The countess entered the room casting disdainful glances around her.
Madeleine, who could not suspect the object of her visit, accosted her in astonishment.
"You, madame, beneath my roof; this is an unhoped-for condescension!"
"Do not imagine that I come to be classed among your customers, and order my dresses of you," returned the countess, disdainfully, and waving Madeleine off as the latter advanced toward her.
Bertha felt strongly inclined to quote from a former remark of Gaston de Bois, and retort, "You have done that already, and the transaction was not particularly profitable," but she restrained herself.
"Nor do I come," continued the imperious lady, "as one who stoops to be your visitor! I came to rebuke impertinence, and to demand by what right you have dared to make use of my name as a cloak to give respectability tocharitiesforced upon your poor relations."
Madeleine was silent.
"Then the aid which came to me at such an opportune momentwasyours, Madeleine?" said Maurice. "It was you who saved me from worse than ruin?"
Still no answer from Madeleine's quivering lips.
"Do not force her to say,—do not force her to acknowledge her own goodness and liberality," said Bertha, "we all know that itwasshe, and she will not deny it. Does not her silence speak for her?"
"You thought, perhaps," resumed the countess, even more angrily than before, "that because my son has flown in the face of my wishes, and has mingled himself up with business matters, and because Maurice has chosen to degrade himself by entering a profession,—you thought that you might take the liberty of coming to his assistance, in some temporary difficulty, 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 deceivedand let him know that the name of the Countess de Gramont has been used without her authority. I shall also inquire at whose suggestion he ventured to address an epistle to me."
"No need of that, madame," said M. de Bois, who had entered the room in time to hear this burst of indignation. "I, alone, am to blame for the liberty of using your name. Knowing how desirous Mademoiselle de Gramont was to conceal her relationship to your family, I suggested that the money indispensable to her cousin should be sent in such a manner that it might be supposed to come from you. I also took the responsibility of suggesting 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 my motives was to insure that the news of its payment would at once reach Maurice."
"You presumed unwarrantably, sir," replied the countess. "You presumed almost as much as did Mademoiselle de Gramont, in supposing that she could use the money acquired in a manner so degrading to ournoble housefor the benefit of my grandson."
"That money, madame," rejoined M. de Bois, warmly, "has saved the honor of yournoble house! I will leave you to learn of Count Tristan how it was imperilled, and how it would have been sullied but for Mademoiselle Madeleine's timely aid."
"It has beensullied," began the countess.
"Not by Mademoiselle de Gramont," returned M. de Bois. "Once more, I tell you that she has saved your escutcheon from a stain which could never have been effaced. And for this act you spurn her, you scorn her generosity; 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, in reverence and admiration; thanking Heaven that such a woman has been placed in the world, as a glorious example to her own sex, and an inspiration to ours. The burden of her nobility has not crushed the noble instincts of her heart, or paralyzed her noble hands. But you do not 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 never otherwise have secured have been obtained; the committee met an hour ago, and the road to the left, which you so much desired, has been decided upon, and this, this too, you owe to Mademoiselle Madeleine's exertions."
Neither Maurice nor Count Tristan was allowed to speak, for M. de Bois went on without pause,—
"And do you deemthis, too, madame, an impertinence, a presumption, a crime, upon the part of your niece? Do you say that this is a favor which 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 your son, you are bound to come to her with thanks, if not to implore her pardon."
"Sir," answered the countess, "you have forgotten yourself in a manner which 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 was about to pronounce against M. de Bois, from being completed, by saying, abruptly,—
"You will readily understand, M. de Bois, that we are so much surprised that astonishment deprives us of fitting words."
Maurice now turned to Madeleine and said, with the emotion of a genuinely manly nature which is not ashamed to receive a benefit,—
"To owe you so much is not oppressive to me, Madeleine. There is no being 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 have done. I know your thankfulness is greater even than mine; though how great that is, even you cannot"—
"What, Maurice!" broke in the countess; "are you so thoroughly without pride or self-respect that you talk of accepting the bounty of Mademoiselle de Gramont? You consent to receive this charity doled out by the hands of amantua-maker?"
Maurice grew livid with suppressed anger at this new insult, because it was levelled at Madeleine, rather than at himself.
"My grandmother, when you are calmer, and when I myself am calmer, I will speak to you on this subject."
"How pale you look, Madeleine!" cried Bertha, suddenly. "Surely you are ill!"
These words caused Maurice and M. de Bois to spring to the side of Madeleine. Her strength had been over-taxed by the emotions of the last few days, and it suddenly gave way. It was by a strong effort of volition that she prevented herself from fainting. Maurice, who had caught her in his arms, placed her tenderly in a chair, and for a moment her beautiful head fell upon his shoulder; but she struggled against the insensibility which was stealing over her, and feebly waved her hand in the direction of a small table upon which stood a tumbler and a carafe of water. M. de Bois poured some water into the glassand would have held it to her lips; but Maurice took the tumbler from him, and, as Madeleine drank, the delight of ministering to her overcame his alarm at her indisposition, and sent shivering through his frame a thrill of almost rapture.
In a few moments she lifted her eyes over which the lids had drooped heavily, and, trying to smile, sat up and made an effort to speak; but the pale lips moved without sound, and her countenance still wore a ghastly hue.
"Are you better, my own dear Madeleine? What can I do for you?" asked Bertha, who was kneeling in front of her.
