "Mrs. Lawkins was sent here by Madeleine because she is an efficientnurse, --such a nurse as my father needs and as he could not readilyobtain, _I_ brought her here, and I did not do so without knowing herfitness for her office. " "Her chief fitness consists, it appears, in her having been in theemployment of the mantua-maker. I have no more to say on this subject, except that the woman must quit the house this evening. " "That is out of the question; she cannot leave until I have found someone to take her place. " "Do you mean to dispute my orders, Maurice de Gramont? I shall notentrust to you the task of dismissing her. I shall myself command her toleave, and that without delay. " "You will do as you please, madame; but may I ask by whom you intend toreplace her?" "Somebody will be found. I will give orders to have another nurseprocured. In the mean time, Adolphine can make herself useful. " "Adolphine!" replied Maurice, contemptuously. "A butterfly might turn amill-wheel as efficiently as Adolphine could take charge of an invalid. " "Be the alternative what it may, " replied the countess, peremptorily, "Iam unalterable in my determination. That woman sent here by Madeleine deGramont leaves the house to-day!" Just then her eye fell upon the salver which Robert had left upon thetable when he ran for the doctor; that sight added fresh fuel to herindignation. "Have you also been aware that Mademoiselle de Gramont carried heraudacity so far that she had even ventured secretly to send donations, in the shape of chocolate, beef-tea, cakes, jellies, and fruit, to herfamily?" "I am aware, " replied Maurice, "that Madeleine's thoughtful kindnessprompted her, during your indisposition as well as my father's, toprepare, with her own hands, delicacies which are not to be obtained ina hotel. I was aware that this was her return for the harsh and crueltreatment she had received at the hands of, --of some of her family. " "Mad boy! You are leagued with her against me! This is unendurable! Oh, that I had never been lured to this abominable country! Oh, that I hadnever known the shame of finding my own grandson sunken so low! But Ihave borne the very utmost that I can support! Now it shall end! I willreturn with your father to our old home, that we may die there in peace!If you are not lost to all sense of filial duty, you will not forsakeyour father, but accompany him to Brittany; he will henceforth need ason!" Maurice avoided making a direct reply by saying, "Have the goodness toexcuse me, madame; I will return in a few moments. " He descended the stair with slower steps than was his wont when on hisway to Madeleine. Bertha was still sitting in the carriage beside hercousin. Maurice read anxious expectation, mingled with some faint hope, in Madeleine's countenance. He entered the carriage before he venturedto speak. "Your father, Maurice?" she asked eagerly. "I think he is better; the attack does not appear as severe as theformer one must have been. " "Did you speak to your grandmother of me? Did you plead for me, andentreat that she would allow me to go to Count Tristan?" "She is not to be moved, Madeleine; she is implacable. " "But if your father should desire to see me?" persisted Madeleine. "He did desire, --he even asked for you, --but my grandmother wasinflexible. " "Maurice, I must, --must go to him, if he wishes to see me. I understandhis wants so well, --I must, must go to him! Madame de Gramont may treatme as she will; but if he wants me, I must go to him!" Madeleine was so carried away by her strong impulse to reach one to whomshe knew her presence was essential, that she was less reasonable thanusual, and it was with some difficulty that Maurice pacified her. But toresign herself to the inevitable, however hard, was one of the firstduties of her life, and after awhile her composure was partiallyrestored, and, bidding Bertha and Maurice adieu, she drove home. CHAPTER XLVIII. THE NEW ENGLAND NURSE. Madeleine, in spite of the positive denial she had received, experiencedas strong a desire to be near her afflicted relative as though hisyearning for her presence drew her to him by some species of powerfulmagnetism. The wildest plans careered through her brain. She thought ofthe days in Paris when she had so successfully assumed the garb of the_soeur de bon secours_, and kept nightly vigils beside the bed ofMaurice. Was there no disguise under which she could make her way to thecount? But the doubt that she could elude the countess's scrutinizingeyes, --the certainty of the violent scene which must ensue if Madame deGramont discovered her, --made her reluctantly relinquish the attempt. Then she clung to the hope that her aunt would not, while Count Tristanlay in so perilous a condition, insist upon discharging Mrs. Lawkins. All uncertainty upon that head was quickly dispelled by the appearanceof Mrs. Lawkins herself. The countess had peremptorily repeated hersentence of banishment, and refused to listen to her grandson'sentreaties that she might be permitted to remain until a substitutecould be procured. To search for that substitute was the sole work leftfor Madeleine's hands. She despatched the willing housekeeper to makeinquiries among her acquaintances, and charged her to spare neither timenor expense. Few Europeans can imagine the difficulty of executing sucha commission in America; but the Englishwoman had lived in Washingtonlong enough to know that she had no light labor before her. She was toozealous, however, to return home until she had found a person who wasfully qualified to fill her vacant post. Maurice was sitting beside Madeleine when Mrs. Lawkins returned from herweary peregrinations and made known her success. "I did not send for the nurse to come here, " said Madeleine. "It seemedto me better for you, Maurice, to go and see her and engage her to enterupon her duties to-morrow morning. That will give you an opportunitythis evening of preparing the countess for her reception. " Maurice acted upon Madeleine's suggestion, and, after a very briefconversation with Mrs. Gratacap, secured her services. Mrs. Gratacap belonged to the "Eastern States, " albeit the very oppositeof _oriental_ in her appearance and characteristics. She was a tall, angular, grave-visaged person, possessing such decided, common-placegood sense that she came under the head of that feminine class whichDickens has taught the world to designate as "strong-minded. " There wasno "stuff and nonsense" about her; she had a due appreciation of her ownestimable attributes, as well as a firm conviction of the equality ofall mankind, or, more especially, _womankind_. When she accepted asituation, it was in the conscientious belief that the persons whom sheundertook to serve were the indebted party; yet she was a faithful nurseand both understood and liked her vocation. In spite of her masculinebearing toward the rest of the world, she always treated her invalidcharges with womanly gentleness. When Maurice informed his grandmother that he had obtained a new _gardemalade_, the countess at once asked, -- "Are you attempting to introduce another spy of Mademoiselle de Gramontinto my dwelling?" Maurice controlled his indignation and replied, "My cousin Madeleine hasnever seen this person. I hope she will suit, as I have engaged her fora month, that being the custom here; even if she does not meet _all_ ourrequirements, we cannot discharge her until that period has elapsed. " "I shall not consent to any such stipulation, " answered the countess. "If she does not please me, I shall order her to leave at once. " "The arrangement is already concluded, " returned Maurice; "it is theonly one I could make, and you cannot but see that it is a matter ofhonor, as well as of necessity, to abide by the contract. " Maurice evinced tact in his choice of language. The imposing words"honor" and "contract" made an impression upon the countess, and shesaid no more. The next day, shortly after the morning meal, the sound of sharp tonesechoing through the entry, was followed by the noisy opening of thecountess' drawing-room door. "This is the place, is it?" cried a harsh voice. "I say, boy, bringalong that box and dump it down here. " Mrs. Gratacap entered with a bandbox in one hand, and in the other ahuge umbrella and huger bundle, while the box (which was a compromisebetween a trunk and a packing-case) was carried in without furtherceremony. Mrs. Gratacap was attired with an exemplary regard for_utility_; her garments were too short to be soiled by contact with themud, and disclosed Amazonian feet encased in sturdy boots, to saynothing of respectable ankles protected by gray stockings. Her dress wasof a sombre hue and chargeable with no unnecessary amplitude; where itwas pulled up at the sides a gray balmoral petticoat was visible;crinoline had been scrupulously renounced (as it should be in asick-chamber); the coal-skuttle bonnet performed its legitimate duty inshading her face as well as covering her head. The countess might well look up in stupefied amazement; for she hadnever before been thrown into communication with humanity so strikinglyprimitive, and so complacently self-confident. "This is the nurse of whom I spoke, " was Maurice's introduction. Mrs. Gratacap who had been too busily engaged in looking after her"properties" to perceive the viscount until he spoke, now strodeforward, extended her hand, and shook his with good-humored familiarity. "How d'ye do? How d'ye do, young man? Here I am, you see, punctual tothe moment. Told you you could depend on me. Well, and where's the poordear? And who's _this_, and who's _that_?" looking first at the countessand then at Bertha. Maurice was forced to answer, "That is Madame de Gramont, mygrandmother, and this is Mademoiselle de Merrivale, my cousin. " "Ah, very good! How are you, ma'am? Glad to see you, miss!" said Mrs. Gratacap, nodding first to one and then to the other. "Guess we shallget along famously together. " Then, totally unawed by the countess' glacial manner, for Mrs. Gratacaphad never dreamed of being afraid of "mortal man, " to say nothing of"mortal woman, " she disencumbered herself of her bandbox, bundle, andumbrella, deliberately took off the ample hat and tossed it upon thetable, sending her shawl to keep it company, walked up to Madame deGramont, placed a chair immediately in front of her, and sat down. "Well, and how's the poor dear? It's a pretty bad case, I hear. Nevermind, --don't be down in the mouth. I've brought folks through after thenails were ready to be driven into their coffins. Nothing like keeping astiff upper lip. Your son, isn't he? Dare say he'll do well enough witha little nursing. Let's know when he was taken, and how he's beengetting on, and what crinks and cranks he's got. Sick folks always havecrumpled ways. Post me up a bit before I go in to him. " The countess's piercing black eyes were fixed upon the voluble nursewith a look of absolute horror, and she never moved her lips. Maurice came to the rescue. "My father has been ill nearly a month; he was attacked with apoplexy;he had a second stroke yesterday. " "You don't say so? That's bad! Two strokes, eh? We must look out andprevent a third; that's a dead go; but often it don't come for years. Noneed of borrowing trouble, --worse than borrowing money. " "Let me show you to my father's apartment, " said Maurice, to relieve hisgrandmother. "All right, --I'm ready! And then you'll let me see where I am to stow myduds; any corner will do, but I must have a cupboard of a place all tomyself; it need only be big enough to swing a cat round in. It isn'tmuch comfort I want, but a hole of my own I always bargain for. Aren'tyou coming along?" she said, looking back at the countess, who satstill. Madame de Gramont did not betray that she even suspected these wordswere addressed to her, nor that she heard those which followed, thoughthey were spoken in a stage-whisper which could hardly escape her ears. "Is your granny always so glum? We must cheer her up a bit, " was Mrs. Gratacap's encouraging comment. The nurse's high-pitched voice was softened to a lower key when sheentered the apartment where Count Tristan lay, and there were genuinecompassion and motherly tenderness in her look as she regarded him. Shecontinued to question Maurice until she had learned something of thepatient's history, --not from sheer curiosity, but because she alwaystook a deep interest in the invalids placed under her charge, and bybecoming acquainted with their peculiarities she could better adaptherself to their necessities. One word only can express the countess's sensations at the dropping ofsuch a "monstrosity" into the midst of her family circle, --she wasappalled! Never had any one ventured to address her with such freedom;never before had she been treated by any one as though she were mereflesh and blood. She had not believed it possible that any one couldhave the temerity to regard her in the light of equality. One mightalmost have imagined that the formidable New England nurse had inspiredher with dread, for she could not rouse herself, could not gain courageto face the intruder, and, during that day, never once approached herson's chamber. But Mrs. Gratacap, in the most unconscious manner, maderepeated invasions into the drawing-room, and even extended her salliesto the countess's own chamber, always upon some plausible pretext, --nowto inquire where she could find the sugar, or the spoons, now to beg fora pair of scissors, or to ask where the vinegar-cruet was kept, or tolearn how the countess managed about heating bricks, or getting bottlesof hot water to warm the patient's feet! The countess, compelled by these intrusions to address the enemy, andgalled by the necessity, said sternly, "Go to the servants and get whatis needful. " "Law sakes! You needn't take my head off! I haven't got any other andcan't spare it!" answered Mrs. Gratacap, not in the least abashed. "Idon't want to go bothering hotel help; I always keep out of their way, for they have a holy horror of us nurses, and the fuss most of us make;though I am not one of that sort. I leave the help alone and help myselfconsiderable; and what I want I manage to get from the folks I livewith. That's my way, and I don't think it's a bad way. I've had it forthirty odd years that I've been nursing; and I don't think I shallchange it in thirty more. " She flounced out of the room after this declaration, leaving thecountess in a state which Mrs. Gratacap herself would have described as"quite upset;" but the haughty lady had scarcely time to recover herequanimity before the strong-minded nurse returned to the attack. The countess had retreated to her own room; but Mrs. Gratacap broke inupon her, crying out, "I say, when will that young man be back? He'sgone off without telling me when he'd be at his post again. " Madame de Gramont's usual refuge was in silence, ignoring that sheheard; but here it was not likely to avail, for she saw that the unawednurse would probably stand her ground, and repeat her question until shereceived an answer. The countess, therefore, forced herself to inquirein a severe tone, -- "Whom do you mean?" "Why, the young man, your grandson, to be sure! A very spry youngfellow. I like his looks mightily. " If Madame de Gramont had been an adept in reading countenances she wouldhave read in the nurse's face, "I cannot say as much for hisgrandmother's;" but the proud lady was not skilled in this humble art, and never even suspected that a person in Mrs. Gratacap's lowly stationwould dare to pass judgment upon one in her lofty position. She replied, with increased austerity, -- "I am not in the habit of hearing the Viscount de Gramont; my grandson, mentioned in this unceremonious manner; it may be the mode adopted inthis uncivilized country, but it is offensive. " "Law sakes! You don't say so?" answered Mrs. Gratacap, as if the rebukedarted off from her without hitting. "I didn't suppose you'd go to fancyI was _snubbing_ him because I called him a young man! What could he bebetter? He's not an old one, is he? But I know some folks have apartiality to being called by their names, and I have no objection inlife to humoring them. Well, then, when will Mr. Gramont be back? I'dlike to know!" "M. De Gramont did not inform me when he would return;" was the freezingrejoinder. "Now, that's a pity! I want somebody in there for a moment, for the poordear's so heavy I can't turn him all alone. Aren't you strong enough tolend a hand? To be sure, at your time of life, one an't apt to be worthmuch in the arms. At all events, an't you coming in to see him? You'rehis own mother; and, I swan, you haven't been near him this blessedday. " "Woman!" cried the countess, lashed into fury. "How dare you addresssuch language to me?" "Law sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Gratacap, lifting up her hands and eyes. "What _did_ I say? You _are_ his mother, an't you? There's no shameabout it, I suppose. I hadn't a notion of putting you into a passion. Ithought it mighty queer you didn't come in to see your own son when he'slying so low; and I said so, --that's all! But if you don't want to come, I don't want to force you. I can't put natural feelings in the hearts ofpeople that haven't got them; it stands to reason I can't, and youneedn't be flying out at me on that account. " Mrs. Gratacap, after delivering this admonitory sentiment, was returningto the patient when she encountered Bertha, and inquired, -- "Did Mr. Gramont say when he would come back?" "He did not say; but I think he will be absent for a couple of hours, "replied Bertha. "Oh, if that's the case, I must get a helping hand somewhere. You're a young thing, and, I dare say, strong enough. Come along andhelp me move the poor dear. " "Willingly, " replied Bertha, "if I am only able. " As they entered the count's chamber, Mrs. Gratacap again subdued hervoice, and though her words and manner were always of the most positivekind, there was a sort of rude softness (if we may use the contradictoryexpression) in her mode of instructing Bertha in the service required. When the count was comfortably placed, she sat down, and Bertha alsotook a seat. "I say, " commenced Mrs. Gratacap, in a half whisper, "that's the most ofa tigress yonder I ever had the luck to come across. Why, she's got nomore natural feeling than an oyster, --no more warm blood in her veinsthan a cauliflower. I wonder how such beings ever get created. Are theremany of that sort in the parts you came from?" "She is very proud, " replied Bertha, "and I am afraid there is no lackof pride in France among the noble class to which she belongs. " "Pride! Why, I wonder what she's got to be proud of? She looks as thoughshe couldn't do a thing in life that's worth doing? I like pride wellenough! I'm awful proud myself when I've done anything remarkable. But Iwonder what that rock yonder ever did in all her born days to be proudof?" Bertha tried to explain by saying, "Her pride is of family descent. " "I suppose she don't trace back further than Adam, does she? And we alldo about that, " was the answer. Here the conversation was interrupted. Bertha was summoned to receivevisitors. The instant Maurice returned his grandmother attacked him. "Maurice, that woman's presence here is insupportable; there is no use of argumenton the subject; I have made up my mind, --go and dismiss her at once, andseek somebody else!" May not Maurice be pardoned for losing his temper and answering withconsiderable irritation, --"Have I not clearly explained to you, madame, that I cannot do anything of the kind? I have engaged her for a month, and I cannot turn her away without a good reason; here she must remainuntil the time expires. " "Pay her double her wages, and let her go!" urged the countess. "Once more, and for the last time, " cried Maurice, determinedly, "I tellyou, I cannot and will not!" "Then send her to me!" answered the countess. Maurice did not stir; she repeated, in a more commanding voice, "Sendher to me, I say!" Maurice reluctantly went to his father's room and returned with Mrs. Gratacap. Before the countess could commence the formal address she hadprepared, the good woman took a chair, and with complacent familiarity, sat down beside her, saying, "Well, and what is it? I hope you feel alittle better. I'm afraid you've a deal of _bile_; really, it ought tobe looked after; if you can just get rid of it you'll be a deal morecomfortable. " "Woman"--began the countess. Mrs. Gratacap interrupted her, but without the least show of ill-temper. "Now I tell you, if it's all the same to you, I'd just as lief you'dcall me by my name, and that's 'Gratacap'--'Mrs. Gratacap!' Fair play'sa jewel, you know, and you didn't like my calling your grandson a 'youngman' even, but politely begged that I'd term him 'Mr. Gramont;' so youjust call me by my name, and I'll return the compliment. " "I choose to avoid the necessity of calling you anything, " returned thecountess, when Mrs. Gratacap allowed her to speak. "You are discharged!I desire you to leave my house" (the countess always imagined herself inher château, or some mansion to which she had the entire claim), "leavemy house within an hour. " "Hoighty-toighty! here's a pretty kettle of fish! But it's no usetalking; I'm settled for a month! that's my engagement. " "I am aware of it; you will receive double your month's wages and go!" "I'll receive nothing of the kind! I don't take money I've not earned;and I'll not go until the time's up! That's a declaration ofindependence for you, which I suppose you're not accustomed to in theoutlandish place you came from, where people haven't a notion how totreat those they can't do without. Do you suppose your paltry moneywould compensate me for the injury it would do my character, if itshould be said I was engaged for a month, and before I had been in thesituation a day, I had to pull up stakes and make tracks? No, --unlessyou can prove that I don't know my business, or don't do my duty, I'vejust as much right here, being engaged to take up my quarters here, asyou have. Don't think I'm offended; make yourself easy on that head. I've learnt how to deal with all sorts of folks. I saw at the firstsquint that you and I would have a rather rough time, and I made readyfor it. If you've got nothing more to say, I'll go back to the poordear, for he's broad awake and may be wanting something. " "And you dare to refuse to go when I dismiss you?" "_Dare?