If Madeleine had been asked which of her relatives would first have sought her after the unexpectedrencontreat Madame de Fleury's, she would have answered, "Bertha,"—Bertha, whose devotion had been so unflagging, so open, so daring. But on the day which succeeded that stormy interview, Count Tristan and Maurice had visited Madeleine, yet Bertha remained absent; another day passed, and still she came not.
The Countess de Gramont had resolved, at least, to postpone a meeting she might not be able wholly to prevent. She formed her plans so dexterously that Bertha was chained to her side, fretting through the tedious hours, yet powerless to secure a moment's freedom.
Exasperation caused Bertha sleepless nights; and on the third morning she rose with the sun, summoned her maid, sent for a carriage, and was on her way to Madeleine's residence some three hours before it was likely that the slumbers of the countess would be broken.
Madeleine was preparing for her matinal walk, when her cousin was announced.
After the first joyous greetings were over, Bertha said, with tender delight,—
"And now that I have found you, my own Madeleine, I mean to come to see you every day."
Madeleine shook her head sadly. "Madame de Gramont will never permit that."
"How can she help it if I choose to order all my dresses made here? The choice and discussion of becoming attire shall occupy as much of my time as it does of Madame de Fleury's. I mean to become her rival and almost ruin myself in splendid toilets,—that is, unless you accept my proposition."
"What proposition, Bertha?"
"To give up your—your—your—What shall I call it? Youroccupation,—yourvocation,—I have a great mind to say your 'trade,' that the word may shock you. Live with me; travel with me; go where I go. Will you not consent?"
"No," answered Madeleine, gently, but resolutely.
"Do not decide hastily. You cannot know how much I needyou, Madeleine. Your counsels were indispensable to me even in days when I had no secret to confide: now—now"—
"Now youhavea 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 my uncle declares there is no possibility of my finding peace until I make some choice."
"And you intend to secure peace upon his terms? Possibly among those who aspired to your hand there is one who has discovered the entrance to your heart."
"Among those who have aspired,—ah, there is the difficulty! Among those there 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 hope which 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," replied Bertha.
This answer added to Madeleine's discomposure. There was no hope for Gaston de Bois.
"Why do you look so sorrowful?" inquired Bertha, noticing her cousin's expression.
"I am thinking of one who has loved you long, with such devotion, with such self-abnegation, with such an ardent desire to become worthy of you, that I could not but sigh over his disappointment. But this sudden affection of yours may not be very deep."
"Ah, but itis! And as for suddenness, when I say I have only loved him since day before yesterday, I mean that I only then discovered how much 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 you always said I was eccentric. I first felt that I loved him when I saw him getting into a great rage, and when I positively fancied that I caught the sound of a horrible oath, which he uttered in an undertone!"
"Thatisoriginal! I never before heard of a young lady being inspired by 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. "It was righteous indignation, and it was the violence with which he defended one whom I love, that won my heart completely."
"Whom did he defend?" asked Madeleine, unsuspiciously.
"You,—you, my own, best Madeleine, and forthatI loved him. It was so wonderful, knowing how constitutionally diffident he is, to see him so courageous. And when I remembered how he used to hesitate and stammer, it seemed marvellous to hear him talk on with an ease, a fluency, a fervor truly eloquent. I never ask to listen to finer oratory. My aunt, in spite of her indignation, was confounded into silence. Count Tristan could not say a word, and Maurice looked as though amazement alone kept him from throwing himself in his friend's arms, 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 that he was so pathetic! At first I almost felt like laughing at his odd gesticulations. And then he talked so nobly, so grandly, that I felt like weeping; and you know it is my nature to laugh and to cry in spite of myself. I have made up my mind that I could never love anybody who could not make me do bothat once, just as he did, in such a comically pathetic manner."
"How shall I thank you? Gaston de Bois is my best, my truest, friend!" said Madeleine, rapturously.
"I knowthatwell enough! Once I feared he might be the mysterious individual whom you loved; but he said himself that you were a sister to him; and I almost leapt for joy at those words. A sister never fills thewholeof a man's heart,—does she?"
"Not such a heart as Gaston de Bois'. He will tell you himself who occupies the sovereign place in that heart when he knows that he may speak."
"But how is he to know? You must promise me not to tell him, not to give him even the faintest hint, of what I have communicated. Promise me that you will not."
"I promise. But you forget how diffident M. de Bois is, how distrustful of his own merits. He will not easily believe that youcanthink of him. And, meantime, you"—
"Will suffer. Yes, I know it; but I should suffer more if I were guilty of 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 a lighter heart, because she had transferred its weighty secret to another's keeping. But Madeleine's joy was mingled with forebodings that Gaston de Bois would not suspect his own happiness for a long, sad period, if ever.
When she went forth, it was long past the hour usually devoted to her walk. The capitol grounds were gay with promenaders. Madeleine and Ruth attracted 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 de Bois. He bowed, hesitated, seemed half inclined to walk on without speaking, but changed his mind and joined them.