Madeleine murmured faintly,—
"I would like to be left alone, dear. Forgive me for sending you away. I shall soon be better when I am alone."
"Impossible, Madeleine!" cried Maurice, his arm still about her waist. "You will not askmeto 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 her ashy cheek; but it deepened into a sudden crimson flush, as she saw the eyes of the countess angrily fixed upon her.
"Yes, Maurice, do not refuse me. I am better,—I am quite well." And she rose up, forcing her limbs to obey her will. Then, leaning on Bertha's shoulder, whispered, "I entreat you, dear, to make them go,—make themallgo; 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, felt certain that she herself knew what was best for her, and said,—
"Mademoiselle de Gramont will be better alone. If she will allow me, I will apprise Miss Thornton of her indisposition, and we will take our leave."
Madeleine smiled assent, and sank into her seat; for her limbs were faltering.
M. de Bois could not have uttered words better calculated to induce the countess to take her leave. She had no desire to be found in the boudoir of 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 fully accomplished, I wish you good morning."
Neither Bertha nor Maurice showed the slightest disposition to obey the order 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 of her trembling fingers, for each held one of her hands, and said, pleadingly,—
"Do not speak to me now,—another time,—when you will; but notnow."
There was something so beseeching in her voice that it was impossible to resist its appeal. Bertha embraced her in silence; Maurice pressed the hand that lay in his to his lips; and both followed the countess out of the room.
Count Tristan took the hand Maurice had relinquished, and, giving a glance at the retreating figure of the countess, commenced speaking; but Madeleine interrupted him with,—
"Another time, I beg. Leave me now."
Just then Gaston de Bois entered, accompanied by Ruth, and, reading Madeleine's wishes in her eyes, placed his arm through that of the count, and conducted him out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Count Tristan was about to hand Bertha into the carriage which the countess had entered, when the young girl paused, with her tiny foot upon the step. She shrank from a discussion with her aunt who was in a high state of indignation. Madame de Gramont's wrath was not only directed against Gaston de Bois, but she was exasperated by Bertha's interference just when the haughty lady had been on the point of making him feel that he would no longer be ranked among the number of her friends and welcome visitors. While Bertha's foot still rested upon the step, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Gaston standing beside Maurice. Her decision was made. She looked into the carriage and said,—
"You will have the kindness to excuse me from accompanying you, aunt; I will take advantage of the beautiful day and walk home with Maurice."
Having uttered these words, she drew back quickly and tripped away before the answer of the countess could reach her. Maurice walked on one side of her, and what was more natural than that Gaston should occupy the place on the other side?
For a brief space all three pursued their way in silence, then Bertha made an effort to converse. Maurice answered in monosyllables and those were followed by deep sighs. Gaston seemed to be hardly more master of language, though his taciturnity had a different origin; it was occasioned by the unexpected delight of finding himself walking beside Bertha, who constantly lifted her sweet face inquiringly to his, as though to ask why he had no words.
Maurice was in a perplexed state of mind which caused him a nervous longing for entire seclusion. Even sympathy, sympathy from those who were as dear to him as Bertha and Gaston, jarred upon his highly-strung nerves.
All at once, he stopped and said,—
"Gaston, I will leave you to conduct Bertha home; I fancy you will not object 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 their spring attire! The day, too, was delicious. The opportunity of seeing Bertha 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. A short silence ensued, then she said abruptly, "What an heroic character is Madeleine's!"
"A character," returned Gaston, tenderly, "which exerts a holy influence upon all with whom she is thrown in contact, and works more good, teaches more truth by the example of a patient, noble, holy life than could be taught by a thousand sermons from the most eloquent lips." He paused, and then continued in a tone of deep feeling, "Imay well say so! I shudder to think what a weak, useless, self-centred being I should have been but for her agency."
"You seem far happier," replied Bertha, smiling archly, "than you did in Brittany! And this change was wrought by"—
"Mademoiselle Madeleine! It was she who made me feel that we are all too ready with our peevish outcries against the beautiful world in which we have been placed; too ready tocomplain that all is sadness and sorrow and disappointment, when the gloom existswithinourselves, notwithoutus; it is from ourselves the misty darkness springs; it is we ourselves who have lost, or who have never possessed, the secret of being happy, and we exclaim that there is no happiness on the face of the globe! It is we ourselves who are 'flat,stale, andunprofitable,' not our neighbors; though we are sure to charge them with the dulness and insipidity for which we, alone, are responsible."
Bertha answered, "One secret of Madeleine's cheerfulness is her unquenchablehope. Even in her saddest moments, the light of hope never appeared to be extinguished. It shone about her almost like a visible halo, and illumined all her present and her future. Have you not remarked the strength of this characteristic?"
"That I have!" he replied with warmth. "And it forced upon my conviction the truth of the poet's words that 'hopeandwisdomare akin'; that it is always wise to hope, and the most wise, because those who have most faith, ever hope most. She taught me to hope when I was plunged in the depths of despair!"
Bertha blushed suddenly, as though those fervently-uttered words had awakened some suggestion which could not be framed into language.
"This seat is shady and retired, and commands a fine view of the garden," remarked Gaston, pausing. There was an invitation in his accents.
Bertha, half unconsciously seated herself, and Gaston did the same. Then came 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's presence."
"Could any man who had known Mademoiselle Madeleine as intimately as I have had the honor of knowing her, through these four last painful years of her life, could any man who had learned to reverence her as I reverence her, have said less?"