_ Law sakes! there's no _dare_ about it. _Who's to dare me?_ orto frighten me either? You don't think you've come to a free country tofind people afraid of their shadows, --do you? I'm afraid of nothing butnot doing my duty; I always dare do that, to say nothing of asserting myown rights and privileges. So let's have no more nonsense, and I'll goabout my business. " Mrs. Gratacap returned to her patient as undisturbed as though thecountess had merely requested her presence as a matter of courtesy. The torment Madame de Gramont was destined to endure from thisstraightforward, steady-of-purpose, unterrified New England woman, mustexceed the comprehension of those who never felt within themselves theworkings of an overbearing spirit. Mrs. Gratacap maintained her ground;there was no displacing her; and she had become thoroughly sovereign ofthe sick-room, as a good nurse ought to be. The only alternative for thecountess was to avoid her; but she was a pursuing phantom that met theproud lady at every turn, haunted her with untiring pertinacity. Madamede Gramont absented herself from her son's chamber, except when Mrs. Gratacap went to her meals; but little was gained by that, for the nursewas always flitting in and out of the drawing-room, or dining-room, atunexpected moments, and only the turning of the key kept her out of thecountess's own chamber. The first time that Madame de Gramont bethought herself of visiting herson when the inevitable _garde malade_ was absent, Mrs. Gratacapreturned in one quarter the time which the countess imagined it wouldrequire to swallow the most hasty meal. "Well, I _do_ say, that's a sight for sore eyes!" exclaimed the nurse. "I am as pleased as punch to find you here; but I've been thinking thatlike as not, you're scared of sick folks; there's plenty of people thatare; but there's nothing to be skittish about; I think this poor dearwill get all right again. " "Silence, woman!" commanded the countess. "Never you fear, " replied Mrs. Gratacap, either misunderstanding her orpretending to do so. "I'm not talking loud enough for him to hear. Idon't allow loud talking in a sick-room, nor much talking either, of anykind. If you'd stay here a little while every day, you'd get some ideasfrom my management. " The exasperated countess retreated from the apartment, falling back, forthe first time, before an enemy. As she made her exit Mrs. Gratacap said to Maurice, "It's a pity yourgrandmother is so cantankerous; but, I'm used to cranks and whims of allsorts of folks, and it's only for her own sake, that I wish she'd makeherself more at home here. Who'd think she was the mother of that poordear lying so low? and she never to have a word of comfort to throw athim. But people's ways an't alike, thank goodness! It may be the styleover in your parts, but I'm thankful I was born this side of the greatpond. " A fortnight passed on, and the count rallied again. The shadows whichobscured his brain seemed in a measure to have passed away; but theywere succeeded by a deep melancholy. No effort made by Maurice or Bertha(Madame de Gramont made none) could rouse him. His countenance wore anexpression of utter despair. He never spoke except to reply to somequestion, and then as briefly as possible; but his answers were quitelucid. As far as mere _physique_ was in question, he was convalescingfavorably. Maurice received another letter from his partner, urging him to returnto Charleston as soon as possible, and giving him the information thatthere was a most advantageous opening in his profession. While the countremained in his present feeble state, Maurice could not leave him;besides the countess and Bertha required manly protection. Bertha continued to resist all Gaston's entreaties to name the day fortheir union, always replying that the day depended upon Madeleine, andif the latter remained single, she would do the same. Maurice decided that, as soon as his father had recovered sufficientlyto travel, it would be advisable for the whole party to take up theirabode in Charleston. Many and sharp were the pangs he suffered at thethought of leaving a city which Madeleine's presence rendered so dear;but he would be worthier of her esteem, and his own self-respect, if heresolutely and steadfastly pursued the course he had marked out forhimself before she was restored to him. To prepare the mind of hisgrandmother, and to learn Bertha's opinion of the proposed change, weresubjects of importance which demanded immediate attention. He spoke tohis cousin first, seizing an opportunity when the countess chanced to beabsent. Bertha looked amazed, and asked, "How can you leave Madeleine?" "When I think of it, I feel as though I could not; and yet I must. Icannot linger here in idleness. Madeleine herself would be the first oneto bid me go. " "I dare say!" answered Bertha, pettishly. "But you, Bertha, " continued Maurice, "how will you leave one who has adearer claim upon you, than I, alas! will ever have upon Madeleine? Howwill you be reconciled to part from M. De Bois?" "I answer as you do, that I _must_. " "But you, Bertha, have an alternative; Gaston, if he could induce you toremain, --induce you to give him a wife, --would be enraptured. " "I suppose so, " returned Bertha, with charming demureness; "but that isout of the question. Wherever my aunt goes, I will go. " "But how long is this to last, Bertha?" "Nobody knows, except Madeleine, perhaps. I shall not be married untilshe is. " That very suggestion sent such a shuddering thrill through the veins ofMaurice, that he cried out, -- "Bertha! for the love of Heaven! never mention such a possibility again!When the time comes, if come it must, I trust I shall behave like a man, but I have not the courage now to contemplate a shock so terrible. Thevery suggestion distracts me. I shall never cease to loveMadeleine, --never! Were she the wife of another man, I should be forcedto fly from her forever, that I might not profane her purity by even ashadow of that love; yet I should love her all the same! My love isinterwound with my whole being; the drawing of my breath, the flowing ofmy blood are not more absolute necessities of my existence; my love forMadeleine is life itself, and if she should give her hand, as she hasgiven her heart, to another man, I, --it is a possibility too dreadful tocontemplate, --it sets my brain on fire to think of it. Never, never, Bertha, never if you have any affection for me, speak of Madeleine as"-- He could not finish his sentence, and Bertha said, penitently, --"I am sosorry, Maurice, I beg your pardon; and there's no likelihood at present;and so I have told M. De Bois, that he might reconcile himself and learnpatience. " Madame de Gramont entered, and Maurice, endeavoring to conquer hisrecent agitation, said to her, -- "I have been talking with Bertha about our future plans. I purposereturning shortly to Charleston; indeed, it is indispensable that Ishould do so. I trust you and my father and Bertha will be willing toaccompany me as soon as he is able to bear the journey, --will you not?" "No, " replied the countess, decidedly. "Why should I go to Charleston?Why should I linger in this most barbarous, most detestable country, where I have suffered so much? I have formed my own plans, and intend tocarry them into immediate execution. " "May I beg you to let me know what they are?" "I purpose, " said the countess, slowly, but with a decision by which shemeant to impress Maurice with the certainty that there was no appeal; "Ipurpose returning to Brittany, and there remaining for the rest of mydays!" Bertha half leaped from her chair, her breath grew thick, and her heartmust have beat painfully, for she pressed her hand upon her breast, asthough to still the violent pulsations. "To Brittany, my grandmother?" said Maurice, in accents ofconsternation. "I trust not. In my father's state of health, I could notfeel that I was doing my duty if I were separated from him, and myinterests, my professional engagements, compel me to remain in thiscountry. " "Your filial affection, Maurice de Gramont, must be remarkably strong, if you weigh it against your petty, selfish interests, --yourprofessional engagements. But, do as you please, --I ask nothing, expectnothing from you, --not even the protection of your presence, though Ihave no longer a son who is able to offer me protection. " "But if you will allow me to explain, --if you will allow me to show youthat my lot is cast in America, --that it would ruin all my futureprospects to return to Europe! My father's affairs are so much entangledthat I must exert myself for his support and my own. " (He might havesaid the support of his grandmother also, but was too delicate. ) "Thereis no opening for me in France, no occupation that I am fitted atpresent to pursue. " "I do not undertake to comprehend what you mean by your_prospects_--your _engagements_--your _exerting_ yourself--or any of theother low phrases that drop so readily from your tongue. These are notmatters with which I can have any concern. I have nothing to do withyour _prospects_, your _exertions_, your _engagements_, or your_intentions_. _My intentions_ are plain and unalterable. As soon as thephysician says my son is in a state to travel, I shall engage ourpassage upon the first steamer that starts for Havre, and turn my backupon this miserable land, to which you, Bertha, by your capriciousfolly, lured us. It does not matter who accompanies me, or who does not;my son and I will depart, --_that is settled_. " Bertha and Maurice were silent through dismay. The countess finding thatneither replied, said to her niece, -- "Upon what have you resolved, Bertha? Will you allow me to return alone?Do you intend to refuse to go with me, because my grandson has coldlydisregarded all the ties of kindred and severed himself from his fatherand me?" Bertha answered quickly, "I wish, oh! I wish you could be persuaded toremain here; but if not, --if you _will_ go, --if you _must_ go--I will gowith you. " It was long since the countess had looked so gratified, and she drewBertha toward her and kissed her brow, exclaiming, -- "There is, at least, _one_ of my own kindred left to me! Thank God!" "Do not suppose, " said Maurice, "if this voyage is inevitable, if youcannot be persuaded to think the step hazardous, that I shall allow youto take it without a proper escort. If you return to France, let theconsequence be what it may, I will go with you. Circumstances render itimpossible that I should take up my residence there, but I will make thevoyage with you, --I will see you and my father in your own home, andthen"-- The countess contemplated him approvingly. "That was spoken likeyourself, Maurice! I have still a grandson upon whom I can lean. Now, let us hasten our departure; let us start the instant it is possible; wecannot set out too soon to please _me_. " The countess _never_ thought of the _necessity_, _propriety_, or_charity_, of pleasing any one else. Could any one's pleasure be ofimportance weighed against hers? CHAPTER XLIX. RONALD. Who cannot conceive the consternation of Gaston de Bois when he learnedthat Madame de Gramont had resolved to return to Brittany with her son, and that Bertha had promised to accompany them? The countess sat lookingat him with a species of savage triumph; for since he had becomeMadeleine's champion, she had treated him with pointed coldness. Gentleand sympathetic as his affianced bride was in general, she seemed foronce to be insensible to the wound she had inflicted, and gave no signof wavering in her resolution. The next morning she was on her way to Madeleine's, accompanied by hermaid. M. De Bois joined them as soon as they were out of sight of thehotel. How suddenly Bertha's soft heart must have become fossilized!for, although his heavy eyes and disturbed mien bore witness to thesleepless night he had passed, she did not appear to notice any changein his appearance. "Bertha, " he said, reproachfully, "you cannot be so cruel, --soungenerous! You will not leave me and return to Brittany with your aunt, instead of giving me the right to detain you!" "It's very hard-hearted, " replied Bertha, tantalizingly; "but I havepromised my aunt to accompany her, and I, cannot break my word. " "But your promise to me?" "I hope to keep that, in good time, when the conditions are fulfilled. " "But you link that promise with conditions which may never befulfilled, --never!" "Then we must be happy as we are, " said Bertha, naïvely. Bertha's obstinacy was surprising in one of her malleable, easilyinfluenced character; but it seemed prompted by an instinctive beliefthat Gaston would be forced to make some exertion, --take some steps(their nature Bertha did not define to herself) which would result inbringing about Madeleine's happiness, and in promoting her union withher unknown lover. This one idea had taken such full possession ofBertha's brain that it could not be dislodged, and all Gaston's fervententreaties that she would not let his happiness depend upon such anunlikely contingency were fruitless. "Then I have but one alternative, " said Gaston, at last. "I will resignmy secretaryship and accompany you to Brittany. You cannot imagine thatI would let you go without me?" Bertha did not say how much pleasure this suggestion gave her; but theglad radiance in her blue eyes told she had been unexpectedly spared onehalf the sacrifice which she had determined to make, if necessary. When Madeleine learned from Gaston the proposed departure of thecountess and her family, a death-like pallor suddenly overspread hercountenance, and she gasped out faintly, "All, --all going?" "Dear, dear Madeleine, " cried Bertha, "do not look so; you frighten me. It's very sad to leave you in this strange land alone. It depends uponyou to keep two of us near you, --I mean M. De Bois and myself. " Bertha's words imparted no consolation. "If you would but unravel this mystery, Madeleine?" Bertha went on. "Itdepends upon you and you only, to bind me here. When you are ready tostand before the altar with the one you have so long loved, so shall Ibe! Yes, though it were to-morrow. " "Bertha, " answered Madeleine with such sad solemnity that for the firsttime Bertha's hope that her ardent desire might be accomplished waschilled, "you do not know what an, --an almost impossibility you areasking. Believe me, when I tell you, in all seriousness, that I shallnever stand before the altar as a bride. An insurmountable barrierforbids! I shall live on, --work on, alone, --finding consolation in thecertainty that I am acting wisely, and bearing bravely what must beendured. Will not this declaration convince you that you have decidedrashly, not to say _cruelly_, in making your wifehood dependent uponmine?" Bertha shook her head pertinaciously: "No--no--no! If I were to yield Ishould have to relinquish my last hope of seeing you a bride. I do notmean to yield! You need not persuade me; nor you either, M. De Bois. Iam as obstinate as the de Gramonts themselves; and yet, in thisinstance, I think I am more reasonable in my firmness. " Madeleine and Gaston did not forego entreaties in spite of thisassertion; but they had no effect upon Bertha, though she was thankfulto be relieved from their importunities by the entrance of Maurice. Neither Madeleine nor Gaston felt disposed, in his hearing, to run therisk of making Bertha repeat her desire that Madeleine should become abride. Madeleine roused herself that Maurice might not perceive hersadness, and made an effort to speak of the proposed voyage as a settledplan. The gloom of Maurice was not diminished by her attempt. He wouldhave been less chagrined if he had seen the emotion which her pallidcheeks betrayed when the intelligence of their approaching departure wascommunicated to her. Ungenerous manhood! he would have suffered less hadhe known that she whom he loved suffered also! Later in the day, as he was slowly walking toward the hotel, plunged inone of those despondent moods to which he had been subject before hissojourn in America, he was roused by a clear, ringing voice, though solong unheard, still familiar, and ever pleasant to his ears. "Maurice!" "Ronald! There is not a man in the world I would rather have seen!" "And you are the very man I was seeking. I came to Washington on purposeto see you, " replied the young artist, who had exerted so strong aninfluence over the character of Maurice in other days, and who had doneso much toward "shaping his destiny. " Ronald was somewhat changed; the rich coloring of his handsome face hadpaled, or been bronzed over; a few lightly traced, but expressive lineswere chronicles of mental struggles, and told that he had thought andsuffered. There was more contemplation and less gayety in the brilliantbrown eyes; more reflective composure and less impulsive buoyancy in hisdemeanor. Heretofore his bearing, language, whole aspect had evercommunicated the impression of possible power; now it bespoke powerconfirmed and concentrated, and brought into living action. The friendship of Maurice and Ronald had not grown cold during the yearsthey had been separated. They had corresponded regularly; their interestin each other, their affection for each other had deepened andstrengthened with every year, as all emotions which have their root inthe spirit must deepen and strengthen, --the elements of _progress_ beinginseparable from those affections which draw their existence from thislife-source. Maurice, during his sojourn in Charleston, had paid weekly visits toRonald's parents, usually spending his Sundays beneath their hospitableroof; and this made the day a true Sabbath to him. During the two monthshe had passed in Washington, Maurice had only written brief letters toMrs. Walton; for the rapid succession of exciting events had engrossedhis time, though it could not make him forget one who was ever readywith her sympathy and counsel. Her replies also had been curtailed bythe all-absorbing joy of welcoming her son after his long absence. The young artist had now achieved an enviable reputation as a painter. His first works were characterized by a towering ambition in theirconception, which his unpractised execution could not fitly illustrate;but they had disappointed no one so much as himself. After manystruggles against a sense