It was long since Madeleine had seen him apparently so ill at ease or so distressed. She smiled as she reflected how quickly three little words (which she, alas! was forbidden to speak) would change that perturbed look to one of ineffable happiness.
For a few moments he walked moodily by her side, replying at random to her casual remarks. It chanced that Ruth was not conversant with the French language, and Madeleine, struck by his abstracted air, inquired in that tongue whether he had any cause for vexation.
Gaston answered, vaguely, that he was troubled; he did not himself know with how much real cause. A moment after, he mentioned her interview with Count Tristan, and, stammering a little in his old fashion, asked whether she would deem it a great liberty if he desired to know the object of the count's visit.
A moment's reflection convinced Madeleine that M. de Bois would not have made this inquiry out of sheer, causeless curiosity; and she made known to him the count's request concerning the votes which she was to exert herself to obtain. Gaston caught eagerly at her words, and exclaimed,—
"Valueless? Are you sure Count Tristan said the property of Maurice would 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 I fear, it will compromise him wofully."
"Pray be explicit," said Madeleine, becoming alarmed. "Tell me what you positively 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 have no faith in Count Tristan. I believe him capable of unscrupulous actions which might ruin his son. At the club, last night, a group of gentlemen chanced to be conversing near me. The name of Maurice de Gramont attracted my attention. A Mr. Emerson asserted that he had just made a discovery which convinced him that the Viscount de Gramont was a young man regardless of honor; and added that he intended, without delay, to commence legal proceedings against him. As soon as I could control my indignation, I informed Mr. Emerson that the Viscount de Gramont was my friend, and I could not allow his name to be used with disrespect without 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 request cavalierly. But, upon my persisting, he replied that neither place nor time served to discuss a business matter; adding that he would be at his office on the morrow, at twelve o'clock, and, if I chose to call at that hour, the whole matter would be made known to me; remarking, significantly, that he had no intention of keeping the transaction from the public."
"What could he mean?"
"ThatI can only surmise. But a few hours will make all clear."
"To gain a few hours' time may be of the utmost importance," answered Madeleine. "Try to see Mr. Emersonat once. Learn the meaning of his words, and return to me with the intelligence."
"Ah, Mademoiselle Madeleine, you are always so prompt! I should have lingered until twelve without"—
"Go! Go at once, and come back to me quickly! You have said enough to awaken a horrible suspicion. I do not dare to let my mind dwell upon the frightful 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 my usual duties to-day. Ruth, I have long intended that you should occupy a more active and prominent position in this establishment. Do you not feel yourself competent to do so?"
Ruth returned affectionately,—
"I have studied diligently under your tuition; sometimes I fancy that I have almost mastered some of the rules, and fathomed some of the mysteries, of your art."
"To-day, then," rejoined Madeleine, "I mean that you shall wholly take my place. I have faith in your ability."
Ruth retired, well pleased at the confidence reposed in her; and Madeleine entered her boudoir to await, with a sense of dread which she could ill repress, the return of Gaston de Bois.
The clock had just struck twelve when he was announced. One glance at his pale face hardly left Madeleine courage to ask,—
"What has happened?"
"The worst, the very worst that I deemed possible, and I have been able to accomplish nothing. I feel like a brute to bring you these ill tidings 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 dollars from Mr. Emerson. The security given was upon this Maryland property, which Maurice declared to be free of all mortgage; and, no doubt, he thought it was so."
"And, alas! it is not?"
"So far from clear that Mr. Emerson yesterday learned the estate was mortgaged to its full value. Count Tristan, who held in his hands a power of attorney, has doubtless made use of the instrument without his son'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 to Maurice, 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 out a paper, and said,—
"I had arranged to make the last payment upon this house yesterday; the sum due was ten thousand dollars: by some mistake, the person who was to receive this money did not keep his appointment. He will, doubtless, be here to-day. A fewhours later, I might no longer have had these funds under my own control. See how fortunate it is that I urged you to act promptly!"
"Mademoiselle Madeleine, what—what do you intend to do?"
"Is not my intention plain and simple enough? Here is a check for ten thousand dollars; draw the money at once, and place it in Mr. Emerson's hands."
"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 to have obeyed? Admitted. You need not waste time in summing up the catalogue of my imperfections."
Gaston took the check and was preparing to depart, when Madeleine delayed him.
"Mr. Emerson must not know that these funds are furnished by me. What an endless theme for gossip and speculation would be afforded by the very suggestion that the fashionable mantua-maker came to the assistance of the young nobleman! Let Mr. Emerson understand that this money is paid by one of Maurice's relatives. That will be sufficient."
"Good," returned Gaston; "and if he should conclude that it was supplied by Maurice's grandmother, all the better. If I said a relative, and Madame de Gramont were not supposed to be the person, there is no one but Mademoiselle Bertha; and Mr. Emerson might infer—I mean, it would be natural to suppose"—
"You are right. We must guard against such a false step. Surely, no name at all is necessary; but I leave the matter to your discretion; pray hasten."