"But my aunt, by her towering pride, awes people out of what theyoughtto do, and what theywantto do; at least, she doesme; and therefore,—therefore I honored you all the more when I saw you had the courage to tell her harsh truths, while pleading Madeleine's cause so eloquently."
Gaston was much moved by these unanticipated and warmly uttered commendations. He tried to speak, but once again relapsed into his old habit of stammering.
"Your praises are most pre—pre—pre"—
Bertha finished his sentence as in by-gone days. "Precious, are they indeed? I am glad! I am truly glad that they are precious."
M. de Bois, notwithstanding the happiness communicated by this frank declaration, could make no reply. Whatcouldhe answer? And what right had he to give too delightful an interpretation to the chance expressions of the lovely being who sat there before him, uttering words in her ingenuous simplicity, which would have inspired a bolder, more self-confident man, with the certainty that she regarded him with partial 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 be made by the other, is problematical. The double reverie was broken by a well-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 Bois instantly rose, and Bertha invited Lady Augusta to take the vacant place. Lord Linden had already seized Gaston's arm, and drawn him aside.
"My dear fellow," began the nobleman, "Do you know that I have been vainly seeking you for a couple of days! I am in a most awkward predicament; but I suppress particulars to make a long story short; in a word, I have discovered the fair unknown! I expected,—you know what sort of woman I expected to find."
"Perfectly," answered Gaston, laughing, "a walking angel, minus the traditional wings. I remember your description. Perhaps the lady grows more earthly upon a better acquaintance?"
"No, not by any means. I found her more enchanting than ever; but hang it, unless you had seen her, you could not comprehend how I could have made such a confounded mistake. This lovely being is—is—is—don't prepare to laugh. I shall be tempted to knock you down if you do, for really my feelings are so much interested that I could not bear even a friend's ridicule."
"Well, go on," urged M. de Bois. "The lady in question is,—not an angel, unless it be a fallen one; that I understand; good; thenwhatis she?"
"Amantua-maker!" exclaimed Lord Linden, in accents of deep mortification.
Well might he have been startled by the change that came over Gaston's countenance; the merriment by which it had been lighted up suddenly vanished; he looked aghast, astounded, and his features worked as though with ill-suppressed rage.
"I see you are amazed: I thought you would be! You did not take me for such a greenhorn! But, in spite of her trade,—herprofession, as it is considerately called in this country,—she is the most peerless creature; any man might have been duped."
"And her name?" inquired Gaston, in an agitated voice, though he hardly needed the confirmation to his fears contained in Lord Linden's answer.
"Mademoiselle Melanie!"
"Good heavens! how unfortunate!" exclaimed Gaston, not knowing what he was saying.
"Unfortunate," repeated Lord Linden; "you may well saythat. But as marrying her is out of the question, there may possibly be an alternative"—
"Whatalternative?What do you mean?" demanded Gaston, turning upon him 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 become the wife of a man who has fallen desperately in love with her, there is only 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 station you found her, by such a suggestion. I will not believe you capable of such 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, or that your punctilious morality would be so terribly shocked by an every-day occurrence. If the lovely creature herself consents to my proposition, I consider that the arrangement will be a very fair one."
"Consents?" echoed Gaston, lashed into fury. "Do you know of whom you are speaking? This Mademoiselle Melanie is one of the noblest,—that is to say, one of the most noble-minded, and one of the most chaste of women."
"You have heard of her then? Perhaps seen her?" inquired Lord Linden, eagerly. "As for her vaunted chastity,that is neither here nor there,—thatmayormay notbe fictitious. I have heard from the best authority that she receives the private visits of titled admirers, whose attentions can hardly be of a nature very different from mine. You see, 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 compromise Madeleine, he said, more calmly, "I beg your lordship to pause before you insult Mademoiselle Melanie. I know something of her history. She bears an unblemished name; she has a highly sensitive, a most delicate and refined nature. Could she deem it possible that any man entertained toward her such sentiments as those to which you have just given utterance, it would almost kill her."
Lord Linden's lips curled sarcastically, but he did not feel disposed to communicate how completely Mademoiselle Melanie was already aware of those sentiments. He now essayed to put an end to the conversation by saying,—
"I shall bear your remarks in mind; though the accounts we have heard of the fair mantua-maker differ materially."
"Who has dared to slander her?" demanded Gaston, with an air which seemed to assert his right to ask the question.
"I have not said that she has been slandered. I see we are not likely to understand each other; let us join the ladies."
As he spoke, he walked toward Lady Augusta and Bertha. His sister rose and made her adieu.
When Lord Linden and Lady Augusta had passed on, Gaston was surprised to see that Bertha did not appear desirous of returning to the hotel. She sat 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 otherwise than comply? She sat with her head bent down. The shining ringlets falling in rich, golden showers, partly concealed her face. She was tracing letters upon the gravel-walk with her parasol. Gaston was too much moved by his painful conversation with Lord Linden to start any indifferent topic; and Bertha's manner, so different from her usual frank, lively bearing, made it still more difficult for him to know how to accost her.
At last, without raising her eyes, she said, "You and Lord Linden were having a very animated discussion. At one time I began to be afraid that you were quarrelling."
"We certainly never differed more. I doubt if we shall ever be friends again."