of discouragement, inseparable from highaspirations, frustrated for the moment, he had broken out of hischrysalis state of imperfect action, and spread his wings in strong andserious earnest. His sensitive perception of the great and beautiful, allied to the creative power of genius soon blazoned his prodigal giftsto the world, and he had gloried in that sense of might which makes thetrue artist feel he has a giant's strength for good or evil. "I have rejoiced over your new laurels!" exclaimed Maurice, warmly; forhe had learned Ronald's distinction through the journals of the day. "They are so intangible, " replied Ronald, smiling, "that I'm not quitesure of their existence. I did not tell you that my father and motherare here and most anxious to see you. When will you pay them a visit?Can you not come with me now?" Maurice gladly consented to accompany his friend. "You are our chief attraction to Washington, " continued Ronald. "Mymother was the first to propose that we should seek you out. Yourletters were so sad, and even confused, that she felt you needed her. Ithink she fancies she has two sons, Maurice. " "She is the only mother I have ever known, " answered Maurice; "and lifeis incomplete when a mother's place is unfilled in the soul. " CHAPTER L. A SECRET DIVINED. "Take care! the 'Don' will be jealous!" exclaimed Mr. Walton, as hewitnessed his wife's greeting of Maurice, --a greeting as tender as atrue mother could have bestowed. "When Ronald was a boy he would rushabout like one gone mad if his mother ever ventured to take anotherchild upon her knee, --he would never have his throne usurped. Our 'Don'was always 'monarch of all he surveyed. '" This jocular appellation of the 'Don, ' Mr. Walton had bestowed upon hisson on account of his early propensity to fight moral windmills, and theQuixotic zeal with which he espoused the cause of the weak and the fair. This knight-errant proclivity ripened from the Quixotism of boyhood intothe chivalrous devotion which had manifested itself in his somewhatromantic friendship for Maurice, --a friendship productive of such happyresults to the young viscount. Ronald replied, "My affection has gained a victory over my jealousy, asMaurice discovered some years ago. I have just given him a new evidenceof that fact by accompanying you and my mother to Washington in the hopeof seeing him. " "Did you really come for my sake, " asked Maurice, much moved. Mrs. Walton answered, "How could we help being distressed about you?Your letters were so unsatisfactory. I shall know more of your truestate in one _tête-à-tête_, --one good long heart-talk, --than I couldlearn by a thousand letters. " After this declaration, Ronald and his father jestingly pronouncedthemselves _de trop_ and departed. Maurice had long since given Mrs. Walton his full confidence, and now tosit and relate the events that had transpired during his stay inWashington was a heart-unburthening which lightened his oppressedspirit. It seemed to him as though some ray of hope must break throughthe clouds which enveloped him, if her clear, steady vision closelyscanned their blackness; _she_ might discover some gleam of light whichhe could not perceive. When he finished the narrative she asked, -- "And have you no suspicion who this mysterious lover can be? No clue tohis identity?" "Not the faintest, " answered Maurice. "But since you have seen Madeleine at all hours of the day, since youhave resided in her house, she could not have evinced a preference forany gentleman without your perceiving the distinction. " "She evinced no preferences; no gentleman was upon an intimate footingexcept M. De Bois, who is engaged to Bertha, much to Madeleine'sdelight. " "M. De Bois, you tell me, " continued Mrs. Walton, "has been her devotedfriend during all these years that she has been separated from you. Haveyou not been able to learn something from him?" "I have too much respect for Madeleine to force from another a secretwhich she refuses to impart to me; but I am quite certain that if M. DeBois knows whom Madeleine has blessed with her love, Bertha is still inignorance. Bertha would have told me at once. " Mrs. Walton mused awhile, then said, "I do not see any loose thread bywhich the mystery can be unravelled; but you will, of course, make meacquainted with your Madeleine?" "_My_ Madeleine, " began Maurice, bitterly. "I called her yours involuntarily, because your heart seems so wholly toclaim her. She will receive me, --will she not?" "Gladly, I am sure. " "Then we will go to-morrow. " There were too many chords of sympathy which vibrated responsively inthe bosoms of Mrs. Walton and Madeleine, too many planes upon which theycould meet, for them to remain merely formal acquaintances. It wasMadeleine's nature to treat those with whom she was thrown in contactwith a genial courtesy which rose to kindness, often to affection; butit was only to a few that she really threw wide the portals of her largeheart. Mrs. Walton's devotion to Maurice was claim enough for her to beranked among the small number whom Madeleine admitted to that innersanctuary. On the other hand, Mrs. Walton was by no means impulsive in formingfriendships; her existence had been brightened by very few. She had muchconstitutional _reticence_; she enjoyed a secluded life; she was notdependent upon others for happiness. A rich, inexhaustible well-springof joy, --the one joy of her days, --flowed in through her son, and thatpure fount was all-sufficient to water the flowers that sprang in herpath. Maurice had awakened her womanly compassion, first, because Ronaldhad found in him a brother; next, because he was motherless and almostheart-broken, and finally, because his noble attributes won her admiringaffection. But, although Mrs. Walton had no facility in makingfriendships, when she did become attached, it was with a sympathetic andabsolute devotion which extended itself involuntarily to the beings whowere dear to those she loved; thus her attachment for Maurice awakenedan affection for Madeleine before they met; and when she claspedMadeleine's hand, and looked into her fair face, the reserve sheinvariably experienced toward strangers at once melted away, and intheir very first interview these two responsive spirits drew near toeach other with a mutual sense that their intercourse must become closerand closer. Madeleine had frequently seen Ronald when, habited as the _soeur debon secours_, she kept nightly vigil by the bed of Maurice, and Ronaldhad marked the classic features of the "holy sister, " and quicklyrecognized them again when he was presented to Mademoiselle de Gramont. After Mrs. Walton had visited Madeleine, Ronald persuaded her to callwith him on Mademoiselle de Merrivale. Bertha received her quondampartner of the dance with much warmth and vivacity; but the countesslooked with freezing hauteur upon these American friends of hergrandson. Though Mrs. Walton was naturally timid, she was unawed by thecountess's assumption of superiority; her self-respect enabled her toremain perfectly composed and collected, and to appear unconscious ofthe disdain with which she was treated. This initiative visit was quickly followed by others, and Mrs. Waltonproved how little she dreaded the countess by inviting Bertha to dinewith her. "I shall be delighted to go, " said Bertha, "that is, if my aunt does notobject. " "Rather tardily remembered, " answered the countess, with acerbity. "Better late than never, " retorted Bertha, gayly; "so, my dear aunt, youwill not say 'No. '" The countess would gladly have found some reason for refusing, but nonepresented itself, and Bertha was sufficiently self-willed to dispute herauthority; it was therefore impolitic to make an open objection. M. De Bois also received an invitation. Maurice and Madeleine joinedthe little circle in the evening, --a delightful surprise to Bertha andGaston. This was the first evening that Madeleine had passed out of herown dwelling during her residence in America. She had necessarilyrenounced society when she adopted a vocation incompatible with herlegitimate social position; but, on this occasion, she could not resistMrs. Walton's persuasions, and perhaps the promptings of her owninclination. Once more Madeleine's vocal powers were called into requisition. She wasever ready to contribute her _mite_ (so she termed it) toward thegeneral entertainment, and she would have despised the petty affectationof pretended reluctance to draw forth entreaty, or give value to herperformance. Her voice had never sounded more touchingly, mournfullypathetic, and her listeners hung entranced upon the sounds. Mauricedrank in every tone, and never moved his eyes from her face; but whenthe soft cadences sank in silence, what a look of anguish passed overhis manly features, and told that the sharp bayonet of his life-sorrowpierced him anew. He turned involuntarily toward Mrs. Walton, and met alook of sympathy not wholly powerless to soothe. Mr. Walton was loud in his praises of Madeleine's vocalization; he had acourtier's felicity in expressing admiration, never more genuine than onthe present occasion. "We must not be so ungrateful as to forget to offer Mademoiselle deGramont the only return in our power, however far it may fall short ofwhat she merits, " said he; "the 'Don' here, does not sing; he is not apoet even, except in soul, and all his inspirations flow through hisbrush; but he interprets poets with an art which I think is hardly lessvaluable than the poet's own divine afflatus. " Madeleine, delighted, seized upon the suggestion, and solicited Ronaldto favor the company. His mother placed in his hands a volume of Mrs. Browning's poems, and he turned to that surpassingly beautiful romance, "Lady Geraldine's Courtship. " Ronald was one of those rare readers gifted with the power of filling, at pleasure, the poet's place, or of embodying the characters which hedelineated. The young artist's rich, sonorous voice; obeyed his will, and was modulated to express every variety of emotion, while hisanimated countenance glowed, flushed, paled, grew radiant or clouded, with the scene he described. A master-spirit playing upon a thoroughlycomprehended instrument manifested itself in his rendition of theauthor. All eyes were riveted upon him as he read; he possessed in an eminentdegree the faculty of magnetizing his hearers, taking them captive forthe time being, and bearing them, as upon a rising or falling wave, whither he would. As the tale progressed, the silence grew deeper, and, save Ronald's voice, not a sound was to be heard, except, now and then, a quickened breath and Bertha's low sobbing; for she wept as thoughBertram had been one whom she had known. Mrs. Walton's eyes had been fixed upon her son, with an expression ofineffable soul-drawn delight; but, just before the poem drew to a close, they stole around the circle to note the effect produced by his masterlyreading upon others. Every face mirrored such emotions as the poem mighthave awakened in minds capable of appreciating the noble and beautiful;but by Madeleine's countenance she was forcibly struck; a marble palloroverspread her visage, her eyes were strangely dilated and filled withmoisture; if the lids for a moment had closed, the "silver tears" musthave run down her cheeks as freely as ran Lady Geraldine's; but, whenRonald came to that passage where Lady Geraldine thrills Bertram withjoy by the confession that it was him whom she loved, --though he hadnever divined that love, --him only! Madeleine's lips quivered, and, witha sudden impulse, which defied control, she covered her face with herhands as though she dreaded that her heart might be perused in hercountenance. It was an involuntary action, repented of as soon as made, for she withdrew the hands immediately, but the spontaneous movementspoke volumes. As Mrs. Walton watched her, a sudden flash of _clairvoyance_ revealed aportion of the truth, and she ejaculated, mentally, -- "The man whom Madeleine loves is unaware of her love, as Bertram was ofLady Geraldine's. " This suggestion, born in the under-current of her thoughts, floatedconstantly to the surface awaiting confirmation. If her belief werewell-grounded, one step was taken toward fathoming the secret whichMadeleine had doubtless some motive for preserving, but which Mrs. Walton's sympathies with Maurice made her earnestly desire to bring tolight. Madeleine might have conceived a passion for one whom she wouldnever more meet, or for one who was unconscious of her preference, though that seemed hardly possible. Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Walton would have been one of the lastpersons to take an active part in searching out the hidden springs ofany human actions; but she was so deeply interested, both in Maurice andMadeleine, that a strong desire to be of service to them made her breakone of the rules of her life. A wise rule, perhaps, so far as it freesone from responsibility, yet a rule which generous and impulsive spiritswill often disregard in the hope of wafting into a drooping sail somefavorable breeze that will send the ship toward a wished-for port. It chanced the very next day, when Mrs. Walton was visiting Madeleine, that the latter was summoned away, and as she left the room, she said, -- "I will not be long absent; here are books with which I hope you canamuse yourself. " They had been sitting in Madeleine's boudoir; Mrs. Walton's chair wasclose to Madeleine's desk; upon the desk lay several volumes, probablythose which had been last in use. Mrs. Walton made a haphazardselection, and took up a little sketch-book. Her interest was quicklyawakened when she found that it contained sketches which were doubtlessMadeleine's own. There was the château of Count Tristan de Gramont atRennes, and the memorable little _châlet_--the château of the Marquis deMerrivale, and sketches of other localities in her native land, of whichshe had thus preserved the memory. Then followed fancy groups, composedof various figures, apparently illustrative of scenes from books; butMrs. Walton could not be certain of the unexplained subjects. One familiar face struck her, --a most perfect likeness of Maurice, --itwas unmistakable. Prominent in every group, though in differentattitudes and costumes, was that one figure. Maurice, --still Maurice, throughout the book. Mrs. Walton was pondering upon this singulardiscovery when Madeleine entered. She flushed crimson when she saw the volume her visitor was examining, and said, in a confused tone, taking the book from Mrs. Walton'shands, -- "I thought I had locked this book in my desk; how could I have left itabout? It only contains old sketches of remembered places, and similartrifles, not worth your contemplation. " "I found them very beautiful, " replied Mrs. Walton, "and the likenessesof Maurice are perfect. " "Of Maurice?" was all that Madeleine could say, her agitation increasingevery moment. "Yes, I could not understand the subjects, but his face and form areadmirably depicted. You have a true talent for making portraits. " Madeleine could not answer, but as Mrs. Walton glanced at her consciousand troubled countenance, woman's instinct whispered, "It is Mauricewhom she loves. " CHAPTER LI. SEED SOWN. Once more Count Tristan was convalescent. He could move his limbs withtolerable freedom, --could walk without support, though with slow, uncertain, uneven steps; his articulation was now hardly impaired, though he never spoke except in answer to questions, and then withevident unwillingness. He took little or no notice of what passed aroundhim, but ever seemed brooding over his own misfortunes, --that is, if hismind retained any activity, of which it was not easy to judge. In another week the month for which Mrs. Gratacap considered herselfengaged would expire. That worthy, but voluble and independent persondetermined that she would not submit to the slight of having due noticeof dismissal given her, and therefore herself gave warning that shepurposed to take her departure. At the same time she said to Maurice, -- "I vow to goodness that grandmother of yours hasn't got the least ideaof manners. I wonder if that's the style in her country? Why, weshouldn't call it common decency here! Law sakes! she's had a lesson ortwo from me, I think. Would you believe it, this very blessed morningshe had no more civility than just to bid me leave the room as shewanted to speak to the doctor. I vow to goodness, I wouldn't havestirred a step if it hadn't been that I knew she didn't know any better, and I never force myself where I am not wanted; so I just took myselfoff. " "It was better to try and bear with my grandmother, " answered Maurice, soothingly. "And it's bearing with a bear to do it!" responded Mrs. Gratacap. "Idon't mind it on my own account, --I am accustomed to all sorts of queerfolks, but I suspected the old lady was up to something that would worrythe poor dear, and, to be sure, I was right. " "What do you mean?" inquired Maurice, anxiously. "Why, I couldn't help catching a word or two of what the doctor saidwhen he went out; I just heard him say that the patient _could_ make thevoyage if it were necessary, though it would be better to keep himquiet. Mark my words, she wants to pack off, bag and baggage, at shortnotice, --and _she'll do it_! Never trust my judgment if she don't. " Mrs. Gratacap was right; one hour later, the countess, with a look whichreminded Maurice, of the days when she swayed unopposed, informed himthat Count Tristan had been pronounced by his physician sufficientlyconvalescent to bear a sea-voyage, and that she intended to leaveWashington that day week, for New York, and take the first steamer thatsails for Havre. Maurice could only stammer out, "So suddenly?" "Suddenly?" echoed the imperious lady; "it is a century to me! a centuryof torture! And you call it _suddenly_? _Nothing_ will prevent myleaving this city in a week, and this detestable country as soon afteras possible. Do you understand me?" "I do. " "Then I depend upon you to make all the needful preparations. There willbe no change in my plans; the matter is settled and requires no furtherdiscussion. " Maurice knew too well that there was but one course left, and that wassubmission to her despotic will. He at once apprised Gaston of thedetermination of the countess. M. De Bois was more grieved for hisfriend than for himself, and said he could be ready to accompany theparty in twenty-four hours. After this, Maurice took his way to the Waltons. He could not yet summonresolution to go to Madeleine. We have already said that Mrs. Walton, through her woman's instincts, thought she had discovered Madeleine's secret, and every day sometrivial circumstance confirmed her in her belief. But her shrinkingnature made it difficult for her ever to take the initiative, or toattempt to change the current of events by any strong act of her own. There was no absence of _power_ in her composition, but a distrust ofher own powers which produced the same effect. Hers was a _passive_ andnot _suggestive_ nature; if the first step in some desirable path weretaken by another she would follow, and labor heart and hand, and by herjudgment and zeal accomplish what that other only projected; but she hada horror of taking the responsibility, of "meddling with other people'saffairs, " even in the hope of bringing about some happy issue. Ronald's impulses were precisely opposite to his mother's. He had aninternal delight in swaying, in influencing, in bending circumstances tohis will, in making all the crooked paths straight and righting all thewrongs of mankind. He was always ready to form projects (his fatherwould say in a Quixotic style) and carry them into execution, to benefithis friends. He was deterred by no constitutional timidity, and the rashimpulsiveness of youth looks only to happy results, and is seldom curbedby the reflection of possible evil. Ronald would have served Maurice atall hazards, and by all means in his power, or _out of his power_. Hewas expressing to his mother the chagrin he felt at the sad position ofhis friend, and his fear that it would throw a blight over his energies, when the latter remarked, -- "I think I have made a discovery which concerns Maurice, though I do notsee how it can benefit him. Yet I am sure I know a secret which he wouldgive almost his existence to learn. " "Indeed!" exclaimed