Without further discussion, Gaston set out to execute his agreeable mission. He reached Mr. Emerson's office too late to stop the threatened letter; it had already been despatched.
The young viscount was sitting in his father's drawing-room, at the hotel, musing upon the mournful singularity of his own fate, and the mystery that still enveloped Madeleine, when this letter was placed in his hands. He was, at first, too completely wonder-struck to experience a high degree of indignation. He thought he must have mistaken the meaning of what he read. But no; the words were plain enough; the accusation plain enough; the threat of legal proceedings to be instituted against him plain enough. Still, he was too much amazed to be able to give credence to the communication. He seized his hat, withthe intention of hurrying to Mr. Emerson, and demanding an explanation. As he opened the door, his father entered.
"What has disturbed you so much?" asked Count Tristan, noticing his son's disordered mien.
"Nothing that will prove of consequence," returned Maurice, glancing over the open letter. "There is some vexatious mistake which will easily be explained away. And yet, the language of this letter is grossly insulting."
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 the count. His face grew livid as he read,—his white lips were tightly compressed,—but could not shut in the sound of a convulsive groan.
Maurice, not suspecting the true cause of his father's agitation, went on,—
"The language is rude; the accusation is made in the most unmannerly style, and as if its justice were beyond doubt; but business men, in this country, are usually abrupt, and, when they are annoyed, not too courteous; one must get accustomed to their manner. My dear father, do not 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 a half-suppressed groan was audible.
"An opportunity offered," continued Maurice, "for the advantageous employment of ten thousand dollars. Mr. Lorrillard suggested my raising the money through Mr. Emerson, on the security of the Maryland estate."
The count staggered and sank into a chair. The hour of discovery then had arrived,—there was no escape! Like those hopeless culprits before the eternal judgment-seat, he could have cried out to the mountains to fall upon him and hide him.
Maurice was too much alarmed by his father's appearance to go on. The death-like pallor of his face had given place to a purple hue; his veins seemed swollen; his blood-shot eyes appeared to be starting from their sockets; his stalwart frame shivered from head to foot; he clutched the table as though for support, and his head dropped heavily upon it.
"My dear father," exclaimed Maurice, "do not let the mistake move you thus. I will go to Mr. Emerson at once"—
The count's face was lifted for an instant, as he cried in a tone of intense agony, "No, no! Not for the world!"
His head fell again; he could not bear the unsuspicious gaze of the son whom he had wronged, and in whose presence he sat, a self-condemned criminal.
"Surely it is the fitting course," replied Maurice. "I will make him retract 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 of determination. "Mr. Emerson cannot use such language with impunity. Though he threatens that the affair shall be made public, he cannot act so rashly as to carry out that menace, and upon a mere surmise of some kind. If there is anypublicity, 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 forbid you to go!"
Maurice had such thorough confidence in his father's probity, that his suspicions were not aroused even by this vehement language. He only imagined that the very suggestion of a dishonorable action associated with his son's name affected Count Tristan thus powerfully.
"But it is absolutely necessary that immediate notice should be taken of this letter," argued Maurice. "If I had been guilty of the act of which I have been accused, I could never have lifted my head again, and I feel degraded by the very suspicion. Do not detain me, I entreat you."
"There is something you must hear before you go!" the count whispered hoarsely.
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 the words,—
"Something I must hear?"
"You should have consulted me," the count continued, speaking with great effort.
"True, and I meant to do so, had I not been prevented. But the transaction was simple enough. My estate is unmortgaged. I had given you a power of attorney, but I knew that it had not been used; you told me so yourself, scarcely an hour before I requested Mr. Emerson to make me this loan."
"No—no,—I did not saythat;—you misunderstood me,—I did not saythat,—I never saidthat!You onlyinferredit! I could not be answerable for yourinferences," returned the count, in the tone of a man defending himself.
"Great heavens! What does this mean?" exclaimed Maurice "I cannot have misunderstood you? You cannot have used the power of attorney?"
The count was silent, but the shame and confusion depicted upon his countenance were a fearful answer.
It was some minutes before Maurice could rally sufficiently to take a clear view of his own position. His first impulse caused him to turn to his father in an excess of rage; but the broken, contrite, abject demeanor of the latter silenced the angry reproaches that were bursting from 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 in Brittany; we were reduced to worse than poverty; I was frightfully entangled; nothing remained but a mortgage upon your property."
"What Mr. Emerson writes me in this letter is true, then?" was all Maurice could utter; but his tone pierced his father as deeply as the sharpest reproaches.
The count assented.
Maurice, unable longer to control himself, broke forth, "And I shall not only 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 should select 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 not without a touch of pity,—
"I must see Mr. Emerson, and make an effort to postpone his present intentions until the decision is made."
"It will be against us!" cried the count, vehemently. "Mr. Rutledge has made up his mind to vote for the road to the right; that one vote would have saved us! But we are too unfortunate; there is no longer a chance left!"
Maurice went forth without replying.