This assertion was uttered so earnestly that Bertha involuntarily looked up into Gaston's face. It was flushed by his recent anger, and the expression of his countenance betokened perplexity mingled with vexation.
What woman ever saw the man she loved out of temper without seeking to pour oil upon the troubled waters, even at the risk of being charged with her sex's constitutional curiosity? for an attempt to soothe includes a desire to fathom the secret cause of annoyance. If there be women who are not stirred by impulses of this kind they are cast in moulds 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 any woman,—any being living," answered Gaston, firing up at the recollection 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 only be 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 have been Madeleine? Lord Linden did not speak disrespectfully of Madeleine?"
Gaston had gone too far for concealment. "He spoke of Mademoiselle Melanie, the mantua-maker; but I warrant I have silenced him!"
"Madeleine is very happy in the possession of such a true friend as you are! one upon whom she can always lean,—always depend,—one who can never fail her! Yes, she is very, very happy! When I heard you defending her 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 words had failed to infuse a sudden courage into his heart?
He replied with impetuous ardor, "Would—would that you could be induced to accept the same friend as your own! Would that he might dare to hope that some day, however distant, you would grant him a nearer, dearer title! Would that he might believe such a joy possible!"
Bertha spoke no word, made no movement, but sat with her eyes bent on the ground. Her manner emboldened Gaston to seize her hand; she did not withdraw it from his clasp; then he comprehended his joy, and poured out the history of his long-concealed passion with a tender eloquence of which he never imagined himself capable.
If, when he awoke that morning from a dream in which Bertha's lovely countenance was vividly pictured, some prophetic voice had whispered that ere the sun went down he would have uttered such language, and she have listened to it, he would not have believed the verification of that delightful prediction within the bounds of possibility. Yet, when the happy pair left the capital grounds to return to the hotel, Gaston walked by the side of his betrothed bride.
It is true that the wealthy heiress had lured on her self-distrusting lover to make a declaration which he had not contemplated; but who will charge her with unmaidenly conduct? The most modest of women are daily doing, unaware, what Bertha did somewhat more consciously. Shakespeare, who read the hearts of women with the penetrating eyes of a seer, and who never painted a heroine who was not the type of a class, pictured no rare or imaginary order of being in his beauteous Desdemona,—
"A maiden never bold,Of spirit so still and quiet that her motionBlushed at herself,"—
"A maiden never bold,Of spirit so still and quiet that her motionBlushed at herself,"—
who was yet "half the wooer." And there is no lack of men who can testify (in spite of the feminine denial which we anticipate) that they owe their happiness (or misery) to some gentle, timid girl who was nevertheless "half the wooer."
Bertha was too happy as she walked toward the hotel, to dread the rebukes which she had good reason to anticipate from the countess. For a young lady to traverse the streets alone with a gentleman, however intimate a friend, was, according to thestrict rules of French etiquette, a gross breach of propriety. And, though the escort of a gentleman was deemed allowable in the purer and less conventional society of the land in which they were sojourning, Bertha knew that her supercilious aunt considered all customs barbarous but those of her refined native country.
The countess was sitting in her drawing-room, evidently in a state of high excitement, when Bertha and Gaston entered. Count Tristan appeared to be endeavoring to palliate his recent conduct by a series of contradictory statements, and a garbled explanation of the events which had placed Maurice in a dubious position; but his mother had sufficient shrewdness to detect that his object was to deceive, not to enlighten her.
The appearance of Bertha and Gaston gave inexpressible relief to the count, and his satisfaction betrayed itself in a singularly unnatural and childish manner. He kissed Bertha on both cheeks as though he had not seen her for a long period, asked her how she did, shook hands warmly 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, as though he were making her his shield against some imaginary assailant.
"What is the meaning of this prolonged absence, Bertha?" demanded the countess, 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 show of dignity and composure, but failing lamentably, "that I thought I would enjoy a walk in the capitol grounds. We met Lady Augusta and Lord Linden. 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 have become 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. de Bois to—M. de Bois wishes to"—
Gaston had risen and opened the door for her to pass, with as much self-possession as though bashfulness had not been the tormenting evil genius of his existence. His look reassured her, and, without finishing her sentence, she disappeared.
The countess rose with even more than her wonted stateliness,and was about to follow her niece; but M. de Bois, pretending not to perceive her intention, closed the door and said,—
"There is a communication which I desire to have the honor of making to Madame 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 I have this morning ventured to solicit the hand of that young lady in marriage, and have received a favorable answer to my suit, as well as permission to request the approval of her relatives."
The countess sank into the nearest chair. She knew that her consent was a 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 his chance! 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, I never suspected you. Managed matters quietly, eh? Should never have thought you were the man to succeed with a pretty girl."
"Really," returned Gaston good-humoredly, "I am almost as astonished as you are by Mademoiselle de Merrivale's preference. Let me hope that the Countess de Gramont and yourself will render my happiness complete by approving of Mademoiselle Bertha's choice."
"Of course, of course; there's nothing else to be done; we have lost our trump card, but there's no use of confessing it! Very glad to welcome you as a relative, sir; very happy indeed; everything shall be as Mademoiselle de Merrivale desires."
Count Tristan uttered these disjointed sentences, in the flurried, bewildered manner which had marked his conduct since Gaston entered. A stranger might easily have imagined that the count was under the influence of delirium; for his face was scarlet his eyes shone with lurid brightness, his muscles twitched, his hands trembled nervously, and he was, to all appearance, not thoroughly conscious of what he was doing.