Ronald. "Tell him then at once!" "I cannot make up my mind that it would tend to any good result. Itwould be better, I think, not to touch upon the subject at all; letevents take their natural course. " "We should build no houses, we should write no books, and paint nopictures, if we adopted that doctrine, " answered Ronald. "At least, tellme what you have learned. " "I think I know, " replied Mrs. Walton, "whom Madeleine loves. " "Is it possible?" "And that is Maurice himself!" Mrs. Walton went through the whole train of reasoning by which she hadarrived at her conclusion; and Ronald was only too well pleased to beconvinced. "But, my dear, impetuous boy, " said she, as she looked upon his glowingface, "what good to Maurice can grow out of this?" "Let us plant the seed and give it some good chance to grow, " returnedRonald, eagerly. "Here is Maurice himself. The first step is to tellhim"-- Maurice entered in time to hear the last words, and took them up. "You can hardly tell him anything sadder than he comes to tell you. In aweek we must bid each other adieu; my grandmother has resolved to returnto Brittany without further delay. " "I should be more deeply moved by that news, " replied Ronald, "did I notthink that I had some intelligence to communicate in exchange which isvery far from sad. Maurice, are you prepared to hear anything I may haveto say?" "When did your words fail to do me good?" asked Maurice. "Do you think Ihave forgotten our long arguments in Paris, when I was in a state ofsuch deep dejection, and you roused me and spurred me on to action byyour buoyant, active, hopeful spirit? But go on. " "I want to speak of your cousin, Mademoiselle de Gramont. " Maurice expressed by his looks how welcome that theme ever was. "You ardently desire, " continued Ronald, "for so my mother has told me, to know who Mademoiselle Madeleine loves. " "Yes, I desire it more than words can utter. " "I think I can tell you, " returned Ronald. "You? You are not in earnest?" cried Maurice, in amazement. "For thelove of Heaven, Ronald, do not sport with such a subject!" "I do _not_ jest, Maurice. I only tell you what you ought yourself tohave discovered long ago. " "How could I? There is no possible clew. Madeleine sees no one, writesto no one, whom I could conceive to be the man whom she prefers. " "Easily explained, " continued Ronald. "That man does not know he isbeloved by her. " "Incredible!" replied Maurice. "Very credible, my dear Maurice, as you are bound to admit; for that manstands before me. " "Ronald, for pity's sake--this--this is inhuman!" "Do not wrong me so much, Maurice, as to think me capable of speakinglightly upon such a subject. My mother's perception of character isreally wonderful; and her instincts, I think, never fail her; she isconvinced that it is _you_, and you only, whom Madeleine loves. Reflecthow many proofs of love she has given you! Has she not, through M. DeBois, kept trace of all your movements during the years that you wereseparated? Did she not run great risk to watch beside your sick-bed inParis? Did you not tell me that it was her prompt and generousinterference which prevented your losing your credit with Mr. Emerson?Does not her every action prove that you are ever in her thoughts? And, Maurice, I tell you, it is _you_ whom she loves. " Maurice listened as though some holy voice from supernal regions chantedheavenly music in his ears. But he roused himself from the deliciousdream, for he did not dare to yield to its spell, and said, -- "Did she not herself tell me that she loved another?" "May you not have mistaken her exact words?" asked Ronald. "It wasnecessary to renounce you, to take all hope away from you, and place inyour path the only barrier which you could not hope to overleap. And mayshe not have given you the impression that she loved, that heraffections were engaged, while you drew the inference from her rejectingyour hand that her heart was given to some other?" The countenance of Maurice grew effulgent with the flood of hope pouredupon it. "Oh, if it were so!" he exclaimed, in rapture. "Ronald, my best friend, what do I not owe you? Mrs. Walton, why, why are you silent? Speak tome! Tell me that you really believe Madeleine loves me!" Mrs. Walton, alarmed by the violence of his emotion, began to turn overin her mind the unfortunate results which might ensue if she had made anerror. Maurice still implored her to speak, and she said, at last, withsome hesitation, -- "If Madeleine does not love you, and you only, I have no skill ininterpreting 'the weather signs of love. ' I ought not to be tooconfident of my own judgment; and yet I cannot force myself to doubtthat, in this instance, it is correct. " "Say that again and again. I cannot hear it too often. _You cannot forceyourself to doubt_, --you are quite convinced then, quite sure thatMadeleine, my own Madeleine, loves me?" "I am indeed, " responded Mrs. Walton, tenderly. Maurice folded his arms about her, bowed his head on her shoulder, andhis great joy found a vent which it had never known before; for neverbefore had tears of ecstasy poured from his eyes. That Mrs. Waltonshould weep too was but natural. She was a woman, and tears are theprivilege of her sex. Ronald had evidently some fears, that theiremotion would prove contagious; for he walked up and down the room withremarkable rapidity, and then threw open the window and looked out, cleared his throat several times, and finally said, in tolerably firmaccents, -- "But, Maurice, what are we to do if the countess is determined to returnto Brittany at once?" "If Madeleine loves me, I can endure anything! I can leave her, I can gowith my father, or perform any other hard duty. The sweet certainty ofher love will brighten and lighten my trial. Oh, if I could only besure!" "Make yourself sure as soon as possible, " suggested Ronald, to whompromptitude was a second nature. "I will go to her; I will tell her what I believe; I will implore her togrant me the happiness of knowing that her heart is mine. But O Ronald, if I have been deluded, --if you have given me false hopes"-- "You will fight me, " answered Ronald, laughing. "Of course that's all afriend gets for trying to be of service. " "Go, Maurice, " said Mrs. Walton, "and bring us the happy news thatRonald and his mother have not caused you fresh suffering. " "You said you had not a _doubt_, " cried Maurice, trembling at the baresuggestion. "And I have not. Go!" CHAPTER LII. A LOVER'S SNARE. Maurice was on his way to Madeleine's. Not for years, not since the daywhen he breathed his love in the old Château de Gramont, had his heartthrobbed with such rapturous pulsations as now; not since that hour hadthe world looked so paradisiacal, --life so full of enchantment to hiseyes. As he reached her door and ascended the steps, his emotions wereoverpowering. A few moments more, and the heavenly dream would become aglorious, life-brightening reality, or would melt away, a delusivemirage in the desert of his existence, leaving his pathway a blankerwilderness than ever. He was too much at home to require the ceremony of announcement, andsought Madeleine in her boudoir. She was not there. She was receivingvisitors in the drawing-room. Maurice sat down to await her coming; buthis impatience made him too restless for inaction, and he entered the_salon_. Madeleine's guests were Madame de Fleury and Mrs. Gilmer, --an accidentaland not very welcome encounter of the fashionable belligerents; thoughsince Mrs. Gilmer had received the much-desired invitation to Madame deFleury's ball, she had affected to lay down her arms, and Madame deFleury pretended to do the same. Madeleine was listening with patient courtesy to the meaninglessnothings of the one lady, and the stereotyped insipidity of the other. Madame de Fleury was tortured by a desire to consult her hostessconcerning a fancy ball-dress which at that moment filled her thoughts;but Madeleine's manner was so thoroughly that of an equal whoentertained no doubts of her own position, --the vocation of"Mademoiselle Melanie" was so completely laid aside, --that Madame deFleury, with all her tact and world-knowledge, could not plan any modeof introducing the fascinating subject of "_chiffons_. " The marchioness greeted Maurice with enthusiastic cordiality. It struckher, on seeing him, that she might broach the desired topic through hisaid; and she said, with the most charmingly innocent air, as though thethought had just occurred to her, -- "Shall I see you, M. De Gramont, at the grand fancy ball which MadameOrlowski gives next week? I hear it will be the _fête_ of the season. " "I have not the honor of Madame Orlowski's acquaintance, " repliedMaurice. "What a pity! But I can easily procure you an invitation, and you willhave time enough to arrange about a costume. I have not determined uponmine yet. I want something very original. I am quite puzzled what todecide upon. I am perfectly haunted with visions of dresses that floatthrough my brain. I have imagined myself attired as nymphs, and heathendeities, and ladies of ancient courts, and heroines of books; but Icannot make a choice. " Madame de Fleury did not venture to look toward Madeleine, and thelatter made no observation. Maurice rejoined, -- "My father's state of health forbids my availing myself of your amiableoffer. " Madame de Fleury was slightly discomfited. It was difficult to keep upthe subject which seemed to have dropped naturally; but for the sake ofreviving it, and trying to draw some suggestion from the Queen of Taste, she even condescended to address her foe; and, turning to Mrs. Gilmerwith a false smile, asked, -- "_You_ are going, of course? Have you determined upon the character youmean to assume?" Mrs. Gilmer was flattered by finding her attire a matter of acknowledgedimportance to her rival, and replied, with a simper, -- "Not altogether, --my costume is under discussion, --I shall decide_presently_. " A significant glance intimated that she meant shortly to proceedupstairs, to the exhibition-rooms of "Mademoiselle Melanie. " Madame de Fleury grew desperate, and was resolved not to be baffled inher attempt; she now launched into a dissertation upon different stylesof fancy dresses. Madeleine turned to Maurice to make inquiries abouthis father. Poor Maurice! as he noted the unruffled composure of herbearing, the quietude of her tone, the frank ease with which sheaddressed him, his hopes began to die away, and tormenting spiritswhispered that Ronald's mother had certainly come to an erroneousconclusion. Madame de Fleury, finding that her little artifices were thrown awayupon Madeleine, took her leave; Mrs. Gilmer lingered for a few moments, then also made her exit, closely copying the graceful courtesy andfloating, sweeping step of her rival. "Thank Heaven! they are gone!" exclaimed Maurice. "I have so much to sayto you, Madeleine, every moment they staid appeared to me an hour. " He could proceed no further, for the door opened, and Ruth Thorntonentered with sketches of costumes in her hand, and said, hesitatingly, -- "I am sure you will pardon me, Mademoiselle Madeleine; Madame de Fleuryinsisted; she fairly, or rather _unfairly_ forced me to seek you withthese sketches; she seems resolved to secure your advice about hercostume. " Madeleine knew how to rebuke impertinence in spite of her naturalgentleness, and the very mildness of her manner made the reproof moresevere. She had thoroughly comprehended Madame de Fleury's tactics, andhad determined to make her understand that when she visited Mademoisellede Gramont, the visit was paid to an equal, not to the mantua-maker uponwhose time the public had a claim. "Say to Madame de Fleury that I leave all affairs of this nature in yourhands, and that I have perfect reliance on your good taste. " Ruth withdrew. "Let us go to your boudoir, Madeleine, " said Maurice. Madeleine, as she complied, remarked, -- "You are troubled to-day, Maurice; two bright spots are burning uponyour cheeks; you look excited; what has happened?" "Much or little, as it may prove, " replied Maurice, taking a seat besideher. "In the first place, my grandmother has concluded to leaveWashington in a week, and, after she reaches New York, take the firststeamer to Havre. " Maurice had given this intelligence so suddenly that Madeleine was offher guard, and the rapid varying of her color, the heaving breast, thelook of anguish, the broken voice in which she exclaimed, "So soon? sovery soon?" rekindled his expiring hopes. "This has been but a brief meeting, Madeleine, after the separation ofthose long, sorrowful years. The future is all uncertain, I cannot fix atime, after I have said adieu, when I may clasp this dear hand again. " "But, " faltered Madeleine, "your profession, --you will not abandon that?You will return to Charleston?" "It is my earnest desire to do so. " "Then you _will_ return! You will return soon?" Maurice must have been the dullest of lovers if he could not distinguishthe intonation of joy in Madeleine's voice. "If my own advancement is the only incentive to my return, circumstancesmay interfere; my father's health, for instance, the necessity ofattending to his affairs, or other considerations. " Madeleine did not reply. "Madeleine, I shall offend you, perhaps, for I am about to transgress. At all hazards, I must touch upon a subject which you have banished fromour conversation. " For a moment Madeleine looked disturbed, but this warning enabled her tocollect herself; she soon said, with composure, -- "Even if you do not spare _me_, Maurice, do not touch on any theme whichmust give pain to yourself. " "I have not yet quite decided, " returned he, "how much pain it may costme. I will only ask you to answer me a few questions. As I am a lawyer, cross-examination, you know, is my vocation, and you must indulge me. Nearly five years ago you declared that you had bestowed your heartirrevocably. You were very young then, --you had had few opportunities ofseeing gentlemen; yet you have remained constant to this mysteriouslover? You have never repented that you loved him?" "Never!" answered Madeleine, with fervor. "And you believe that he loves you?" Madeleine bowed her head. "And you have loved him long? Perhaps you loved him early in yourgirlhood; perhaps you loved him from the time you first met?" Madeleine bowed her head again. "Even as _he did you_?" "I do not know, " she answered, in a low voice. "That is strange; men are apt to boast of the length as well as of thestrength of their passion, " remarked Maurice. "Your lover must be anexception. But perhaps he is unaware that he is blest by your love?" Without suspicion Madeleine fell into that snare, well-laid by the younglawyer, for she answered, thinking that it would calm the jealous pangsto which Maurice might be subjected, -- "You are right; he is _not_ aware that I love him. " Had her eyes not been downcast, had she looked up for an instant intothe face of Maurice, she would have known by its look of radiant ecstasythat she had betrayed herself. In a tone which emotion rendered unsteady, he went on, -- "You would cast your lot with his, Madeleine? If he were poor, you wouldshare his poverty? You would even abandon your dream of earning afortune for yourself, --and I know how dear that dream is to yourheart, --for his sake? You would do this were there no barrier to theavowal of your love, --no barrier to your union with him?" "I would. " "And that barrier is the opposition of his proud relatives?" assertedMaurice. Madeleine started, looked in his face in alarm; for the first time, thesuspicion that he had divined her secret, flashed upon her. But Maurice went on unpityingly, -- "You refused him your hand because you thought it base ingratitude tothose relatives who had sheltered you in your orphan and unprotectedcondition, and who had other, as they supposed, _higher_ views for him. You feared by letting him know that you loved him to injure his futureprospects, and you nearly blighted that future by the despair you causedhim when he lost you. And since you have been restored, at least to hissight, you have with a martyr's heroism adhered to your plan ofself-sacrifice because you thought that to relinquish it would draw downupon him and yourself the wrath of his haughty grandmother, --I will notsay of his father; because, too, you believed that you would be accusedof ingratitude. And you have allowed him to suffer unimaginable torturerather than acknowledge that the lover to whom you have been sotrue, --the lover for whom you have sacrificed yourself, --the lover mostunworthy of you (save through that love which renders the humblestworthy), --is the man you rejected in the Château de Gramont at the riskof breaking his heart. " Madeleine dropped her face upon her hands with a low sob, but Mauricedrew the hands away, and folding his arms about her said, fervently, -- "Madeleine, my own, my best beloved, it is too late for concealment now!I know whom you love, --it is too late for denial. Look at me and tell meonce, --tell me only _once_ that it is true you do love me; tell me this, and it will repay me for all I have suffered. " But Madeleine did not yield to his prayer; she tried to extricateherself from his arms, but they clasped her too tightly; and when shecould speak she said, through her tears, -- "You ensnared me, --you entrapped me to this! I should never have toldyou! And what does it avail, --I can never be your wife. " "It avails beyond all calculation to know that you love me, even if, asyou say, you cannot be my wife. Madeleine, to know that you love noother, --that you love _me_, --that I have a claim upon you which I maynot be able to urge until we meet in heaven, --is heaven on earth!" What could Madeleine reply? "But why, Madeleine, can you not become mine? My father would no longerobject. Are you not sure of that? Do you not see how he clings to you?And my grandmother"-- "It would kill her, " broke in Madeleine, "to see you the husband of onewhom she detests and looks down upon as a degraded outcast. The Duke deGramont's daughter only feels her pride in this, that she could neverenter a family to which she was not welcome. " "Then her pride is stronger than her love! No, Madeleine, though yourfirmness has been tested and I dread it, I will not believe that youwill continue so cruel as to refuse me your hand. " "Did you not say that it was happiness enough to know that, --that, "-- Madeleine had stumbled upon a sentence which it was not particularlyeasy to finish. "To know that you love me! that you love me! Let me repeat the wordsover and over again, until my unaccustomed ears believe the sound; forthey are yet incredulous! But, Madeleine, you who are truth itself, howcould you have said that you loved another, even from the best ofmotives?" "I did not. I said that my affections were already engaged: yet I meantyou to believe, as you did, that I loved another; and the thought of thedeception, for it _was deception_, has caused me ceaseless contrition. _I do not reconcile it to my conscience_; I spoke the words_impulsively_ as the only means of forcing you to give up all claim tomy hand; _but I do not defend those words_. " "And I do not forgive them! You can only win my pardon by promising methat you will openly contradict them, and atone for your error bybecoming my wife. " Madeleine's agitated features composed themselves to a look ofdetermination which made Maurice tremble with apprehension; and he hadcause, for she said, -- "I cannot, Maurice, --I cannot, --must not, --will not be your wife withoutthe consent of your father and your grandmother!" "But if it be impossible to obtain my grandmother's?" "Then you must prove to me that you spoke truth by being content withthat knowledge which you declared _would_ satisfy you. " Maurice remonstrated, argued, prayed, but he did not shake Madeleine'sresolve. Believing she was right, she was as inflexible as the Countessde Gramont herself. CHAPTER LIII. RESISTANCE. Maurice could not tear himself away; he was still lingering byMadeleine's side when Bertha and Gaston entered to pay their dailyvisit. The perfect joy that rendered luminous the countenance ofMaurice, and the happy confusion depicted upon Madeleine's face, demanded but few words of explanation. Bertha caught Madeleine in herarms, laughing and crying, kissing her and reproaching her, over