The severe mental suffering that he endured during the half hour that was 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 return immediately. The young viscount was painfully conscious that the clerks answered his inquiries with a pointedly cold brevity. He saw them glance at each other, and one of them shrugged his shoulders, and gave a low whistle as Maurice seated himself to wait. The blood mounted to his face at this indignity, and rage took the place of mortification; but he could only nerve himself to endure with assumed composure the scorn he so little deserved. It was half an hour before Mr. Emerson entered.
"The business which brings me here is so important that I took the liberty 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 the initiative in any transaction. He motioned Maurice to take a chair, then seated 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 the speaker.
"Nothing could have astonished me more than the letter I have just received from you," continued Maurice.
Mr. Emerson lifted his eyebrows a little incredulously, and crossed his legs, but still played the auditor only.
Maurice, galled by his supercilious manner, said, in a tone of irritation of which he repented a moment afterward, "I presume that you had 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, "and yet unless you can credit this fact upon my bare assertion I have no means of convincing you."
Mr. Emerson smiled sarcastically.
"You do not seem to me desirous, sir, of learning in what manner this mistake has arisen, even if I could make it clear."
"You are right," returned Mr. Emerson; "I do not see that it is a matter which 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 to encourage 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 your opinion 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 manner which intimated that he wished to close the interview.
"All I ask," proceeded Maurice, "is that you will take no further steps until"—
"I have no further steps to take," interrupted Mr. Emerson, frigidly.
Maurice looked puzzled, but, imagining that Mr. Emerson did not choose to understand him, he added, "I mean, in plain language, that you will not make the affair public, and that you will not institute legal proceedings until"—
"The repayment of the money loaned, obviated the necessity for legal proceedings," returned Mr. Emerson, in the same cold manner.
"Therepayment?" exclaimed Maurice, in amazement; "whatrepayment? what money?"
"The ten thousand dollars loaned to you by me,somewhat rashly, and without examining a security which proved to be valueless."
In spite of Maurice's astonishment at this unexpected communication, the arrow 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?" Maurice uttered 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 nothing of the transaction."
Mr. Emerson continued, without noticing this assertion,—
"A quarter of an hour ago I despatched a clerk to Brown's hotel, with a receipt for the money."
"My grandmother!" repeated Maurice, musingly, and unable to credit the possibility 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 his bewilderment, and he also rose.
"If I had been aware of this fact I should not have trespassed upon your time, sir; for, it is not difficult to perceive that you have formed an opinion of my character which cannot readily be altered."
"I judge men by their actions rather than by their words and manners: a very homely rule, sir, but one which is not subject to change at my time of life."
The bow which closed this sentence was too pointedly a parting salutation to be mistaken. Maurice returned it, and, without another word, went forth. He hurried to Brown's hotel in the hope of unravelling the mystery.
Meantime, the Countess de Gramont had been thrown, by the reception of Mr. Emerson's letter, into a state of excitement almost equal to that of Maurice. Over and over again she read the few lines acknowledging the sum of ten thousand dollars sent by her, and the information that the legal proceedings about to be instituted against the Viscount de Gramont would be arrested.
The letter was in English; thus her difficulty in comprehending its contents was increased, and, though she was tolerably conversant with the language, she imagined that she must have misunderstood the words before her.
The countess requested Bertha to read and translate the letter.
"Aunt," cried Bertha, "what is this about ten thousand dollars? You cannot have sent this gentleman ten thousand dollars, and yet he makes you a formal acknowledgment that the money has been received. There must be some error."
"The error itself is an impertinence," returned the lady. "Does this low person imagine that the Countess de Gramont meddles with business matters?—with the sending of money and the receiving of receipts?"
At that moment Maurice entered, and his grandmother, taking the letter from Bertha, and placing it in his hand, accosted him with no little asperity of tone.
"What is the meaning of this?"
He glanced over the letter hurriedly and replied, "It is of you that I should ask that question, my grandmother, and I must also ask how I am to 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!"
"Yourhonorimplicated?Your honor? The honor of a de Gramont?What do you mean?"
"Had you not, in some inexplicable manner, become aware of my position, and paid those ten thousand dollars with such liberality and promptitude, I should have been—I cannot bear the thought! The very remembrance of the position from which I have been extricated cuts me to the soul."
"Are you mad, Maurice?" demanded the countess. "Ipay ten thousand dollars 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 had used her aunt's name to conceal her own generosity.
"And you, Bertha,—do you also disclaim all knowledge of the transaction?"
"Yes, I only wish Ihadknown."
"It was not you, then?" replied Maurice, more and more astonished. "Who could it have been? I have no intimate friend in Washington but Gaston de Bois, and he has not the power to do me this service."
"Was he aware of the circumstances which made you need this sum?" asked Bertha.
"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 have sent it; and that is Madeleine!"
"Madeleine?"
"Yes, Madeleine,—our own, generous Madeleine," returned Bertha. "M. de Bois is her trusted friend and counsellor."
The Countess de Gramont rose up majestically, white with rage.