His mother's look of rebuke was entirely lost upon him, and he rattled on with an air of assumed hilarity which was painfully absurd.
Gaston was disinclined to give the disdainful lady an opportunity of expressing her opposition to his suit, and, pretending to interpret her silence favorably, he took his hat, and said, "I thank you for the cordial manner in which my proposition has been received; I hope to have the pleasure of visiting Mademoiselle de Merrivale this evening; I wish you a good-morning."
The door had closed upon him before the countess had recovered herself sufficiently to reply.
That evening, before paying his proposed visit to Bertha, M. de Bois sought Madeleine, to make her a participator in the happiness which she had so truly predicted would, one day, be his. He also purposed, if possible, 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 denied admission. 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 go to the reading-rooms."
As their roads were different, they parted, and Maurice, not being able to select any better place of refuge, took his way to the reading-rooms most frequented by gentlemen of the metropolis. He was fortunate in finding an apartment vacant. He sat down by the table, took up a newspaper, though the words before him might have been printed in an unknown tongue, for any sense they conveyed.
He had been sitting about half an hour, musing sadly, when Lord Linden sauntered through the rooms. The instant he observed Maurice, he advanced toward him, and unceremoniously took a seat at the same table. This was just the opportunity which thepiquednobleman had desired. Maurice returned his salutation politely, but with an occupied air which seemed to forbid conversation. But Lord Linden was not to be baffled. He opened a periodical, and, after listlessly turning the leaves, closed it, and, leaning over the table in the direction of Maurice, said, with a 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!—the very queen of sirens!"
Maurice flushed crimson and half started from his chair, then sat down again, 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 you are pleased to indulge."
"'Pon my life, that's going too far; especially as I feel not a little aggrieved that your inopportune entrance cut short my visit. And you seemed to be a decided favorite. Deuced lucky! for she is the handsomest woman 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 face of the globe."
"My frankness," returned Maurice, sharply, "forces me to confess that this conversation is particularly distasteful to me. The lady in question"—
Lord Linden interrupted him with a light laugh. "Lady? Oh! I see you adopt the customs and phraseology of the country in which you live; andhere, a mantua-maker is, of course, a lady; just as a respectable boot-black is, in common parlance, an accomplished gentleman."
"My lord,"—began Maurice, angrily; but Lord Linden would not permit him to continue.
"Oh, don't be offended; I suppose you are a naturalized foreigner; you are quite right to accept the manners of the country you adopt; it is the true diplomatic dodge. And, besides, I admit that theladyin question might anywhere be mistaken for a thorough lady. She has all the points which betoken the high-bred dame. I'll not quarrel with the term you use! All I ask is fair play, and that you will not attempt to monopolize the field."
"Lord Linden," replied Maurice, unable to endure this impertinence any longer, "once more I beg to inform you that you are using language to which I cannot listen. I will not permit any man to speak of that lady in the manner which you have chosen to employ. I shall consider it a personal insult if you persist."
"Indeed! Have matters gone so far? Really, I did not suspect that the ground was already occupied, and that theladywhose mantua-making and millinery are the admiration of all Washington, had a protector by whom her less favored acquaintances must expect to be taken to task."
These words were spoken in a tone sufficiently caustic to render their meaning unmistakable.
"She has protectors, my lord,—legal protectors,—who are ready to prove their right to defend her," replied Maurice, with severity, and rising as he spoke.
All considerations of prudence,—the wishes of Madeleine and of his family,—were forgotten at the moment: she was insulted, and he was there to defend her; that was all he remembered.
Lord Linden, though he could not but be struck by the tone and manner of the viscount, echoed the words, "The right?"
"Yes, theright, as well as themight. Mademoiselle Melanie, the mantua-maker, is in reality Mademoiselle Madeleine Melanie de Gramont, the daughter of the late Duke de Gramont, and the second cousin of my father, Count Tristan de Gramont."
"Good heavens! of what gross stupidity I have been guilty! How shall I ever obtain your pardon?"
Without answering this question, Maurice went on.
"You have forced me to betray a secret which my cousin earnestly desired to keep; but it is time that her family should refuse their countenance to this farce of concealment. I, for one, will not be a party to it any longer. I will never consent to calling her, or hearing her called, by any but her true title, and I do not care how soon that is proclaimed to the world."
"M. de Gramont," said Lord Linden, whose embarrassment was mingled with undisguised joy, "I am overwhelmed with shame, and I beg that you will forget what I have said. My apology is based upon the error under which I was laboring. I make it very humbly, very gladly, and trust the Viscount de Gramont will accept it generously. Without being able to conceive the circumstances which have placed a noble lady in a position which has caused me to fall into so grave a mistake, I shall only be too proud, too thankful, to make the one reparation in my power,"—
Lord Linden had not finished speaking, but Maurice was disinclined to hear any more or to prolong the interview, and said, frigidly, "I am bound to accept your apology; but your lordship can hardly expect that I can find it easy to forget that my cousin, Mademoiselle de Gramont, has been regarded by you in an unworthy light. Good-evening."
Feigning not to see Lord Linden's outstretched hand, and disregarding his attempt to exculpate himself further, Maurice walked out of the reading-room, leaving the nobleman too much elated by the discovery of Madeleine's rank to experience a natural indignation at her cousin's cavalier treatment.