andover again. Then she turned to Maurice, as if impelled to greet himhardly less lovingly; but Gaston, jealous of his own particular rights, interposed. She darted away from his restraining arms and danced aboutthe room, shouting like a gleeful child; then she kissed Madeleineagain; then, suddenly calming down, said to Gaston, reproachfully, -- "And you, --_you_ knew this all the time, and did not tell me? Whatpenalty can I make you pay that will be severe enough? I will plotmischief with Madeleine. If we can punish you in no other manner, wewill postpone to a tantalizing distance the day you wish near at hand. Confess that I was wise to wait! I knew Madeleine's lover would claimher in good season, but I never suspected he was my own dear cousinMaurice, whom she so resolutely rejected. " "Nor did I!" cried Maurice, joyously; "and if _I_ can forgive Gaston, you must. " "All in good time; after he is fitly punished, not before! What do yousay, Madeleine? Shall we promise these two hapless swains their brides acouple of years hence?" "Bertha, Bertha! you have not understood, " answered Madeleine, gravely, yet with a happy smile on her sweet lips. "Maurice has no promise of abride; he looks forward to no bride, though I trust, you will, beforevery long, give one to M. De Bois. " "Dear me!" exclaimed Bertha, completely sobered by this unexpectedannouncement. "I thought you had confessed to Maurice that _he_ was themysterious but fortunate individual whom you loved, and whom I have beenpuzzling my brains to discover. " Madeleine did not choose to respond to the statement made with suchstraightforward ingenuousness by Bertha, and only replied, -- "Madame de Gramont would never give her consent to the marriage ofMaurice with the humble mantua-maker. I have too much of the de Gramontpride, or too much pride of my own, or too much of some stronger feelingwhich I can only translate into a sense of right and fitness, to becomethe wife of Maurice in the face of such opposition. " Bertha looked sorely disappointed and vexed, but vented her spleen uponthe one whom she loved best, according to the invariable practice ofwomen. She said to Gaston, -- "There! you are no better off than you were before! That's just what youdeserve for keeping this secret from me!" "But, Bertha, you will not be so unreasonable, " urged Madeleine. "Why not, when you set me the example? Why should I not be unreasonableand obstinate when you teach me how to be so? You know, Madeleine, youhave been my model all my life long, and it is too late to chooseanother. " Madeleine was silenced, but Bertha ran on petulantly, this time turningto Maurice. "How _can_ you look so happy when Madeleine says she does not mean tomarry you? I never saw anything like you men! One would think you had nofeeling. " Maurice replied: "It is so much happiness to know who possessesMadeleine's heart, that even if she remain unshaken in her resolution, Icould not be miserable. " "And you will not mind leaving her and going to Brittany? Your plans arenot to be altered?" "Not unless she will alter them by consenting to accompany me. You knowthat my grandmother insists upon returning, and she is inexorable whenshe has once made up her mind. " "Like somebody else!" said Bertha, who was decidedly irritated. Maurice resumed: "And it is my duty not only to protect her, but towatch over my poor father. " "And you will really, _really_ go?" questioned Bertha, doubtingly. "I have no alternative. " "Then I am more thankful than ever, " she replied, tartly, "that when myaunt wished to make a match between us, I never thought of acceptingyou! I never could have endured such a patient, contented, stoicalsuitor, who would be perfectly happy in spite of his separation fromme. " Maurice laughed at this sally, but Gaston remarked, seriously, -- "Yet you demand great sacrifices from one who is not as patient andwell-disciplined. You make your wedding-day dependent upon MademoiselleMadeleine's, when Mademoiselle Madeleine declares that she does notintend to name one. " "We are an obstinate family, you see!" retorted Bertha, her good-humorreturning. "Will not your father miss you?" suggested the ever thoughtful Madeleineto Maurice. "You have been absent very long; that talkative nurse maynot be able to restrain herself, and your presence may be needful topreserve harmony. " Maurice admitted that he ought to return; but, after bidding Madeleineadieu, he could not persuade himself to go back to the hotel until hehad seen those to whom he owed his present happiness. "Ronald!" he exclaimed, as he entered Mrs. Walton's drawing-room; "longago I became largely your debtor, but now you have placed me under anobligation which cannot be estimated. Oh, if I only had your energy andpromptitude of action, I might some day"-- Ronald interrupted him: "Then my mother was right, and I did not giveyou bad advice in spite of my Quixotism?" Maurice related what had happened to sympathetic listeners. Evening was approaching; his absence from his father had been far moreprotracted than usual, and before he had said half that he desired tosay, or listened to half that he wished to hear, he was compelled toleave. When the hand of Maurice was on the door of his grandmother's _salon_, he could distinguish the sound of angry voices within, --hisgrandmother's sonorous tones and the sharper voice of Mrs. Gratacap. Ashe entered, the latter was saying, -- "It's a sin and a shame, I tell you! And I'll not have the poor dearmade miserable in that way, while he is under my charge. I'm not goingto submit to it; and you know you can't frighten me with all your highways. " Mrs. Gratacap was standing beside the count, as though to protect him;Madame de Gramont was seated directly before him, and looking highlyincensed. Count Tristan himself appeared to be in great tribulation, andgrasped the hand of his nurse with a dependent air. As soon as he caughtsight of Maurice, he cried out, -- "I'm not going! I'm not going, I say! Maurice, come, come and tell her!" "What has happened?" inquired Maurice, with deep concern. The countess attempted to speak, but Mrs. Gratacap was too quick forher. "Here's the madame has been talking to the poor dear until she hasdriven him half wild. I never saw anything like it in my born days; shewont give him one moment's peace! He was doing well enough until shebegan _jawing_ him. " It is to be hoped that the countess did not understand the meaning ofthis last, not very classical expression. "Will you be silent, woman?" said she, wrathfully. Mrs. Gratacap was about to answer; but Maurice silenced her by areproving look, and then asked again, -- "What has happened? Why does my father seem so much distressed?" "I have been preparing his mind"--began the countess. Mrs. Gratacap broke in, "Upsetting his mind, you mean. " Before Madame de Gramont could answer, Maurice said to the nurse, in apersuasive tone, "Pray leave us, for a little while, Mrs. Gratacap. " "I wouldn't contrary you for the world!" returned the nurse. "Only when_she's_ done, just you come to _me_ and I'll give you the rights of thecase. " Mrs. Gratacap departed, and the countess continued, -- "I have been explaining to your father that we are shortly to leave thisexecrable country and return to Brittany, and that he has great causefor congratulation; but he did not seem to comprehend me clearly, andthat woman, who is always intruding her opinions, chose to imagine thathe was groaning and crying out on account of what I said. The libertiesshe takes become more intolerable every day; she is enough to drive yourfather distracted. " "What does she mean?" asked Count Tristan, piteously. "Where do theywant to take me? I'm not going. " "My son, " replied the countess, "I have informed you; but that insolentwoman prevented your understanding; we are to return very soon toBrittany, to the Château de Gramont; I expect you to rejoice at thispleasing intelligence. " "No--no, I cannot go! I cannot leave"-- He stopped as though his mother's flashing eyes checked the words readyto burst from his lips. "You will not have to leave _Maurice_, " she said, coldly; "he is toaccompany us. " "But Madeleine! Madeleine!" he sobbed forth as if unable to restrainhimself. The countess was on the point of replying angrily, when Mauriceinterposed. "I beg you, madame, not to excite my father by further discussion. Come, my dear father, you are tired; it is getting late; I know it will do yougood to lie down. " And he conducted the unresisting invalid to his own chamber, leaving thecountess swelling with rage, yet glorying in the certainty that shewould carry out her plans, in spite of every opposition. CHAPTER LIV. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT. Another week passed on. The day preceding that on which the countess andher party were to set out on their journey had arrived. All thenecessary preparations were progressing duly. Maurice, from the hour that he had learned Madeleine's secret, had lived in such a dream of absolute happiness that he felt asthough he could ask for nothing more, --as though the cup presentedto his lips was too full of joy for the one, ungrateful drop of anunfulfilled desire to find room. He comprehended Madeleine's charactertoo thoroughly, --respected all her instincts and principles of actiontoo entirely, again to urge his suit, or seek to obtain her promise thatshe would one day be his; she _was his_ in spirit, --he could openlyrecognize her as his, --that sufficed! and he believed it would stillsuffice (if her sense of duty remained unaltered) through his wholeearthly existence; for all his days would be brightened by her love, andthe privilege of loving her. Bertha, after her first, petulant outbreak, had also ceased to pressMadeleine on the subject of her possible marriage, and with meekdemureness reconciled herself to the uncertainty of the future, and thecertainty of tormenting her lover in the present. M. De Bois's devotion to Madeleine sealed his lips. Madeleine had formeda resolution which she declared unalterable. Bertha had announced adetermination dependent upon Madeleine's, and the suitors of the twocousins had only to submit and hope. The labor of packing Madame de Gramont's wardrobe, as well as that ofBertha, devolved upon Adolphine; she had not quite filled the trunks ofher young mistress when she was summoned by the countess. This was onthe morning of the day preceding the one appointed for their departure. Adolphine was heedless and forgetful to a tantalizing degree. Thecountess deemed herself compelled to superintend her movements; that isto sit in an arm-chair and look on; the lofty lady would not havedeigned to assist by touching an article, though she now and then issuedan order or indulged in a rebuke, and by her presence greatly retardedAdolphine's operations. Count Tristan had driven out every day. His mother and Maurice alwaysaccompanied him. This morning, when Maurice went to announce to hisgrandmother that the carriage was at the door, he found her watchingAdolphine, who was on her knees before an open trunk. "It will be impossible for me to accompany you to-day, " said thecountess. "I will speak to your father; it will be his last drive, andhe must excuse me. " She rose and passed into the drawing-room where Count Tristan waswaiting. "My son, " said his mother, raising her voice as she now always did whenshe spoke to him, seeming to imagine that by this means she could makehim comprehend better. He was not, however, in the least afflicted withdeafness, and the loud tone was more likely to startle him than to calmthe perturbation which was usually apparent when she addressed him. "Myson, you are to take your airing this morning without me. You understandthat this will be your _last_ drive in this detestable city. Youperfectly comprehend, I hope, that you leave here to-morrow; and beforelong we shall be safely within the time-honored walls of the old châteauwhich we ought never to have left. " The proposed change had been so constantly impressed upon the count'smind by his mother that he seemed, at times, to be thoroughly aware ofit; yet at others the recollection faded from his memory. At first, whenthe voyage was mentioned, he would remonstrate in a piteous, feeble, fretful way, declaring that he would not go; but of late he had appearedto yield to the potency of Madame de Gramont's will. Maurice offered his arm to the count and they left the room. As the doorclosed after them, Count Tristan turned, as though to assure himselfthat it was shut, then looked at Maurice significantly and nodded hishead, while a smile brightened his countenance. It was so long sinceMaurice had seen him smile that even that strange, half-wild, inexplicable kindling up of the wan face was pleasant to behold. As theydescended the stair, the count looked back several times, and gavefurtive glances around him, smiling more and more; then he rubbed hishands and chuckled as though at some idea which he could not yetcommunicate. At the carriage-door he paused again, and again looked allaround, continuing to rub his hands, then fairly laughed out. Mauricebegan to be alarmed at this unaccountable mirth. They entered thecarriage and the coachman drove in the usual direction; but the countexclaimed impatiently, -- "No--no--that's not the way! stop him! stop him!" Maurice, at a loss to comprehend his father's wishes, did notimmediately comply with his request, and the count, with unusual energy, himself caught at the check-cord and pulled it vehemently. "This is not the way, --not the way to _Madeleine's_!" Then Maurice comprehended his father's exultation; he had conceived theproject of visiting Madeleine! But what was to be done? The countesswould be enraged if she discovered Count Tristan had seen Madeleine; andthe agitation caused by the interview might prove harmful to him. Yetwould it not do him more injury to thwart his wishes? And would it notbe depriving Madeleine of an inestimable joy? The count grew impatient; he shouted out, in a clearer tone than he hadbeen able to use since his first seizure, "To Madeleine's! ToMadeleine's, I say! I _will_ see Madeleine!" Maurice hesitated no longer and gave the order. His father's agitationwas, every moment, on the increase, though it was now of the mostpleasurable nature; he gave vent to little bursts of triumphantlaughter, muttering to himself, "I shall see her! I knew I should seeher again!" "My dear father, you will endeavor to be calm, --will you not? I amfearful this excitement will injure you, and my grandmother will neverforgive me if you become worse through my imprudence. She must not knowthat we have been to Madeleine's. It would render her uselesslyindignant; but Madeleine will be so overjoyed to see you once more thatI could not refuse to comply with your wishes. " The count murmured to himself, rather than replied to his son, -- "Good angel! My good angel! We are going to her! We are verynear--there! that's the house yonder. I'd know it among a thousand!Maurice, I'm well! I'm strong! I want nothing now but to see Madeleine!It's all right--is it not? She settled about that mortgage--she obtainedus those votes--there's no more trouble! Nobody knows what a scoundrel Ihave been! I remember all clearly. I am very joyful; I must tellMadeleine; I must say to her that she--she--she brought something ofheaven down to me; there must _be_ a heaven, for where else couldMadeleine belong?" Maurice had not heard his father speak as much or as connectedly for amonth. His face was pleasantly animated, in spite of its unnaturalexpression, and he moved his arms about so freely it was evident theweight which had pressed with paralyzing force upon them was removed. The carriage stopped. Maurice could scarcely prevent his father fromspringing out before him and without assistance. The silent Robert looked his surprise and gratification as he opened thestreet door. While Maurice was inquiring where his mistress would befound, Count Tristan pressed on alone, walking with a firm, rapid step. He entered the first room. It was Madeleine's bed-chamber; the one hehimself had occupied during his illness. It was vacant. He passed on, crying out, -- "Madeleine! Madeleine!" He looked into the drawing-room, then into thedining-room, still calling, "Madeleine! Madeleine!" He hurried on toward the well-remembered little boudoir. There Madeleinewas sitting at her desk, quietly sketching. When, to her amazement, sheheard the count's voice, she thought it was fancy; but the sound wasrepeated again and again. Those were surely his tones! She started upand opened the door. Count Tristan was standing only a few paces fromit, --Maurice behind him. "Madeleine! Madeleine! I see you. I am happy. I can die now. " As these words burst from his lips, the count staggered forward and sankon Madeleine's shoulder; for she had involuntarily stretched out herarms toward him. The next instant he slipped through them and droppedheavily upon the floor. One glance at his distorted face, and at thefoam issuing from his lips, one sound of that stertorous breathing wasenough. Maurice and Madeleine knew that he had been struck with apoplexyfor the third time! Maurice and Robert carried him to the bed he had before occupied; andMadeleine sent for Dr. Bayard in all haste. The count lay quite still, save for that heavy breathing and theconvulsive motion of his features. Madeleine and Maurice stood besidehim in silence, with hands interlocked. Dr. Bayard arrived, looked at the patient, shook his head, and, turningto Maurice, said, in a low tone, -- "There is nothing to be done. " "But see, " answered Maurice, clinging to a faint hope, "he is gettingover it, --he seems better. " "It is the third stroke, " replied the doctor, significantly, as he wasleaving the room. Madeleine heard these words, though they were spoken in an undertone, and she followed Maurice and the physician from the apartment. "Do you mean, " she inquired of the physician, in accents of deep sorrow, "it is _impossible_ for Count Tristan to recover from this shock?" "My dear young lady, I am unwilling to say that anything is_impossible_. The longer a physician practises, the more he realizesthat we cannot judge of _possibilities_; but, in my experience, I havenever known a case of apoplexy that survived the third stroke. " "He will die, then? Oh, will he die?" "His life, for the last two months, has been a living death, " repliedthe physician, kindly. "Could you wish to prolong such an existence?" The doctor took his leave, promising to return, but frankly avowing thathis presence was needless. As soon as he had gone, Madeleine said toMaurice, who appeared to be so much stunned by this new blow that he wasincapable of reflection, -- "Your poor grandmother, --O Maurice, what a terrible task lies beforeyou! You will have to break this news to her. She must want to see himonce more, and he may not linger long. You have not a moment to lose. " "I feel as though I could not go to her, " answered Maurice. "What goodcan she do here? She will only insult you again; and, if my fathershould revive, her words may render his last moments wretched. Let himdie in peace. " Madeleine replied, -- "She may be softened by the presence of the angel of death. She may longto hear one parting word of tenderness from his lips, and utter one inreturn. Go, I beseech you! Go and bring her!" And Maurice went. CHAPTER LV. AMEN. Maurice, when he opened the door of his grandmother's drawing-room, found the apartment vacant. The countess was still in her own chamberissuing orders to the bewildered Adolphine, whose packing processadvanced but indifferently. Bertha had retired to her room. Mauricepassed into his father's apartment, where Mrs. Gratacap sat knitting, and, in a few words, told her what had occurred. "Poor dear!" cried the compassionate nurse. "I feared it wouldbe so. I saw it coming this last week; and a third stroke is adeath-knell--that's certain! But it will be a blessed escape for thepoor dear; so don't take on, Mr. Morris" (this was her nearest approachto saying "_Maurice_"). "You'll need all your spirit to get along withthe old lady; though, if she were the north pole itself, I should thinkthis blow would break up her ice. " "Will you have the goodness to desire my cousin to come here? I hadbetter tell her first, " said Maurice. Mrs. Gratacap withdrew and quickly