"But whatrighthas she, the mantua-maker, the tradeswoman, to make use ofmyname? How did she dare even to allow it to be suspected that I had ever come in contact with a person who has so demeaned herself? 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 will I consent to that," returned the countess, fiercely. "Would you profit by her ignoble labor? Has your residence in this plebeian land bowed you as low as that?"
"If," replied Maurice, "it be a blow to my pride to be forced to accept her aid (for it has been tendered in a manner which cannot now be declined), it is a blow which has lifted me up, not bowed me down. It has made me feel that a great spirit which humbles itself and bends meekly to circumstance and does not regard any toil, nearest to its hand, as too lowly,—that spirit has truest cause for pride, since it earns the privilege of serving others. You have yet to learn that Madeleine's timely assistance has saved, not me alone, but our whole family fromdisgrace,—ay, positivedisgrace! If you would know more on that subject, I refer you to my father. For myself, I will seek Madeleine and discover whether she has indeed made me so greatly her debtor."
The countess would have detained him; but Maurice was gone before she could speak.
He had alluded to his father as involved in this mysterious affair, which the countess was now tremblingly desirous of solving. She sought Count Tristan. He was in the drawing-room, where Maurice had left him. He sat beside the table,—his hands clinched, his head bowed, his face rigid in its expression of stony despair. He looked like a man who awaited the sentence of death.
The entrance of the countess scarcely roused him; nor did he hear, or rather heed, her first address. But when she placed the letter, received from 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 be one of the evidences of Madeleine's presumption. I can scarcely credit it. 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 one else"—
"It is like her! It is she! And may Heaven bless her for it!" cried the count, stirred by a sudden impulse of genuine gratitude. "I must have confirmation! I must go to her at once!"
"Yes, go to her," replied his mother; "but let it be to inform her that we disdain her bounty; that we are astonished at her temerity in offering it; and that we hope never to hear from her again."
Count Tristan had left the room before his mother had finished speaking,—an act of disrespect of which he had never before been guilty. Exasperated by his manner even more than by that of Maurice, and dreading the result of their interview with Madeleine, the countess resolved herself to take a step which would make her niece conscious of her true position and of the light in which her presumption was viewed by her aunt. She determined to follow her son to Madeleine's residence and 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. Learning her destination and its object, Bertha expressed her intention of accompanying her; and to this the countess could not object.
As we are already aware, Madeleine absolved herself from her usual duties for one day, and made Ruth her representative in the working department. In spite of Madeleine's habitual self-control, she experienced some slight stirrings of irritation when Victorine, who deemed herself a privileged person, intruded upon her privacy.
"Pardon, mademoiselle," began the consequential forewoman. "I should not have ventured to disturb you, but there is a matter of importance to be settled. Madame Orlowski has come in person to order six ball-dresses; and she is not satisfied to decide upon the varieties of style that will most become her without consulting Mademoiselle Melanie herself. She insisted upon my bringing you this message."
"You have done wrong," answered Madeleine, somewhat less gently than was her wont.
"But in a case of such great importance"—began Victorine, flushing angrily.
Madeleine interrupted her with a slight touch of sarcasm in her tone: "It is, no doubt, inconceivable to you that my mind should be occupied with matters of evengreaterimportance than six ball dresses for one lady. 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, her good-humor returning, "I venture to hope that I have not often subjected you to tyranny or caprice."
"No, no, certainly not," responded Victorine, a little mollified. "And since it wasso obviousthat mademoiselle hadsomething upon her mind, I have exerted myself as much as possible to prevent her being annoyed."
"Thank you; have the goodness to send Robert here."
This order was so pointedly a dismissal that the forewoman had no excuse to linger. She left the room thoroughly convinced that Mademoiselle Melanie was in love,—in love at last! The house would soon be gayer; Mademoiselle Melanie would leave the business more in her forewoman's hands; the pleasant change so long desired was coming about; but she could not rest until she discovered the object of Mademoiselle Melanie's attachment. One thing was certain: there was romance and mystery about the whole affair, and this lent zest to the Frenchwoman's enjoyment.
Victorine not only summoned Robert, but stole after him on tiptoe to the door of Madeleine's boudoir to hear what order was given. She distinctly caught these words:—
"You will admit no one but the Count de Gramont and M. Maurice de Gramont."
"The Count de Gramont and his son!" said Victorine to herself, as she hurried back to her satins and velvets; "Oh, this is decidedly getting interesting,—Mademoiselle Melanie aims high,—and, in spite of her prudence and propriety, she—well, well, we shall see! It's always still water that runs deepest. The Count de Gramont and his son! Dear me, Mademoiselle Melanie would do better if she made me herconfidanteat once."
Victorine, as she excused Mademoiselle Melanie to the Countess Orlowski, could not help dropping a hint that Mademoiselle Melanie might not in future be so wholly at the command ofher customers,—she would receive more visitors of her own,—there were noblemen from her own country who were to have free access.
When Madame Orlowski departed and the forewoman returned to the work-room, these inuendoes were repeated, and caused no little excitement among the group of young women, who revered Madeleine almost as though she were a patron saint, and they the most devout Catholics. Ruth was highly indignant; but to have admonished the circulator of the intelligence, by even the faintest reproach, would have been to make matters worse, and to induce Mademoiselle Victorine to defend her rash assertions by still rasher ones.