Lord Linden, when the Viscount de Gramont abruptly left him, returned to his lodgings, and, in spite of the lateness of the hour, wrote to Madeleine, implored her pardon for the presumption into which he had been lured by his ignorance of her rank, and formally solicited her hand. That night the happy nobleman's dreams, when he could sleep, and his waking thoughts when he courted slumber in vain, had an auroral tinge hitherto unknown. As soon as the sound of busy feet, traversing the corridor, announced that the much-desired morning had at last arrived, he rang his bell, gave his letter into the hands of a sleepy domestic, and ordered it to be delivered immediately.
What was the next step which propriety demanded? To see Mademoiselle de Gramont's relatives, to make known his suit to them, and to solicit their approval.
He considered himself fortunate in finding both Madame de Gramont and Count Tristan at home. The former received him with as much cordiality as her constitutional stiffness permitted, but the latter appeared to be in a half-lethargic state; he scarcely rose to welcome his visitor, spoke feebly and indistinctly, and, as he sank back in his seat, leaned his flushed face upon his hands.
"My visit is somewhat early," remarked Lord Linden, "but I was impatient to 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 whom you designate as my niece has forfeited all right to that title, and is not recognized by her family."
"I nevertheless venture to hope," returned the nobleman with marked suavity, "that, under existing circumstances, the alienation will only be temporary."
The countess broke out angrily: "The impertinence of this young person exceeds all bounds! She gave us to understand that she possessed, at least, the modesty to hide her real name, and had no desire to disgrace her family by proclaiming that it was borne by a person in her degraded condition; but this, it seems, is only another evidence of her duplicity and covertmanœuvring; she has taken care that your lordship should become acquainted with a relationship which we can never cease to deplore."
"You do her wrong," replied Lord Linden, with becoming spirit; "I regret to say she so scrupulously concealed her rank that I was led into a great 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-called Mademoiselle 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 in marriage."
The suggestion that Madeleine could thus magically be raised out of her present humiliating condition, and that all her short-comings might be covered by the broad cloak of a title, took such delightful possession of the haughty lady's mind that there was no room even for surprise. While Count Tristan was vehemently shaking hands with Lord Linden, and stammering out broken and unintelligible sentences, his mother said gravely,—
"We consider your lordship, in all respects, an acceptablepartifor a member of our family. I have ever entertained for Mademoiselle de Gramont the strongest affection, in spite of her lamentable eccentricities. But these I would prefer to forget."
"Yes, that's it! That's the trump card now!—forget,—forget all about it!" cried Count Tristan, hilariously. He had recovered his power of utterance, yet spoke like a man partially intoxicated. "Let the past be forgotten, bury it deep; never dig it up! There are circumstances which had better not be mentioned. I myself have been mixed up with the affair; 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,—at all events, that there was no connection in his ideas,—his mother could not 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 de Gramont; but we also wish him to understand we expect him to remove his wife to his own country, or some other land where her history will not be 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 to have conditions enforced upon him by the family of the lady whom he selected as his wife; his pride was quite as great as theirs; but before he had obtained Madeleine's consent to his suit, it was politic to preserve the favor of those who could influence her decision.
Turning to Count Tristan, he observed, "I sent a letter to Mademoiselle de Gramont this morning, and I hope to be honored by an answer during the day. Would it be asking too much if I begged that you would see the lady, and inform her of the flattering reception which Madame de Gramont and 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's got a trick lately of getting out of the way."
Count Tristan, though his hat stood on the table before him, tottered across the room, looking about in a weak, flurried way. His mother was not willing to attribute his singularly helpless, troubled, and childish demeanor, to the perturbed state of his brain, and said severely, though addressing her words to Lord Linden,—
"Count Tristan's gratification at the intelligence you have communicated, and his desire to serve your lordship, appear to have somewhat bewildered him. He was always very much attached to Mademoiselle de Gramont."
"Attached to her? Certainly!Certainly!" replied the count. "Though she did not always think so! I was devotedly attached to her when she imagined 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; and then, indicating the one upon the table which Count Tristan apparently did not see, asked, "Is not this yours?"
"I suppose so; it cannot be any one's else; there are only two of us. I wish you a good-morning."
With a forced, unnatural laugh, he left the room.
Count Tristan's deportment, in general, was almost as calm and stately as that of his august mother; though it was only a weak reflex of hers; accordingly the change in his demeanor surprised Lord Linden unpleasantly; but he took leave of the countess without endeavoring to solve an enigma to which he had no clew.
Count Tristan, on reaching Madeleine's residence was ushered into her boudoir. He found her reclining upon the sofa, with a book in her hand. She had not entirely recovered from her indisposition, and wisely thought that one of the most effectual modes of battling against illness was to divert the mind: an invaluable medicine, too little in vogue among the suffering, yet calculated to produce marvellous amelioration of physical pain. As allmatterexists from, and is influenced by, spiritual causes, the happy workings of this mental ministry are very comprehensible. Madeleine invariably found medicinal and restorative properties in the pages of an interesting and healthful-toned volume which would draw her out of the contemplation of her own ailments. She had trained herself, when the prostration of her faculties or other circumstances rendered it impossible for her to read, to lie still and reflect upon all the blessings that were accorded to her, to count them over, one by one, andcompelherself to estimate each at its full value. In this manner she successfully counteracted the depression and unrest that attend bodily disease, and often succeeded in lifting her mind so far above its disordered mortal medium that she was hardly conscious of suffering, which was nevertheless very real. Sceptical reader! you smile in doubt, and think that if Madeleine's wisdom and patience could accomplish this feat, she was a rare instance of womanhood. 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, his manner was far more self-possessed than when he left the hotel. The fresh air had revived him. Madeleine was not struck by any singularity in his deportment.