returned accompanied by Bertha whowas trembling with alarm; for the messenger had lost no time in makingthe sad communication. "I cannot tell my grandmother, Bertha, in the presence of Adolphine. Will you not beg your aunt to come to me in the drawing-room?" saidMaurice. Bertha had scarcely courage to obey, she had such a dread of witnessingthe countess's agitation; for she felt certain it would take the form ofanger against Madeleine and Maurice. With hesitating steps the younggirl entered the apartment where the countess sat. She had been muchirritated by Adolphine's stupidity, and cried out, -- "Positively, Bertha, this maid of yours has been totally spoiled by herresidence in this barbarous country. She is worth nothing; she has nohead; and she even presumes to offer her advice and suggest what wouldbe the best mode of packing this or that! It is fortunate for us thatthis is our last day in this odious city, and that we shall soon be onour way back to Brittany. But Adolphine is completely ruined; there isno tolerating her. " "I am very sorry, " said Bertha, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. "You need not cry about it, " retorted the countess, angrily. "How oftenhave I tried to impress upon you that this habit of evincing emotion is, in the highest degree, plebeian! Tears are very well for a milk-maid, but exceedingly unbecoming a lady. They are an unmistakable sign ofvulgar breeding. I cannot endure to see a niece of mine with so littleself-control. " Bertha removed her handkerchief and tried to force back her tears, asshe said, -- "Maurice begs to speak to you for a moment. " "Very good. Can he not come to me?" "He entreats that you will go into the drawing-room. " "Do you mean to intimate, " asked the countess, sternly, "that mygrandson ventures to _summon me to his presence_, instead of coming tomine? What indignity am I to expect next? Since he has forgotten hisduty and the deference due to me, go and remind him. " "He has something very serious to tell you, " faltered Bertha; "he wantsyou to hear it there, --it is so sad. " Bertha, in spite of her aunt's contemptuous glances, could not helpburying her face in her handkerchief again. "What absurdity!" sneered the countess; but she began to experience avague sensation of uneasiness. "Come! come! do come!" pleaded Bertha. "Since it seems the only way to put an end to this hysterical exhibitionof yours, Bertha, I will go and reprove Maurice for his lack ofrespect. " But the countess did not literally carry her threat into execution; for, noticing the absence of Count Tristan, she said hurriedly, -- "Where is your father?" "Pray sit down one moment, my dear grandmother"-- She interrupted him by asking again, more anxiously, -- "Where is your father?" "I will explain, but"-- "Why do you not answer my question?" she cried with increased violence. "Where is your father?" Could Maurice answer "At Madeleine's?" He still hesitated, and thecountess, with more rapid steps than she was wont to use, hastened toCount Tristan's bedroom. Mrs. Gratacap greeted her with "Oh, poor dear, don't take on about it!We couldn't but expect that it would come soon, and"-- The countess did not wait to hear the close of her sentence, but with acold horror creeping through her veins, hurried back to Maurice, andonce more asked, imperiously, -- "Maurice, where is your father? I command you to answer at once! I willhear nothing but the answer to that question. " Driven to extremity, Maurice replied, "My father is at Madeleine's!" "Miserable boy! How did you dare to set my wishes at defiance? Youshall repent this, --be sure you shall! How had you the audacity to flyin the face of my command?" "I heard no commands on the subject, " returned Maurice; "and if I haddone so, my father's wishes would still have held the first place. Assoon as we left the house he insisted upon going to Madeleine's; hewould take no refusal; his affection for her is so strong that"-- "How dare you talk to me of his affection for that artful, designinggirl, who is a disgrace to us all, --whose low machinations have placedher beneath my contempt? Henceforth, thank Heaven! we shall be out ofthe reach of her vile manoeuvres. " This was beyond endurance. Maurice forgot everything but the insultingepithets applied to Madeleine, and said, with a dignity as imposing asMadame de Gramont's own had ever been, -- "My grandmother, never shall such language be applied to Madeleine againin my presence, by you or any one! Madeleine is not merely my cousin, she is the woman I love best and honor most in the world;--the womanwho, if I ever marry, will become my wife. " "Never! never!" cried the countess, fiercely. "That shall never be, comewhat may!" Maurice, recovering himself somewhat, went on, -- "It is upon a far sadder subject that I wish to speak to you, --I meantto break the news gently, --I hoped to spare you a severe shock, but youforce me to come to the point at once. My dear father has had anotherseizure of the same nature as the two former. " "Parricide!" shrieked the countess, "you have done this! You have killedyour father! The agitation occasioned by your taking him to that houseand letting him see that unhappy girl has caused this attack; if heshould die you will be his murderer!" What reply could Maurice make which would not enrage her more? Thecountess went on, furiously, -- "Go, --bring him back to me quickly! He shall not remain there! By allthat is holy, he shall not. " "I come to ask you to go to him since he cannot come to you, " saidMaurice, with as much mildness as he could throw into his tone. "Yes, I will go, I will go!" replied his grandmother. "I cannot trustyou; I will go myself, and see him brought here. " She retired to her own chamber to make ready, and Bertha quicklyfollowed her example. Meantime Madeleine with Mrs. Lawkins, watched beside the count. Hisattack was briefer than the former ones. When it was over, he fell intoa deep and placid slumber. During that sleep his face changed! Those whohave watched the dying and recognized the indescribable expression whichmarks the countenance when it is "death-struck" will understand whatalteration is meant. He waked slowly and gently, --first stirring hishands as though clutching at something impalpable, then graduallyopening his eyes. They looked large and glassy, but as they fixedthemselves upon Madeleine's face, bespoke full consciousness. "Madeleine!" he murmured feebly; but his voice was distinct, andpathetically tender. "I am with you again, Madeleine, --that is greathappiness, --great comfort, I am going soon, Madeleine;--do you not knowit?" "Oh! I fear so!" answered Madeleine, weeping; "but you do not suffer?You are calm?" "Very calm, --very happy with my good angel near me. Madeleine, you havemuch to pardon; but you will pardon, --all, --all! "I do, I do. If there be anything to pardon, I do, from my soul, athousand times over. " "You have made me believe in God and his saints, Madeleine, and I blessyou. " Madeleine was holding both of his cold hands in hers, and had bowed herhead, that his icy lips might touch her forehead; but she rose upsuddenly, for she heard the wheels of a carriage stop, and the streetdoor open; she deemed it well to prepare the count. "I think your mother and Maurice have arrived. " A cloud passed over the face of the dying man, but did not rest there. He was beyond fear! His haughty mother could no longer inspire awe! A moment after, Maurice opened the door and the countess entered theroom. Approaching the bed, as though unconscious of Madeleine'spresence, she exclaimed, -- "My son, my son, what brought you here? How could you have paid solittle respect to my wishes? I will not reproach you" (this was much forher to say), "only make the effort to let yourself be removed at once. " "I am going fast enough, mother; I am dying!" "No, --no!" cried the countess, vehemently. "You could not die _here!_You are not dying! You cannot, _shall not die!_" She spoke as though she believed that her potent volition could frightenaway the death-angels hovering near, and prolong his life. Madeleine had attempted to withdraw her hand from his, for his motherhad seized the other clay-cold hand; but he said, with a faint smile, "Don't go, Madeleine; do not leave me until I cannot see you and feelyou more. " Then making a great effort to rally his expiring energies, hecontinued, "Mother, love Madeleine! We need angels about us to lift usup when we fall. Keep her near you if you would be comforted when thehour that has come to me comes to you!" The countess did not reply, but the hand she held had grown so clammy, she could no longer refuse to believe that her son might be dying. Stillshe was not softened; she could not turn to Madeleine and embrace her, as the dying man so obviously desired. "Maurice, " said his father. Maurice approached, and the countess instinctively drew a step back, togive him room. She had dropped the marble hand, and Maurice took it inhis. "Maurice, you, too, have much to pardon. Madeleine has forgiven, --willnot you?" "Oh, my father, do not speak of that! All is well between us; but, if wemust indeed lose you, --tell me, --tell Madeleine that you give her to me. She loves me, she has never loved any other; and I never _have_loved, --never _can_ love any woman but her. Bid her be my wife, for shehas refused to let me claim her without your consent and mygrandmother's. " Count Tristan tried to speak, but the words died upon the lips thatessayed to form themselves into a smile of assent. He lifted Madeleine'shand and placed it in that of Maurice. A convulsed groan, or sob, broke from the countess, but it was unheardby her son; his spirit had taken its flight. It had gone, stained with many evil passions, --perhaps crimes, --but whatits sentence was before the High Tribunal, who shall dare to say? Thaterring spirit had recognized good, and therefore could not be whollyunsanctified by good; it had repented, and therefore sin was no longerloved; all the rest was dark; but He who, speaking in metaphors, forbadethe "bruised reed" to be broken, or "smoking flax" to be quenched, might have seen light, invisible to mortal eyes, even about a soul asshadowed as that of Count Tristan de Gramont. The countess had been the only one who doubted that he would die, yetshe was the first to perceive that he was gone. She uttered a piercing, discordant cry, and with her arms frantically extended, flung herselfupon the corpse. Her long self-restraint, her curbing back of emotion, made the sudden shock more terrible; she fell into violent convulsions. Maurice bore her into the adjoining apartment, followed by Madeleine, Bertha, and Mrs. Lawkins. When the convulsions ceased she was deliriouswith fever. Madeleine ordered the room Maurice had occupied to be speedily preparedfor her reception. Her delirium lasted for many days. Had she recoveredher senses, she would assuredly have commanded that the corpse of herson should be removed to the hotel, that his funeral might take placefrom thence; but Maurice thought it no humiliation that the funeral ofthe proud Count Tristan de Gramont should move from the doors of thatmantua-maker niece who had saved his name from dishonor by the productsof her labor. Count Tristan had few friends, or even acquaintances in Washington. Maurice and Gaston were chief mourners. The Marquis de Fleury and hissuite, Mr. Hilson, Mr. Meredith, Mr. Walton, and Ronald, accompanied thecorpse to its last resting-place. Bertha had taken up her residence at Madeleine's. Maurice remained atthe hotel, --that is, he slept there, but the larger portion of his hourswas passed beneath Madeleine's roof. That Madeleine was his betrothed was tacitly understood, though no wordhad been spoken on the subject, and her manner toward him was littlechanged. She loved him with all the intensity and strength of her largenature, but her love could not, like Bertha's, find expression in words, in loving looks, and caressing ways. Maurice was content, even though hecould never know how inexpressibly dear he was to her. His was one ofthose generous natures which experience more delight in _loving_ than in_being loved_. He never believed that Madeleine's love _could_ equalhis, and he argued that it _could not because_ there was so much more tolove _in her_ than there was _in him_, and a true, pure, holy love, loves the attributes that are lovable rather than the mere person towhom they appertain. Maurice asked but little! A gentle pressure of thehand, --a soft smile, --a passing look of tenderness, though it wascertain to be quickly veiled by the dropped lids, --a casual word ofendearment timidly, reluctantly spoken, or, oftener, spokenunpremeditatedly and followed by a blush; these were food sufficient forhis great passion, --the one passion of his life, to exist upon. Indeedwe are inclined to think that with men of his temperament love is keptin a more vigorous, more actively healthy state by its (apparently)receiving only measured response. A woman who is gifted with the powerof throwing her soul into looks, and language and loving ways, runs therisk of producing upon certain men an effect approaching satiety. Thewoman who has instinctive wisdom will never dash herself against thisrock; yet few women are _wise_; fewer give _too little_ of their rich, heart-treasures than _too much_. CHAPTER LVI. THE HAND OF GOD. When the fever gradually abated, and consciousness returned to thecountess, she lay in a state of half-dreamy exhaustion which precludedthe power of thought or the stir of her high passions. It was manifestthat she recognized those who moved about her bed, for she now and thenaddressed Bertha, Maurice, and even Madeleine by name. Madeleine's heartthrobbed with joy when she dared to believe that there was no unkindnessin Madame de Gramont's tone. Maurice and Bertha had made the sameobservation and augured future harmony and happiness from theunanticipated change. But their delusion was quickly dispelled, for itsoon became apparent that the countess believed herself to be in theChâteau de Gramont, and that her mind had gone back to a period previousto the one when Madeleine had awakened her displeasure. Either theobjects by which she was surrounded had grown familiar to her eyes, oras she beheld them indistinctly in the dim light, imagination lent themolden shapes, for she assuredly fancied herself in her own chamber, inthat venerable château to which she had so earnestly longed to return. It was somewhat remarkable that she never mentioned Count Tristan, though she several times spoke of her antiquated _femme de chambre_, Bettina, and of Baptiste, and desired Madeleine to give them certainorders, just as she would have done in by-gone days. It was not deemed prudent to make any attempt to banish thehallucination under which she was laboring, and which unavoidablecircumstances must gradually disperse. Maurice received a second letter from Mr. Lorrillard, again urging himto return to Charleston, and apprising him that his services would beparticularly valuable at that moment, as he (Mr. Lorrillard) wasoccupied in preparing to conduct a case of much importance, which neededgreat care in collecting authorities, and these researches it was theprovince of Maurice to make. Maurice placed the letter in Madeleine's hands, less because he neededher counsel than because it was so delightful to feel that he had theright to consult her. "What do you advise, Madeleine?" he asked, after she had perused it. "I would have you send the answer you have already concluded to send. " "How do you know that answer?" "I have read more difficult books than your face, Maurice; besides, there seems to me only one answer which would be advisable. Yourgrandmother is safe under Bertha's care and mine; she does notabsolutely need your presence. " "And nobody else needs it, I am to infer?" retorted Maurice, a littleungenerously. He deserved that Madeleine should give him no answer, or, at least, onethat implied a rebuke; but such women are usually tardy in giving mentheir ill deserts, and she answered softly, "It will be less hard topart than it has been. " "You have uttered my very thought, " returned Maurice. "It is less hardto part now that we know how closely we are linked, --now that separationcannot any longer disunite, and love's assurance has taken the place ofdoubt and anguish. Were we _less_ to each other in spirit, we shouldfeel the material space that can divide us _more_, --is it not so?" If Maurice expected any answer, he was forced to be contented with theone which, according to the proverb, gives consent through silence. It was needful to prepare the countess for his departure. Maurice wentto her chamber, and, after a few inquiries concerning her health, towhich she hardly replied, said, -- "I am truly grieved that I am forced to leave you, my dear grandmother. I am summoned away by urgent business. " At that last word her brows were slightly knitted, and she murmuredcontemptuously, "_Business_" as though the expression awakened some oldtrain of painful recollection. "If it were not needful for me to go, " continued Maurice, "I would notleave you; but you have the tender and skilful care of Madeleine andBertha, and I shall be able to return to you at any moment that you mayrequire me. " "Where are you going?" asked the countess, but hardly in a tone ofinterest. "To Charleston. " "Charleston!" she repeated with a startled, troubled look, "Paris, --youmean Paris?" "No, --not so far as Paris, --you remember the journey is but shortbetween Washington and Charleston. " Maurice had not deliberately intended to force upon the countess theconsciousness of her present position; but it was too late to retract. She raised herself in the bed, leaning with difficulty upon her wastedarm, and asked, in a frightened tone, -- "Where, --where am I then?" "In Washington, my dear grandmother. Have you forgotten how my poorfather was"-- "Hush! hush!" she gasped out, "I cannot endure it. Let me think! let methink!" She sank back upon the pillow with closed eyes, and the workings of herfeatures testified that recollection was dawning upon her. After a time she cried out, --for it was a veritable cry, --"And _thishouse_, --_this bed_ where I am lying, --O God! it is too much!" Maurice was at a loss to know what to do. He waited to see if she wouldnot question him, would not speak again; but, as she lay silent andmotionless, he retired and sought his cousins. "Do not be so much distressed, " prayed Madeleine, when she heard what hehad to relate. "This was unavoidable, --your grandmother's intellect wasnot disturbed, --her memory only seemed quiescent; the most casualcircumstance might, at any moment, have awakened her recollection of thepast; it is as well that it should be recalled to-day as to-morrow. Come, Bertha, we will go to her. " Madeleine and Bertha entered the room together, but the ever cowardlyBertha drew back, and Madeleine approached the bed alone. The countessopened her eyes, looked at her a moment, as though to be quite certainof her identity, then turned her face to the pillow and murmured, "Whereis Bertha?" "Bertha is here, " said Madeleine, motioning Bertha to take her place, asshe drew back. Madeleine felt that the countess had turned from her because herpresence was painful; with a light step, but a heart once more grownheavy, she withdrew. Bertha stood by her aunt's side without daring to disturb her by a word. After a time the countess unclosed her eyes again and looked around theroom; then, gazing at Bertha, said slowly, -- "It all comes back, --it was like a frightful dream at first, --but thereality is more terrible! Bertha, --Bertha, --I have so little left! _You_love me? _You_ will not forsake me?" Bertha had never before heard her imperious aunt make an appeal to anyhuman being; what wonder that she was melted? The countess resumed, with increasing agitation, "You were to have goneback with me to Brittany, --you, and Maurice, and his"-- There came a break, --she could not name her dead son. Death to her wasthe harsh blow dealt by a merciless hand, snatching its victim away inretributive wrath, --not the wise and mild summons that bids sufferingmortality exchange a circumscribed, lower life for a larger, higher, happier existence. It was some time before Madame de Gramont could continue; then she said, "I must go