Madeleine was not destined to enjoy the uninterrupted solitude she so much desired, for Robert had scarcely received his orders to admit no one, when he returned to the boudoir with a card in his hand. He presented it with hesitation in spite of the large bribe he had received.
"His lordship insisted upon my taking his card to Mademoiselle," he said apologetically.
"You should not have transgressed my orders," answered Madeleine, with some show of impatience. "I have given you the names of the only persons whom you were to admit to-day."
"I understandthat, mademoiselle, but his lordship would not be denied, and said that he called upon a matter of the greatest importance, 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 she had charged him to obtain.
Lord Linden's countenance, which usually wore a moody, discontented expression, was bright with expectation, as he entered Madeleine's presence.
"You will pardon," he began, "my refusing to accept your servant's denial; I based my hopes of forgiveness upon the good tidings which I bring. My advocacy, or rather my sister's (but that isentre nous), has not been used in vain with Mr. Rutledge; he had definitely made up his mind to cast his vote differently, but his gallantry could not withstand a fair lady's solicitation;—he is too thoroughly an American forthat, and you may depend upon his vote."
"I am more deeply grateful to you than you can imagine! I thank you heartily!" exclaimed Madeleine, extending her hand with impulsive frankness, but the action was checkedalmost as quickly as made. For a moment she had forgotten the difference of station which she wished him to believe existed between them.
"Do not withdraw your hand," he pleaded, making an attempt to imprison that hand in his own. But he had the good taste instantly to abandon his intention when he saw Madeleine's reluctance. "As you will; I am more than satisfied by the assurance that I have a claim upon your gratitude."
"You have, indeed, my lord; I am truly grateful."
"I will only ask in return," commenced his lordship, "that you will listen to me for a few moments; that you will allow me to tell you what is in my mind,—my heart."
Madeleine saw that the evil hour could not be escaped, or postponed, and she answered with calm dignity which would have awed a man less under the dominion of passion, "You are at liberty to speak, my lord; yet what is there ofimportancewhich your lordship can have to say to themantua-maker?"
Lord Linden, at first, found it difficult to avail himself of the privilege so frigidly given; but he soon collected himself.
"The mantua-maker? How little that title seems to belong to you! The proudest, the noblest lady could not have inspired me with the respect, the veneration I feel for you."
"Respectis peculiarly grateful to one in my position;" answered Madeleine pointedly.
This answer seemed to suggest that he might be forgetful of the respect due to her, and confused him for a moment; but such an opportunity as the present was not to be lost. He went on with renewed animation.
"From the first moment that I met you,—from the moment when, during that memorable journey, you shone forth as the guardian angel of all the suffering—and especially mine"—
Madeleine tried to restrain him again, by saying, with a forced smile,—
"An angelic mantua-maker!You have a great faculty ofidealizing, my lord. I believe the extent of my services to you consisted in the sacrifice of an old pocket-handkerchief, torn into strips for a bandage, and the use of my own especial implement, a needle, with which the bandages were sewed."
"I have those strips yet," replied the nobleman with ardor. "I shall never part with them,—they are invaluable to me; for, from the moment we met, I loved you!"
Madeleine was about to answer, but he frustrated her intention and went on,—
"You were lost to me for six months, yet I could not forget you. I sought you unceasingly, and thought to find you in the society of—of—of those who are not, in reality, your superiors—not your equals even; I found you at last—but let me pass that over; since I have had the happiness of seeing you again, every moment has increased my 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 accountable to my family for the connection I formed, I would say to you, 'Will you honor me by becoming my wife?' Never have I met a woman who united in a higher degree all the attributes which are most beautiful in my eyes,—all that man could desire in a companion,—all the charms of person, intellect, soul!"
Madeleine took advantage of a moment's pause, for his lordship found it sufficiently difficult to proceed, and replied, with glacial dignity,—
"Were all your compliments as merited as you perhaps persuade yourself to imagine them to be, they would not alter the fact, my lord, thatyouare a nobleman andIa dress-maker."
"True," replied Lord Linden, undaunted by her chilling demeanor; "and it is not easy to break the iron bonds of conventionality. But, if the difference of our rank prevents my enjoying the triumph of presenting such a woman to the world as my wife, it does not prevent my renouncing the whole world for her,—it does not prevent my devoting my life to her,—my sharing with her some happy seclusion where I can forget everything 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 though the offer just made her were full of honor. When it was unmistakable that he had finished speaking and awaited her answer, she said, in a firm voice, the mild serenity of which could not fail to penetrate the breast of the man who had just insulted her,—
"In other words, my lord, you have in the most delicate phrases in which infamy can be couched,—in phrases that are as flowers to hide the serpent beneath them, given me to understand that were I of your own rank you would address me as a man of honor might, and expect me to listen to you; but, as I am but amantua-maker and you are a nobleman, you offer medishonorin place of honor, and expect that I shall accept 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 am accustomed to speak plainly myself, and to strip of their floweryentouragethe sentiments to which I listen. It may be an ungraceful habit, but it is a safe one. I am persuaded that if vice were always called by its true name, shame, misery, and ruin would darken fewer lives."