"Not exactly ill, yet not quite well," she answered, without pretending to respond to his oppressive tenderness; "and I was trying to forget myself."
"That was always your way, Madeleine; you are always forgetting yourself and remembering others. I always said so. I always appreciated your beautiful traits. The time has comewhen your whole family will appreciate them, and rejoice that you are restored to us. My mother is in a very different frame of mind to day; you must forget all that took place yesterday. You must forgive the past, and accept the hand of reconciliation which she extends to you."
"Is it possible that the Countess de Gramont has charged you to say this for her?"
"This, and a great deal more. She opens her arms to you; hereafter you two are to be as mother and daughter."
Count Tristan spoke with so much earnestness, that probably he had succeeded in believing his own liberally invented statements.
"It seems very strange," returned Madeleine; "yet I thank the countess for her unlooked-for cordiality. I do not know what good angel has opened her heart to me; but I am grateful if she will give me a place there."
"The good angel in question was Lord Linden," answered the count, quite seriously. "His lordship called this morning. I left him with my mother."
"Lord Linden?"
"Yes, it was at his suggestion that I hastened here; not that I thought any influence of mine was needed; but just now it is well to keep in with every one, and you must oblige me by permitting Lord Linden to imagine that it was through my advocacy you were induced to look favorably upon his suit."
"That is impossible."
"Not at all; a mere suggestion in your letter will have the desired effect. 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 thatafter 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 rapidly changed color; for at one moment it was overspread with a death-like pallor, and then, suddenly grew purple. "Decline? Such a thing is not to be 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; you will reverse your decision," pleaded the count, his nervous incoherence and confusion increasing as he grew more and more agitated. "It's for the honor of the family to say 'yes,'and therefore 'yes' is the properanswer,—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's right,—is it not?"
Count Tristan lay back in his chair, and continued muttering, though his words 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 of wine."
He stared at her with vacant, glassy eyes, while his lips moved and twitched without giving forth any distinct sounds. He lifted up his arms in appeal; they dropped suddenly, as if struck by a giant's invisible hand, and his head fell forward heavily.
Madeleine, greatly terrified, spoke to him again and again, shook him gently by the shoulder, to rouse him,—tried to lift his head; the face she succeeded in turning toward her was frightfully distorted; white foam oozed from the lips; the eyes were suffused with blood. She had never before seen a person in a fit, but instinct told her the nature of the seizure.
Her violent ringing of the bell quickly brought servants to her assistance, and she ordered Robert to summon Dr. Bayard with the utmost haste.
This distinguished physician pronounced the attack apoplexy; and, after applying those remedies which recent discoveries in science have proved most efficacious, ordered the patient to be undressed and put to bed.
Madeleine's own chamber was prepared for the count's use. The attack was of brief duration, and he recovered from its violence soon after the physician arrived, but remained exhausted and insensible.
Another critical case required Dr. Bayard's immediate attendance, and after giving Madeleine minute directions, he took his leave, saying that he would return in a couple of hours.
Then Madeleine, who had been engrossed by the necessity of promptly ministering to the sufferer, remembered that the count's family should at once be made aware of his condition. What a frightful shock the countess would receive when she heard of her son's state! And Maurice and Bertha,—would they not be greatly alarmed? How could intelligence of the calamity be most gently communicated? Should Madeleine write? A note bearing the tidings might startle his mother too much. Madeleine saw but one alternative,—it was to go in person and break the sorrowful news as delicately as possible. She did not waste a moment in pondering upon the manner in which thehaughty countess might receive her, but ordered her carriage, and drove to the hotel, leaving Count Tristan under the charge of Ruth, and Mrs. Lawkins, the housekeeper.
Arrived at her destination, Madeleine ordered her servant to inquire for the Viscount de Gramont. He was not at home. Was Mademoiselle de Merrivale 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 aunt alone. The countess was within.
Madeleine's card was requested. She had none. What name should the servant 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 made aware who was her visitor. But something must be done. Madame de Gramont had issued orders that prevented any guest from entering her presence without permission. Madeleine asked for a sheet of note-paper, and, with her pencil, hastily wrote,—
"Madeleine entreats the Countess de Gramont to see her for a moment. She has a matter of importance to communicate."
The servant returned almost immediately, and, replacing the note in Madeleine's hand, said, "The Countess de Gramont desires me to say that she 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 will show 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 her dissatisfaction will not last when she knows upon what errand I have come. I can confidently promise youthat. Perhaps you will consider this money sufficient compensation for her displeasure, should I prove wrong; and if I am right, you can keep it in payment for having served me."
She handed him a piece of gold, which the man took with so little hesitation it left no doubt upon Madeleine's mind that he was well acquainted 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 he designated as the drawing-room of the countess, and then desired him to retire; he obeyed with well-pleased alacrity.
The young girl had been trembling from agitation until thatmoment; but there was necessity for calmness in executing her mission. She opened the door with a firm hand, and entered the apartment with unfaltering steps.