back, Bertha! I cannot die out of those old walls! It wasyou, you who lured me from them. We will return to them. You will gowith us, Bertha?" "I will, " replied Bertha, though her heart sank as she uttered thewords. She had thought that the project of returning to France waswholly abandoned. "And we will go soon, --as soon as I am able to travel, that time willcome quickly. I am growing stronger every minute. Let me departspeedily; it is all I can look forward to that can sustain me, that canlift me up after the abasement to which I have been subjected. " Though they conversed no more, Bertha did not leave her aunt until shehad seen her sink to repose. When Bertha repeated to Maurice, Madeleine, and Gaston the conversationwhich had just taken place, a heavy gloom fell upon all. Maurice'sreturn to Brittany, at this crisis, would be a great disadvantage tohim, and when the countess was removed to a distance from Madeleine, itwas more unlikely than ever that she would yield consent to Madeleine'sunion with Maurice; the chances were that she would not allowMadeleine's name to be uttered in her presence. Gaston had given up all idea of altering Bertha's repeatedly expresseddetermination to be married upon the same day as her cousin, and not tomarry at all if that day never came; but since Count Tristan had joinedthe hands of Maurice and Madeleine, he cherished the hope that thecountess would no longer refuse to sanction their union, and that thisvoyage to France would be wholly relinquished. Maurice listened to Bertha in silence, but that night his step could beheard pacing up and down his chamber through the still hours, and hescarcely attempted to rest. During this period of painful reflection, heformed a resolution which he proposed to carry into execution as soon ashis grandmother was ready to receive him. As he took a seat by her side he motioned Mrs. Lawkins to leave themtogether. "Are you well enough to listen to me, my dear grandmother? I must speakto you on a subject of great importance to me; I ought to add, of someimportance to yourself. " The countess signified that she listened by a slight affirmativemovement of the head. "Bertha has told me that you still desire to return to Brittany. Thoughat this moment my accompanying you will force me to make some heavysacrifices, still, there is one condition, --_and only one_, "--Mauriceemphasized these last words, --"upon which I can consent. " The countess made no observation. He was forced to proceed, -- "You were present when my dying father placed Madeleine's hand inmine, --do not interrupt me, I entreat! Madeleine and I have loved eachother from our infancy; she has rejected me solely that she might notcause grief to you and my father; he has given her to me, --he bade youlove her; will _you_ not give her to me also?" "Never!" answered the countess; and though the tone was low it wassteady and resolute. Maurice went on, disregarding her reply. "I will return with you toBrittany on the condition that she accompanies us, as my affiancedbride, or as my wife. You have lived beneath Madeleine's roof; my fatherdied there; gratitude, if nothing else, should bind us to her. Can youurge any reasonable objection to her going with us to Brittany, and asmy wife?" The countess was roused. "Would you have me show my runaway niece to theworld? Would you have me publicly patronize, associate with, caress the_mantua-maker_, in my own land, before my own kin? Never!" "Then, " returned Maurice, resolutely, "I do not return with you toBrittany. Bertha may do so, and you will, doubtless, have the escort ofM. De Bois; but if you renounce Madeleine, you renounce me! Madeleinewill not become my wife without your consent, --I do not conceal _that_from you; but I remain in this land, where she will continue to dwell. If _you_ so wholly disregard my father's last wishes, you cannot hopethat _I_ can forget them, or that I can feel as bound to you as thoughthey had been respected. If your decision is final, I will not urge youfurther. " "It is final!" was the laconic answer. "And so is mine!" replied Maurice, rising. Without longer parley he leftthe room. At this crisis, the conduct of M. De Bois threatened to give a new turnto events. We have had abundant proof of his gratitude and unwaveringdevotion to Madeleine. His aversion to the countess had increased withher persecution of her defenceless niece, and when the inexorable ladyremained unmoved by the dying prayer of her son, and refused to sanctionMadeleine's union with Maurice, M. De Bois's detestation culminated. Hewas inspired with an earnest desire to stretch out his arm to shield andaid Madeleine, and humble her oppressor; but an effectual method ofaccomplishing this act of justice did not present itself to him untilMaurice communicated the result of his last interview; then Gastonconceived the project of following up that masterly move with anotherwhich would give it force. If he could only have counted upon Bertha asan ally he would have been confident of the success of his plan; but heknew that Bertha's timidity--say, rather, her _cowardice_--wasinsuperable, and she held her aunt in too much awe to dare to take anydecided stand. M. De Bois called all his energies into play to influencethe weak medium he was compelled to employ. Madeleine was occupied in a different part of the house when Maurice, finding Gaston and Bertha in the boudoir, told them the result of hisinterview with Madame de Gramont. By and by Gaston lured Bertha into thegarden. They made one or two turns in silence; Bertha looked upwistfully into her lover's face, and said, in a tone of reproach, -- "How silent you seem to-day!" "Yes, I feel grave, --I have something to accomplish, and I greatly need, but fear to claim, your aid. " "Mine? What lion is there in a net that needs such a poor, wee mouse asI to gnaw the meshes?" "No lion already in the snare, but a lioness to be lured into our net. Bertha, do you truly love Mademoiselle Madeleine?" "What a question!" "Do you love her so well that your love for her could surmount yourdread of your aunt?" "Yes, that is, I think it could. What would you have me do?" "Follow the noble example of Maurice; tell Madame de Gramont that youwill not return to Brittany with her unless Maurice and MademoiselleMadeleine return also. She detests this country, and the fear of beingcompelled to remain here will conquer her. " "But how could I do this?" questioned Bertha, feeling that she had notfirmness for the task. "I have promised to go with her. What excusecould I offer?" "The excuse, " answered her lover, "that you could not travel with heralone. " "Alone?" "Yes, for I do not count the light-headed Adolphine any one. " "But you, --you are going with us?" "I shall not go unless Maurice and Mademoiselle Madeleine go, " repliedM. De Bois. "And you can let me go without you? You can let me take such a journeywith my aunt in her broken state of health?" "I will not let you go at all if I can prevent your going. " Not a few persuasions were needed before M. De Bois could obtainBertha's promise to inform her aunt that she could not accompany herexcept upon the conditions Maurice had made. Bertha looked like aculprit awaiting sentence, rather than a person who came to dictate, when she entered Madame de Gramont's apartment. The countess had beenhighly incensed by her conversation with Maurice, and was wrought up tosuch a pitch that she seemed to have gained sudden strength, and almostto be restored to health. Bertha stole to her side, but the younggirl's good intentions were oozing away every moment. The probability isthat that she would not have had the courage to introduce the subject atall had not the countess asked, -- "Have you heard of the unnatural conduct of Maurice? Do you know that myown grandson abandons me?" "I have heard, " replied Bertha, hesitatingly. "Oh! what are we to do?How could you ever travel to Brittany alone?" "Alone?" cried the countess, catching hold of the blue silk curtainsthat draped her bed, and raising herself by clinging to them. "Alone? Do_you_, too, forsake me? But what else could I expect when my grandson, my only child left, has abandoned me?" Bertha's determination was put to flight by her aunt's woful look as shespoke these words with despairing fierceness, while she grasped thecurtains more tightly and bore heavily upon them for support. These draperies were suspended over the centre of the bed from a massivegilded ornament, shaped to represent a huge arrow, and the countess inher agitation gathered the folds around her, and hung upon them in herefforts to sit up. "Oh, no, aunt, I have not forsaken you, " returned Bertha. "I will gowith you; but what shall we do alone? M. De Bois refuses to go unlessMaurice and Madeleine go. " "Does M. De Bois expect to dictate to _me_?" demanded Madame de Gramont, haughtily. "Let him remain; you will go with me, Bertha, and I shallhire a courier. " "I am afraid we will not be able to find a courier in America, " Berthaventured to suggest. "Then we will go without one! We will go the instant I am able; and Ifeel so much stronger at this moment that I could start at once. It issettled that we go, and I defy Maurice or any one else to keep me. " Madeleine had been visiting the working-room, and, without being awareof what had just taken place, she now entered her aunt's chamber. Madamede Gramont's convulsed features, and her singular attitude as she sat upin the centre of the bed, tightly grasping the curtains, which had beendrawn from their usual position, impressed Madeleine so painfully, thatshe was running toward her; when the countess, raising herself up, withsudden strength, exclaimed, --"Madeleine de Gramont, keep from me!--donot come near me! All my sorrow has come through you!--Go! go!" She gave such a violent strain upon the curtains, as she passionatelyuttered these words, that Madeleine's quick ears caught a sound as ofsome fastening giving way. With a cry of horror, she sprang to the bed, flung her arms around the countess, and dragged her from it just as theheavy ornament fell! Madeleine's piercing cry, and Bertha's shriek summoned not only Mrs. Lawkins, who was sitting in the adjoining chamber, but Maurice andGaston. The curtains partially concealed the bed and the two who layprostrate beside it; the white, haggard, terrified countenance of Madamede Gramont was alone visible. As Mrs. Lawkins endeavored to extricateher from the folds of the curtain, Maurice and Gaston removed the fallenarrow to which the drapery was still attached. Afterwards Gaston, whowas nearest to Mrs. Lawkins, assisted her in raising the helplesscountess and placing her upon the bed. Then the form of Madeleine becamevisible. She was stretched upon the ground motionless and senseless; herbeautiful hair, loosened by her fall, enveloped her like a veil, andwholly concealed her face. What a groan of agony burst from Maurice ashe knelt beside her and swept away the shrouding tresses! They were wet, and the hands that touched them became scarlet. The outermost edge ofthe arrow had struck Madeleine's head, inflicting a deep gash, and, asit fell, tore her dress the whole length of her left shoulder and arm, making another wound which bled profusely. Maurice was so completely stupefied with horror that he had scarcelypower to lift her light form. "Here! here! place her here!" cried Mrs. Lawkins; "don't stir her anymore than possible. " Maurice mechanically obeyed and laid Madeleine upon the same bed whichbore the countess. The nurse was the only one whose presence of mind had not completelydeparted, and she hurried from the room to send for medical assistance. Maurice, as he clasped Madeleine in his arms, groaned out, "She iskilled! she is dead! Oh, my Madeleine, my Madeleine! are you gone?Madeleine! Madeleine!" Madeleine gave no sign of life, though the blood still flowed. Mrs. Lawkins, who had returned, tried to force him away--entreated himto let her approach Madeleine, that she might bind up her head andstanch the blood; but he did not hear, or heed, --he was lost in grief. M. De Bois also appealed to him, but in vain; then Gaston attempted touse force to recall him to reason, and, seizing both of Maurice's arms, essayed to unclasp them from their hold of the inanimate form, saying ashe did so: "For the love of Heaven, Maurice, collect yourself; she may bleed todeath if you prevent Mrs. Lawkins from doing what is needful to stop theblood. " Maurice struggled with him, as he exclaimed, hopelessly, "She is dead!she is dead!" "She is _not_ dead, but you may kill her if you refuse to let Mrs. Lawkins bind up her wounds. " Maurice no longer resisted, and Mrs. Lawkins wiped away the blood, andcommenced bandaging the fair, wounded head. The pale features had beenstained with the crimson flood, and, as Mrs. Lawkins bathed them, theirmarble whiteness and stillness were appalling. Bertha had not ceased to sob, though Gaston, the instant he could safelyrelinquish his hold of Maurice, essayed by every means in his power tosoothe her. The countess was gazing upon Madeleine with an air of stupefied grief. Bertha, who had no control over her passionate sorrow, as her eyes fellupon Madame de Gramont, cried out, reproachfully, -- "Aunt, but for her, you would have been killed! You who never loved her!She has lost her life in trying to save yours!" The countess did not appear to heed the cruel words, though they werethe echo of her own thoughts. Mrs. Lawkins' skilful ministry had stanched the blood and Madeleine'shead and arm were bound up; but still she lay like some lovely statue, her lips apart and hueless, --her eyes closed, and the dark lashessweeping her alabaster cheeks; while her long hair, still dripping withits crimson moisture, was lifted over the pillow. As Mrs. Lawkins, having accomplished her sad task, drew back, Maurice pressed into herplace, and Bertha crowded in beside him, loading the senseless Madeleinewith caresses and tender epithets; then, as she turned to her aunt, whohad raised herself on her elbow, and was also bending over the lifelessfigure, exclaimed impetuously, -- "Oh! how could you help loving her? We all loved her so much! CousinTristan said she was his good angel, and she has been the good angel ofall our family; but our good angel is gone! We have lost her throughyou!" Bertha's overwhelming sorrow had swept away all her former dread of heraunt, whom her reproaches deeply stung. They were the first Madame deGramont had ever heard from those timid lips. At that moment theconscience-stricken woman would have made any sacrifice, even of herpride, to have seen Madeleine restored to life. While contemplating thatangelic face, now so still and white, torturing fiends recalled all theharsh words she had used to pain this defenceless being, --all the cruelwrong she had done her, --all the misery she had caused her; and now sheinwardly prayed that Madeleine might live; but with that prayer arosethe thought that the supplication of such a one as she would remainunheard in heaven. Mrs. Lawkins, aided by Maurice, was applying restoratives. With his armbeneath Madeleine's head, he was holding a spoon to her lips, and, withgentle force, pouring its contents into her mouth, watching her with themost thrilling anxiety. He thought a slight movement of the lips wasperceptible; then they quivered more certainly, and she made an effortto swallow. The countess was the first one that spoke: "She is not dead! I am sparedthat!" She sank back upon her pillow and wept. No one present had ever seen her weep; but now she did not try to hideher tears; they gushed forth in fierce torrents, like a stream thatbreaks forth through severed icebergs; for in her soul the ice that hadgathered to mountain heights was melting at last. Maurice had echoed the words, "She is not dead, " pressing his ownburning lips upon those pale, feebly-stirring, cold ones, and catchingthe first returning breath that Madeleine drew. At that long, ferventkiss her eyes unclosed; they saw his face and nothing beside. "Madeleine, my beloved, you are spared to me! My life returns now thatyou are given back. " Madeleine faintly murmured "Maurice, " and then her eyes wandered fromhis face to those around her, and she added, "What is it?" Bertha's transition from grief to joy was so clamorous that no one couldanswer. If Gaston had not restrained her, Madeleine's bandage would havebeen endangered by the young girl's vehement embraces, which weremingled with incoherent exclamations of rapture. "What is it?" again questioned Madeleine; but, as she spoke her eyecaught sight of the fallen curtain, thrown in a heap, and rememberingthe recent danger, she turned quickly to the countess, and said, feebly, -- "You are not hurt, aunt, --madame? The shaft did not strike you, --didit?" The countess felt that a shaft had fallen and struck her, indeed, butnot the one Madeleine meant. She stretched out her hand and clasped thatof her niece as she said, -- "I am uninjured, Madeleine; it is you who received the blow. God grantthat this may be the last that will fall upon you through me! It is invain to struggle against His will. It was His hand, --I feel it! I resistno longer!" She looked toward Maurice, who exclaimed joyfully, "My dear, deargrandmother, have I regained Madeleine doubly to-day? Do you mean"-- The countess finished his sentence solemnly, "That it shall be as my sonsaid. " Madeleine, overcome with joy and gratitude, tried to raise herself upthat she might reach the countess, but sank back powerless, and theeffort again started the crimson current which trickled through thebandage and ran down her face. "Don't move!" cried Mrs. Lawkins. "See, see, what you have done byagitating her. Go, all of you, away. Mr. Maurice, go, or you will do hermore mischief. Take him away, M. De Bois. " Maurice was so much alarmed at the sight of the blood that he could not, at first, listen to these expostulations; but Mrs. Lawkins continued tothreaten him with such evil results if he did not obey, and to urge M. De Bois so strenuously to compel him, that Gaston succeeded in leadinghim away; Mrs. Lawkins bade Bertha follow them, and then locked thedoor. As she prepared a fresh bandage she said apologetically, "I was obligedto send them away, Mademoiselle Madeleine; you must be quiet and notspeak a word until the doctor comes; it is very, very important. " And Madeleine did lie still in a trance of pure delight, and thecountess lay beside her almost as motionless. CHAPTER LVII. CONCLUSION. The wound in Madeleine's head was dangerously near her temple. Her longswoon had been caused by the severity of the blow, and she wascompletely exhausted by her great loss of blood. When Dr. Bayard hadexamined her injuries and readjusted the bandage, Maurice bore hergently to her own chamber, clasping her closely in his arms as he went, and breathing over her words of tenderest endearment. He left her inMrs. Lawkins' charge to be undressed and laid in bed, but even duringthat brief process, knocked several times at the door to urge the goodhouse-keeper to make haste and admit him. For nearly two months Maurice had been chained to the bedside of hissuffering father, or his grandmother; he had been fully initiated intothe duties of ministration, and upon the strength of his experience heclaimed the entire care of the new invalid. What a luxury to him it wasto watch over his beloved Madeleine! It seemed ungrateful of her todeprive him of the happiness by getting well too rapidly. As RuthThornton occupied the same room, Madeleine needed no watcher at night;but Maurice scarcely left her during the day. Her light food, hercooling drinks and calming potions, she received from his hands alone. Hour after hour, he sat and read to her, --sat and talked to her, --satand looked at her, --and never was weary, --never was so superlativelyhappy in his life! He was jealous of any one who attempted to share hisvigils; when Mrs. Lawkins approached, he playfully reminded her thatthey had agreed upon a division of labor, and Madame de Gramont was herpatient; when Ruth and Bertha tried to press upon him their services, hehad always some plea to peremptorily dismiss them both. Mrs. Walton wasthe only one in whose favor he relented a little. He allowed her to sitbeside his charge for a couple of hours every day. How could he refusewhen the presence of this invaluable