"Your candor is one of your greatest charms," said Lord Linden, who was deeply impressed by her singular and open treatment of a proposition which it had cost him a struggle to make.
"I am glad that you approve of my frankness, for I must be franker still. When I asked you a favor I was impelled by motives which may perhaps be explained to you hereafter; I was exceedingly unwilling to make the request which you so promptly accorded,—but the strength of those motives urged me to set aside prudence and reserve. I will not pretend to conceal that I feared you might be placed upon a footing of less restraint through the performance of the service I solicited at your hands, and that you might make your visits more frequent than I should be inclined to permit,—but I did not dream that the price you set upon the performance of this act of kindness was the privilege of offering me an insult."
"An insult? You do not imagine—you cannot suppose that I had any such intention?"
"You have spoken too plainly, my lord, to leave anything to myimagination; possibly, however, you may be acquainted with some fine phrase, unknown to me, in which you would couch what I have plainly styled, and as plainly comprehend to be an insult. Your advocacy with Mr. Rutledge has brought about a result which will benefit one who—who—who has the strongest claims upon me, and, under ordinary circumstances, I should have been your debtor. As it is, you and I are quits! 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 whose time is valuable, I bring this interview to a close."
Madeleine, as she spoke, rose and courtesied, and would have passed out of the room; but Lord Linden, forgetting himself for a moment, prevented her 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 you rendered me; I have paid it by listening for the first time to language which, had I a father, or a brother, could not have been addressed to me with impunity; I have neither."
"Let me, at least, vindicate myself. You do not know to what lengths passion will drive a man."
"You are right, I never knew until now; I have learned to-day. Allow me to pass without the necessity of ringing for a servant."
"First you must hear me," exclaimed Lord Linden, almost beside himself at the prospect of her leaving him in anger, and closing her doors henceforward against him. "I know how contemptible I must seem in your eyes. I read it in your countenance; I have no excuse to offer, except the 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 the error of which I have been guilty, that you will allow me to see you again; that you will permit me to endeavor to reinstate myself in your esteem."
"My lord, our intercourse is at an end. The service you have rendered me it is no longer in my power to refuse, but you have received its full equivalent. 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 the bell."
"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 Madeleine snatched away the hand Lord Linden had taken, but not before the action had been noticed by Maurice.
He paused at the sight of the nobleman, but Madeleine relieved and rejoiced by the presence of her cousin, unreflectingly hastened toward, and greeted him with a beaming face.
Lord Linden's astonishment was eloquently portrayed upon his countenance. His hostess, recovering her presence of mind, turned to the nobleman, and bowing as courteously as though she had no cause for indignation, wished him good-morning. Her tone seemed to imply that he was taking his leave whenMaurice entered. Lord Linden had no alternative but to withdraw.
Maurice, whose heart was swelling with deep gratitude, with increased tenderness, with exalted admiration, experienced, at the sight of Lord Linden, a sickening revulsion of feeling.
This nobleman, then, was received by Madeleine in her own especial apartment, the doors of which were only opened to her particular friends; he was alone with her, and his unusually agitated manner betrayed that he had been conversing upon some subject of the deepest interest. Madeleine, too, looked paler than usual, and the troubled expression which had displaced the wonted placidity of her countenance was, doubtless, owing to this unanticipated interruption.
As Lord Linden made his exit, he glanced at Maurice at once haughtily and 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 to admission? Must he not be upon an intimate footing? for, had not Madeleine extended her hand to him without reserve, and as though she were greeting one who was far from a stranger?
"A lover!" exclaimed Lord Linden to himself as he closed the door; "a rival to whom she listens in spite of her bewitching prudery. It is incomprehensible! and yet it has inspired me with new courage; I will not leave him an undisputed field."
He had approached the street-door when he reflected that something might be learned from Mademoiselle Melanie'semployées. He turned back and went 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 the plea of making a selection for his sister. Hardly looking at them, he purchased one of the most extravagant, while making an attempt to lure Ruth into conversation. She replied simply and politely, but appeared to be only interested in her occupation, and quite to ignore the occasional gallantry of his remarks. He was on the point of desisting, when Victorine, who had been attending to customers in another apartment, chanced to look into this room, saw Lord Linden, recognized him as the gentleman with whom she had noticed Mademoiselle Melanie earnestly conversing on the day previous, and at once came forward as though to assist Ruth. The latter had been rendered very uncomfortable by the deportment of hislordship, and was only too glad to retire, leaving the forewoman alone with Lord Linden.
The nobleman added so largely to his purchase that Lady Augusta's astonishment must be greatly excited by the number of shawls and scarfs which her brother deemed it possible for a lady to bring into use during a season.