The countess was sitting with her back turned to the entrance; she did not 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 of this 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; "but I feel sure you will pardon an intrusion I could not avoid when you learn the cause which brings me here."
"I can divine your errand, Mademoiselle de Gramont; you probably imagine that, because I permitted my son to say that your marriage with Lord Linden would,after a proper interval, allow me to acknowledge you once more as a relative, your mere acceptance of his lordship's hand entitles you to seize upon any frivolous excuse to force yourself upon my privacy. You are mistaken. I have no intention of recognizingthe mantua-maker, and I forbid her to make any attempt to hold the most transient intercourse with me. I have already said, I will receive Lady Linden 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 will compel me to leave my own apartment."
Madeleine had made one or two fruitless attempts to interrupt the countess; but now, as the latter moved toward the door, about to put her threat 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 of myself at all. I came in the hope of sparing you too severe a shock."
"Very generous on your part, but somewhat misjudged, as your unwelcome presence 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 have scarcely strength or courage left to tell you; I came to speak of—of Count Tristan."
"My son seems to have chosen a somewhat singular messenger, and one who he 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.
"Foryou desired to make me fully sensible of the length to which you carried your audacity. So be it! I am satisfied! Mademoiselle de Gramont, for the second time I request you to retire."
"I cannot, until I have told you that Count Tristan is—is not, not quite well; that is, he became indisposed at my house."
"In that case, it would have appeared to me more natural, and certainly more proper, if he had returned to his old residence, and spared me the pain of being apprised of his indisposition by an unwelcome messenger."
"He had no choice, or, rather, I had none. I feared to have the news broken in a manner that might alarm you too much, and therefore I would not even trust myself to write. Count Tristan was seized with,—I mean was taken ill while conversing with me. He is not in a state to return home at present, and I came to beg that his mother or his son will go to him."
"I comprehend you, Mademoiselle de Gramont; you were always politic in the highest degree. You know how to make the best of opportunities. You find my son's temporary indisposition an admirable opportunity to lure his relatives to your house, and to make known to the world your connection with them. Your well-laid, dramatic little plot will fail. Your good acting has not succeeded in alarming me, and I see no reason why Count Tristan de Gramont, in spite of his sudden illness, should not send for a carriage and return to the hotel. By your own confession, the step you have taken is unwarranted; for you admitted that my son was not aware 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 less compassionate, less fearful of wounding; but it inspired her with the resolution, 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 at once, and everything has been done to restore him."
"Restore him?What do you mean?" almost shrieked the countess, now becoming painfully excited, and struggling against her fears, as though, by disbelieving the calamity which had befallen her son, she could alter the fact. "Why do you try toalarm me in this manner? It is very inconsiderate! very cruel! You do it to revenge yourself upon me! Where is Maurice? Where is Bertha? I must have some one near me on whom I can depend! Why am I left at your mercy?"
"I asked for Maurice and Bertha before I attempted to force my way to you," returned Madeleine. "I was told that neither was at home. Pray do not allow yourself to be so much distressed. I have no doubt that we shall find Count Tristan better."
"Weshall find! What do you mean byweshall find?" sternly demanded the countess, whose grief and alarm did not conquer her pride, though her voice trembled as she asked the question.
"My carriage is at the door: I thought I might venture to propose that you would enter it, and return with me to my house, that no time might be lost." Madeleine said this with quiet dignity.
"Yourcarriage? And you expect me to be seenwith you, inyourcarriage? I cannot comprehend your object, Mademoiselle de Gramont. What possesses you to try to exasperate me by your insolent propositions?"
"Pardon me; I did not mean to add to your trouble; if my suggestion was injudicious, disregard it. Nothing can be easier than to send for another 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 the house before you."
"And you expect me to follow? You expect that I will order the carriage to drive to the residence ofMademoiselle Melanie, themantua-maker?"
"You need only say, 'Drive to —— street, number ——.' My errand here is 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 have caused 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? Was it a fainting fit? I never knew him guilty of the weakness of fainting."
It was difficult to answer this question without explaining the grave nature 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 vague response. "Yet Count Tristan was in a state of insensibility, and had not 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 some one on whom she could vent her wrath. "If he is seriously ill,—so ill as to continue insensible,—you should have remained by his side, 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 hope for a favorable change. I expect to find him better. Before you reach the house, his consciousness may have returned."
Madeleine retired, without waiting for any further comment; for she had an internal conviction that whatever she did or said would be unpleasant to 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. His face still wore a purplish hue, and his glassy, bloodshot eyes, though wide open, were vacant and expressionless. He lay as still as if deprived of sensation and motion.
Madeleine had been at home nearly an hour before she heard the carriage which contained the countess stop at the door. Madame de Gramont, even in a case of such extremity, was not able to complete her arrangements hurriedly.
Madeleine, when she went forth to receive her relative, was much relieved to find her accompanied by Bertha.
Bertha threw herself in Madeleine's arms, whispering, "Is heveryill?"
"Yes, I fear so," answered Madeleine, in too low a voice for the countess 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 nerving herself to disbelieve that anything serious was the matter.
"My son!" she said, in a voice somewhat choked, but which expressed confidence that he would immediately reply, "My son! why do you not answer me?"
She took his hand; it remained passive in hers; his eyes still stared vacantly. His mother more tightly grasped the hand she held, shook it a little, and called out to him again in a hoarser tone; but there was no answer.
Bertha burst into tears, and knelt down sobbing by the bed.