friend gave Madeleine such truepleasure, and when Mrs. Walton was filled with such evident delight inwatching the intercourse of these two kindred spirits, who to her eyesseemed created for partnership? Madame de Gramont had daily, with a sort of ceremonious affection, inquired after Madeleine's health. Madeleine's first visit, when she wasable to rise, was to her aunt; but Maurice would not allow his patientto attempt to walk without his supporting arm about her waist. We willnot say that Madame de Gramont greeted Madeleine _cordially_; but shereceived her with marked consideration, and expressed satisfaction atbeholding her able to move; this was the sole allusion she made to theaccident. Maurice, who had grown thoroughly tyrannical, would onlypermit Madeleine to remain a few moments with his grandmother, andbrought the interview to a sudden close. Now that Madeleine was convalescent, she found great enjoyment in long, pleasant drives with Bertha, Maurice and Gaston. On bright days theyleft the carriage, and wandered into the woods to gather wild flowers, and rest beneath the trees. On one of these occasions, Madeleine wassitting upon a fallen tree, her lap filled with the flowers she hadculled, and which she was weaving into a wreath. Bertha aided her workby selecting and handing the requisite flowers. Maurice was supplyingher with luxuriant moss which she mingled among the bright blossoms. Gaston, lying at Bertha's feet, contemplated the lovely picture beforehim. The wreath was finished, and Madeleine wound it about Bertha'spicturesque little hat, --not one of those unmeaning abominations whichneither cover the head, nor shade the face, but a round straw hat, slightly turned up at the sides, and ornamented only by a single, blackplume. "Look, M. De Bois, " said Madeleine, "is not my chaplet successful? Couldanything be more becoming to Bertha?" "Yes, " answered Gaston, "there is one chaplet in which she would lookstill lovelier, --a wreath of orange-blossoms. Come, Bertha, are you notready to reward my patience and forbearance? Will you not let meremember this day as one of our brightest, by telling me when you willwear that orange-blossom wreath?" Bertha laid her head upon Madeleine's shoulder at the risk of crushingsome of the wild flowers, and answered, "That depends upon Madeleine. Itold you long ago that Madeleine should name the day. " "Come then, Mademoiselle Madeleine, " Gaston pleaded; "do you speak!" Maurice's eyes fervently seconded the adjuration. Madeleine answered, with the perverseness of her sex, "You ought toreturn to Charleston, Maurice. " "I know I _ought_; but do not imagine I mean to do what I ought to do, until you have done what you ought to do as an example; if you do_that_, you will tell me when I may return to claim my bride. " "You shall know to-morrow, " said Madeleine, "but only on condition thatneither of you gentlemen mention the subject again to-day. " Both lovers promised; but, simply because a condition had been made, they every moment experienced the strongest temptation to disregard thestipulation. That night Madeleine and Bertha had a long conversation, --"a woman'stalk, " such as maidens, and matrons too, delight in, all the world over. They decided that Maurice must leave at once for Charleston, and remainthree months, only returning the day before the one appointed for hisnuptials. The double wedding was to take place in church; the bridalparty to return to Madeleine's and, after a collation, leave forPhiladelphia, and the day following for New York. The countess, accompanied by Gaston and Bertha, would sail at once for Havre, andMaurice, and Madeleine take up their abode in Charleston. Bertha'splans, after she reached France, were left to be determined bycircumstances. Madame de Gramont was the first one apprised of this arrangement, and itmet with her full approval. She rejoiced at the certainty of seeing herbeloved château again; and, though she spoke not one word to thateffect, experienced great relief at being spared the necessity ofappearing in Brittany with Madeleine, whose presence must necessarilycause abundant gossip. Maurice and Gaston were warned that the penalty of a single remonstranceagainst these plans would be a month added to their period of probation. Maurice compromised by pleading that instead of leaving Washington atonce, he might be permitted to remain until the close of the week. The French ambassador had been much chagrined at the prospect of partingwith Gaston. It was tolerably difficult to find a person who was notalways seeking his own interests, or meddling in diplomatic affairs, tosupply M. De Bois's place. When M. De Fleury was informed that theperiod for Gaston's departure was settled, he urged him to promise toreturn within six months, saying that he would only engage a secretary_pro tem. _ in the hope of M. De Bois occupying his former position. As the young French maidens were orphans, and of high family, M. DeFleury offered to assume the office of father in giving them away, andthe flattering proposition was particularly acceptable to the countess. Ronald Walton was to be the groomsman of Maurice, and Madeleine made herhumble friend Ruth, the happiest of maidens, by inviting her toofficiate as bridesmaid. Bertha needed a bridesmaid and groomsman, sinceher cousin would be thus attended, and she chose Lady Augusta Linden andher _fiancé_, Mr. Rutledge, through whose influence Madeleine hadobtained a vote of so much importance to Maurice. These nuptial arrangements seemed to give general satisfaction, withone exception; Mr. Walton declared that he was unfairly treated; that hemeant to be assigned some office; and as his son was Madeleine'sgroomsman, and as he was not himself qualified to be Bertha's, he mustbe allowed to act as the father of the latter. M. De Fleury, he said, ought to be contented with the _rôle_ of father to one of the brides. Bertha, who had been charmed by the courtly manners and delightfulconversation of this agreeable gentleman, cordially consented. Once more Madeleine and Maurice were to be parted; and even this briefseparation tested their fortitude. The Waltons accompanied Maurice, andwere to return with him to Washington. On his arrival in Charleston, he had cause to be flattered by the heartygreeting of his partner. Maurice plunged at once into professionalduties; but another employment helped to speed the time, --a trulycharming occupation, --the preparation of a home for his bride. Mrs. Walton assisted the young lawyer in the agreeable task of selectingfurniture, and making those arrangements which demanded a woman's hand. A never-failing happiness flowed to Maurice from the exchange of letterswith Madeleine. Each day commenced with the sending, and closed with thereceiving, of one of these precious paper messengers. But Madeleine'sletters, by no means, came under the head of "love letters. " She couldnot have poured out upon paper, any more than she could have spoken, thefulness and depth of her affection; but Maurice found inexhaustibledelight in what she wrote, which was always suggestive of so much leftunsaid. Madeleine rented her house to Ruth, who now became the head of theestablishment which "Mademoiselle Melanie" had rendered so popular. AtMadeleine's suggestion, Ruth had written to her widowed mother and youngsister and requested them to make their future home with her. Thatletter was read by streaming eyes, and its contents filled tooverflowing two joyful hearts. Mrs. Lawkins was to accompany Madeleine to Charleston and take charge ofher household there. Madeleine proposed closing her establishment on the day of her wedding;for she well knew that her _employées_ would desire to witness theceremony. And she further evinced her thoughtfulness by ordering abountiful collation to be spread in the apartments usually devoted tobusiness, at the same time that the table was prepared for her ownbridal party in the apartments beneath. Madeleine and Bertha had both apprised their bridegrooms elect that theypreferred to forego the French custom of receiving the usual_corbeille_, containing laces, India shawls, jewelry, etc. , etc. , addingthat some simple bridal token would be more acceptable. The day before the wedding arrived, and with it Maurice and the Waltons. We will not attempt to paint the meeting between Maurice andMadeleine, --it was too full of joy for language, too sacred fordescription, --but pass on to the events of the evening when the exchangeof bridal gifts was made. Maurice fastened about Madeleine's white throat a small chain ofVenetian gold, to which was suspended a cross of rare pearls; and on theback of the cross were inscribed these words of the prophet, -- "Labor is worship. " M. De Bois, knowing that Bertha was only too well supplied with gems, had experienced great difficulty in selecting a bridal gift. But, aftermany consultations with Madeleine, he chose a set of cameos cut instone. The necklace and bracelets were composed of angel heads; but hisown likeness was cut upon the brooch, and that of Madeleine on themedallion that formed the centre of the bracelet. Who can doubt thatBertha was enchanted with her gift? Madame de Gramont presented each of her nieces with a handkerchief ofrich old lace, very rare and no longer purchasable. Madeleine placed in Bertha's hands a magnificently bound volume; itcontained Mrs. Browning's poems illustrated, in water colors, byMadeleine herself. Many of the paintings were exquisite, but those whichrepresented "Lady Geraldine's Courtship, " far surpassed all the others. And now came the great surprise of the evening, --the disclosure of asecret which Gaston and Bertha had carefully guarded. Bertha, in herclingingly affectionate way, knelt down beside Madeleine, and laid inher lap two ancient-looking jewel-cases, her bridal gift to Madeleine. How Madeleine started and trembled at the sight! Well she knew thosecaskets, but her shaking hands could not press the springs by which theywere secured. Bertha lifted their lids and disclosed the diamonds andemeralds which had been the bridal jewels of Lady Katrine Nugent, Madeleine's great-great-grandmother; the jewels which Madeleine had beenforced to part with to obtain herself subsistence; the jewels whosedesign she had imitated on the dress which first made her "fairyfingers" known to Vignon; the jewels Bertha had recognized when theywere worn by Madame de Fleury; the jewels which in attempting to traceto their owner, Maurice had suffered so terribly. These memorable jewelswere restored through Gaston's agency. He had related to M. De Fleurytheir history, and Mademoiselle de Merrivale's desire to repurchasethem. The marquis had promised acquiescence in the young lady's wishesif Madame de Fleury's consent could be obtained. Gaston and Bertha paidthe ambassador's wife a visit of persuasion. Gaston was an especialfavorite, and Madame de Fleury loved Madeleine as well as it waspossible for her to love any one. Her yielding up these jewels was ahigh proof of the noble _couturière's_ power over her frivolous heart. What bride does not smile when she sees the sun shine into her chamberon the nuptial morning? The sun shone gloriously on the bridal day ofMadeleine and Bertha. The ceremony was to take place at any earlyhour, --no invitations were issued, --the bridal party was to meet atMadeleine's to go to church. Madeleine and Bertha were attired precisely alike, and with severesimplicity; they both wore dresses of white silk, made close to thethroat. (A _décolté_ attire would not be tolerated at a Parisianbridal. ) Their veils were circular and of point lace; their chaplets ofnatural orange blossoms woven by Madeleine herself. Madeleine had notintended to wear any ornament, save the cross Maurice had presented her, but Bertha insisted on clasping Lady Katrine Nugent's bridal bracelet onher cousin's arm, and fastening her tiny lace collar with the lily andshamrock brooch. Bertha, herself, wore Gaston's cameos, and couldscarcely restrain her joyful tears when she fastened on her fair bosomthe brooch which represented her lover's countenance, and the braceletthat bore her beloved Madeleine's. She was adorned with the images ofthe two most dear on earth. Need we say that both brides were supremely lovely? Gazing at Bertha'ssweet, unclouded face, that looked out from among the wealth of goldenringlets, and noting the soft light in her blue eyes, the delicaterose-flush that came and went on her cheeks, one might well declare thatnothing more beautiful could be found, until the gazer turned toMadeleine. Her face was colorless with emotion, yet its paleness onlyrendered the sculpturesque beauty of her features more striking; hereyes were downcast, and thus one missed their clear lustre and holyexpression; yet the long lashes were some compensation, and her look wasso spiritual, so saint-like in its beauty, that nothing mortal couldhave been lovelier. For one moment only were Maurice and Gaston permitted to greet theirbrides, and then they were hurried into the carriages which awaitedthem. Though no invitations had been given, the church was densely crowded. When the nuptial procession entered, the suppressed murmur of manyvoices sounded like the rushing of distant waves. First came Madame deGramont, leaning on the arm of Maurice; they were followed by Ronald andRuth Thornton; Madeleine, led by the Marquis de Fleury, followed. Thencame the second party, Gaston with Mrs. Walton on his arm; Lady Augustaand Mr. Rutledge; Bertha, led by Mr. Walton, not the least proud andhappy man of that large assembly. At times, during the ceremony, low sobs were audible; they came fromMadeleine's _employées_, who could not wholly control their grief, asthe certainty of losing their gentle mistress forced itself upon them. The newly made wives passed out of the church conducted by theirhusbands and returned to Madeleine's residence. During the collation the brides stood together at the head of the table. The French ambassador and Mr. Walton were the life of the festive board, and infused an element of gayety which the small assemblage would havelacked without their aid, for a happy silence had fallen upon thenuptial party. Besides these gentlemen, Mr. Meredith and Mr. Hilson werethe only strangers present. The brides left the company to assume their travelling attire; butMadeleine, before she made this change, stole to the apartment where herneedle-women were at table, with Victorine at the head, and spoke a wordof kindly farewell to each, in turn. There were no dry eyes in thatroom. Maurice was more than satisfied with Madeleine's approval of thepleasant abode he had chosen. Many and joyous were the years he and hisbeloved companion passed under that roof. One year after their marriageit also sheltered for a time Gaston and Bertha. 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The Incognito[Incognita], 186 page 32 I saw three of our relatives on the de Gramont side, Madame de Nervac, the Count Damorean[Damoreau], and M. De Bonneville. They inquired kindly after you, Madeleine, and I told them you page 91 "Before you go to Rennes, will you not return this handker-Shief[handkerchief] to M. De Bois? As it was picked up in the châlet, he page 122 confusion in his own mind, the more troubled he felt in pondering over the disorded[disordered] mental condition of Maurice. During a whole month after their accidental encounter in the street he called page 123 great, blue eyes which so strongly resembled Bertha's--were glittering with the wild lights of delirum[delirium]; fever burned on his cheeks and seemed to scorch his parched lips. The fair, clustering page 129 seen Madeleine beside me! When the good 'sister' moved about the room, in the dim light of the veillense[veilleuse], in spite of her coarse, unshapely garb, I recognized the outlines of Madeleine's page 132 Walton, without being stirred and inspired by the contact. The force, decision, aptitude, promptness, which distinguished Roland[Ronald], had constituted him a sort of prince among his fellow-students, page 135 the Marchioness de Fleury that Bertha's uncle was exceedingly tenacious of his rights, and jealous of the inteference[interference] of his niece's relatives in regard to any future alliance she might page 150 golden keys: unlock all doors; carry one into hidden depths of the earth. Shall be obliged to advance funds to pay partiest[parties] employed. Have the goodness to write your name in this page 153 "See, Maurice, " Bertha continued, joyfully, "in the corner she has embroidered my name, surrounded by a wreath of for-get-me-nots[forget-me-nots], --for she does not forget. The crest of the de Merrivales is in the opposite page 158 woman of her calm judgment, --a woman who could look with such steady, tearless eyes upon life's realties, [realities]--a woman who would not have trodden in flowery ways though every page 165 compelled to make, that he might meet the demands of the old Jew, were not without their influence in preparing Count Triston[Tristan] an to look favorably upon his son's solicitation. The count imagined page 189 to mortgage the estate of his son for so large amount that, but for the advent of the railroad, upon which he confidently calculated, the mortgage must prove ruinious[ruinous] to the interests of the landholder. page 209 "I must entreat your pardon for allowing you to wait; it was not in my power to be[repeated word "be" removed] more punctual; a terrible accident--the first of the kind which has ever occurred to me--is my page 228 Ruth, without lifting her head from the sketch she was coloring, answered, "Yes, certainly, unless it should be something with which Mademoiselle Malanie[Melanie] does not desire us to be acquainted. " page 237 Shortly after M. De Bois returned to the exhibition salons, Madeline[Madeleine] entered the workroom. Gaston could see her moving about among the young girls, distributing sketches, making smiling page 241 he should find her tranquil and self-possessed; and was he about to enter her presence as voiceless and unmanned as during their brief recontre[rencontre] the day previous? page 281 The Countess de Gramant[Gramont] rose up majestically, white with rage. page 287 "True, " replied Lord Linden, undaunted by her chilling de-demeanor;[demeanor] "and it is not easy to break the iron bonds of conventionality. But, if the difference of our rank prevents my page 288 "An insult? You do not imagnie[imagine]--you cannot suppose that I had any such intention?" page 332 "Yes, to-night; but not very[every] night, " she added, with playful imperativeness. "I shall not allow that, and you see I have taken the reins into my own hands, and show that a little of in the social sphere; and great were the lamentations over the noble coutourière's[couturière's] supposed abdication of her throne. page 345 CHAPTER LXI. [XLI. ] page 356 precisely how to make a pillow yield the best support, --a low, soft, yet encouraging voice, --a cheerful, yet symathizing[sympathizing] face, --a soundless step, --garments that never rustle, --movements that page 358 Maurice perceived his mistake too late. He had not foreseen that the countess would have drawn this conclusiou[conclusion] from the intelligence just communicated. page 363 lips. "She has seen Dr. Bayard, and insists on carrying out certains[certain] views of hers, and she informs me that she has his permission page 371 mending, would have gained a charm and been idealized into pleasures, if they contributed to the well-being of those dear to[repeated "to" removed] her; but, when performed for the one more precious than all page 373 you to inform the countess that a nurse is coming. One charge more: you[your] father is so much better that instead of wearing yourself out by sitting up with him, it would be wiser to have page 379 and we will settle the matter. Make haste, for I must write to Lorillard[Lorrillard] by this evening's mail, and I desire to inform him, in answer to his somewhat caustic letter, that I have made the page 423 "This has been but a brief meeting, Madeleine, after the sepation[separation] of those long, sorrowful years. The future is all uncertain, I cannot fix a time, after I have said adieu, when I may clasp page 451 Mrs. Lawkin's[Lawkins'] skilful ministry had stanched the blood and Madeleine's head and arm were bound up; but still she lay like