As may be supposed, it was not difficult to lure the lively Frenchwoman into talking of the head of the establishment; and she very speedily gratified Lord Linden by communicating as much of Mademoiselle Melanie's history as she herself knew. But had Mademoiselle Melanie lovers? Or was her vestal-like demeanor genuine? This was difficult and delicate ground to tread upon; yet his lordship was too much in earnest not to venture a step or two.
The wily Victorine now assumed a mysterious air, for she entertained a suspicion that the gentleman did not make inquiries without being deeply interested in the answers. It would be impossible to relate preciselywhatshe said. Her confidences were given more by inuendoes and arch glances and knowing shakes of the head, which suggest so much, because they leave so much to the imagination. Lord Linden received the impression that Mademoiselle Melanie, though much admired by the opposite sex, had conducted herself with exemplary decorumuntil lately; but, of late, certain mysterious proceedings had become known to the forewoman of which she did not wish to speak too unreservedly.
The handsome black lace shawl which Lord Linden begged Victorine to accept delighted her to a point which won further confidence; for, while folding it up with caressing touches, and thanking the donor with that grace which belongs to her nation, she admitted that there was a certain M. de Gramont who was enamored of Mademoiselle Melanie, and for whom the latter had evinced a marked preference, though Mademoiselle Melanie evidently wished to act with all possible discretion, and keep his attentions from the eyes of the public.
Be it understood, that with Victorine's lax ideas of morality, keeping anaffaire de cœurfrom the eyes of the public was all that was necessary to preserve the honor of a woman who chose to indulge in aliaison.
Lord Linden had no alternative but to believe that Mademoiselle Melanie, in spite of her air of exquisite purity, and the chaste dignity which characterized all her words and actions, was, after all, not inaccessible. It was (he reflected) as muchout of the question for the Viscount de Gramont to marry a mantua-maker as it was for Lord Linden to marry her; as a natural sequence, their intentions must be the same; and it 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 with Maurice, because he looked upon him as a rival; determined to seize an early opportunity of quarrelling with him, and resolved to find some pretext to gain admission to Mademoiselle Melanie's presence through the aid of her obliging forewoman.
Let us return to Maurice, whom we left in Madeleine's boudoir. When the door 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 bringMademoiselle Melaniean important piece of information; and one which concerns you, Maurice."
Maurice was exasperated, rather than soothed, by this intelligence, and answered, hastily,—
"I am sorry for it. He belongs to a class of men whom I hold in supreme contempt;—ablaséidler, whose chief occupation in life is to kill time. Madeleine, forgive me! What a brute I am to speak so harshly when I come to thank you! But the sight of that senselessrouéin your boudoir, and apparently upon a familiar footing, has made an idiot of me. I will not pay you so bad a compliment as to suggest thatheis the mysterious lover whom you have refused to name. But why is he here to-day? Why did I see him here yesterday? Why did he, yesterday, when he caught sight of me, suddenly disappear, as though desirous of eluding observation?"
"Maurice, if there be true affection between us," said Madeleine, gently, and laying her delicate white hand upon his, "if there be true,cousinlyaffection between us, we should trust each other wholly, andin spite of appearances. Though it is easy for me to explainwhyI admitted Lord Linden to a private interview, it may not always be equally easy to give you explanations; and we may bring great future sorrow upon each other if either give entertainment to a doubt."
"No, Madeleine, I can never doubt that all you do is well and wisely done. Would that I had no cause to doubt your affection for me; no cause to be distracted by jealousy when I seeany other man allowed privileges which I long to claim as mine alone! But how is it possible to love you, and not to be hourly tormented by the position in which I am placed? Since you have rejected me as a lover, could I even be known to the world as your cousin, I might, at least, have the joy of protecting you. Must that, too, be denied me?"
"Yes, Maurice. Do you not know how important it is that our relationship should remain undivulged, unsuspected?"
"No; I cannot see the importance! I cannot submit to such an interdiction! Let my grandmother and my father say what they will, I am not bound to yield to so unnatural a request!"
"You will yield to it as my petition, Maurice. Think of it as a favor, a sacrifice I ask of you. If you refuse me, I shall believe that you feel I have no right to ask favors."
"No right? There you touch me deeply! Madeleine, I am here to-day to learn whether you have not laid me under the deepest obligation—whether it was not by you"—
Madeleine, though she was not a little discomposed by learning that her recent interference in his behalf was suspected, had presence of mind left 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 presence here, and you will not permit me to do so, though his visit concerns yourself. Have you no curiosity? I am half inclined to punish you for your indifference."
Before Maurice could reply, Count Tristan de Gramont was announced.
"It isyouwhom I have to thank,—you, good, generous, noble Madeleine, I am sure it is!" said he, excitedly. "It is your hand which has 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 you which I have just received from Lord Linden. Mr. Rutledge has promised his vote for the left road."
The count looked at her as though he could not trust his ears; then he said, in a tremulous voice that broke into a childish sob, "It is all wonder! You are the Fairy they called you, the magician,—the—the—the"—
Robert opened the door and announced the Countess de Gramont and Mademoiselle de Merrivale.