Maurice could not tear himself away; he was still lingering by Madeleine's side when Bertha and Gaston entered to pay their daily visit. The perfect joy that rendered luminous the countenance of Maurice, and the happy confusion depicted upon Madeleine's face, demanded but few words of explanation. Bertha caught Madeleine in her arms, laughing and crying, kissing her and reproaching her, over and over again. Then she turned to Maurice, as if impelled to greet him hardly less lovingly; but Gaston, jealous of his own particular rights, interposed. She darted away from his restraining arms and danced about the room, shouting like a gleeful child; then she kissed Madeleine again; then, suddenly calming down, said to Gaston, reproachfully,—

"And you,—you knew this all the time, and did not tell me? What penalty can I make you pay that will be severe enough? I will plot mischief with Madeleine. If we can punish you in no other manner, we will postpone to a tantalizing distance the day you wish near at hand. Confess that I was wise to wait! I knew Madeleine's lover would claim her in good season, but I never suspected he was my own dear cousin Maurice, whom she so resolutely rejected."

"Nor did I!" cried Maurice, joyously; "and if I can forgive Gaston, you must."

"All in good time; after he is fitly punished, not before! What do you say, Madeleine? Shall we promise these two hapless swains their brides a couple of years hence?"

"Bertha, Bertha! you have not understood," answered Madeleine, gravely, yet with a happy smile on her sweet lips. "Maurice has no promise of a bride; he looks forward to no bride, though I trust, you will, before very long, give one to M. de Bois."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Bertha, completely sobered by this unexpected announcement. "I thought you had confessed to Maurice that he was the mysterious but fortunate individual whom you loved, and whom I have been puzzling my brains to discover."

Madeleine did not choose to respond to the statement made with such straightforward ingenuousness by Bertha, and only replied,—

"Madame de Gramont would never give her consent to the marriage of Maurice with the humble mantua-maker. I have too much of the de Gramont pride, or too much pride of my own, or too much of some stronger feeling which I can only translate into a sense of right and fitness, to become the wife of Maurice in the face of such opposition."

Bertha looked sorely disappointed and vexed, but vented her spleen upon the one whom she loved best, according to the invariable practice of women. She said to Gaston,—

"There! you are no better off than you were before! That's just what you deserve for keeping this secret from me!"

"But, Bertha, you will not be so unreasonable," urged Madeleine.

"Why not, when you set me the example? Why should I not be unreasonable and obstinate when you teach me how to be so? You know, Madeleine, you have been my model all my life long, and it is too late to choose another."

Madeleine was silenced, but Bertha ran on petulantly, this time turning to Maurice.

"How can you look so happy when Madeleine says she does not mean to marry you? I never saw anything like you men! One would think you had no feeling."

Maurice replied: "It is so much happiness to know who possesses Madeleine's heart, that even if she remain unshaken in her resolution, I could not be miserable."

"And you will not mind leaving her and going to Brittany? Your plans are not to be altered?"

"Not unless she will alter them by consenting to accompany me. You know that my grandmother insists upon returning, and she is inexorable when she has once made up her mind."

"Like somebody else!" said Bertha, who was decidedly irritated.

Maurice resumed: "And it is my duty not only to protect her, but to watch over my poor father."

"And you will really, really go?" questioned Bertha, doubtingly.

"I have no alternative."

"Then I am more thankful than ever," she replied, tartly, "that when my aunt wished to make a match between us, I never thought of accepting you! I never could have endured such a patient, contented, stoical suitor, who would be perfectly happy in spite of his separation from me."

Maurice laughed at this sally, but Gaston remarked, seriously,—

"Yet you demand great sacrifices from one who is not as patient and well-disciplined. You make your wedding-day dependent upon Mademoiselle Madeleine's, when Mademoiselle Madeleine declares that she does not intend to name one."

"We are an obstinate family, you see!" retorted Bertha, her good-humor returning.

"Will not your father miss you?" suggested the ever thoughtful Madeleine to Maurice. "You have been absent very long; that talkative nurse may not be able to restrain herself, and your presence may be needful to preserve harmony."

Maurice admitted that he ought to return; but, after bidding Madeleine adieu, he could not persuade himself to go back to the hotel until he had seen those to whom he owed his present happiness.

"Ronald!" he exclaimed, as he entered Mrs. Walton's drawing-room; "long ago I became largely your debtor, but now you have placed me under an obligation which cannot be estimated. Oh, if I only had your energy and promptitude of action, I might some day"—

Ronald interrupted him: "Then my mother was right, and I did not give you bad advice in spite of my Quixotism?"

Maurice related what had happened to sympathetic listeners.

Evening was approaching; his absence from his father had been far more protracted than usual, and before he had said half that he desired to say, or listened to half that he wished to hear, he was compelled to leave.

When the hand of Maurice was on the door of his grandmother's salon, he could distinguish the sound of angry voices within,—his grandmother's sonorous tones and the sharper voice of Mrs. Gratacap. As he entered, the latter was saying,—

"It's a sin and a shame, I tell you! And I'll not have the poor dear made miserable in that way, while he is under my charge. I'm not going to submit to it; and you know you can't frighten me with all your high ways."

Mrs. Gratacap was standing beside the count, as though to protect him; Madame de Gramont was seated directly before him, and looking highly incensed. Count Tristan himself appeared to be in great tribulation, and grasped the hand of his nurse with a dependent air. As soon as he caught sight of Maurice, he cried out,—

"I'm not going! I'm not going, I say! Maurice, come, come and tell her!"

"What has happened?" inquired Maurice, with deep concern.

The countess attempted to speak, but Mrs. Gratacap was too quick for her.

"Here's the madame has been talking to the poor dear until she has driven him half wild. I never saw anything like it in my born days; she wont give him one moment's peace! He was doing well enough until she began jawing him."

It is to be hoped that the countess did not understand the meaning of this last, not very classical expression.

"Will you be silent, woman?" said she, wrathfully.

Mrs. Gratacap was about to answer; but Maurice silenced her by a reproving look, and then asked again,—

"What has happened? Why does my father seem so much distressed?"

"I have been preparing his mind"—began the countess.

Mrs. Gratacap broke in, "Upsetting his mind, you mean."

Before Madame de Gramont could answer, Maurice said to the nurse, in a persuasive tone, "Pray leave us, for a little while, Mrs. Gratacap."

"I wouldn't contrary you for the world!" returned the nurse. "Only when she's done, just you come to me and I'll give you the rights of the case."

Mrs. Gratacap departed, and the countess continued,—

"I have been explaining to your father that we are shortly to leave this execrable country and return to Brittany, and that he has great cause for congratulation; but he did not seem to comprehend me clearly, and that woman, who is always intruding her opinions, chose to imagine that he was groaning and crying out on account of what I said. The liberties she takes become more intolerable every day; she is enough to drive your father distracted."

"What does she mean?" asked Count Tristan, piteously. "Where do they want to take me? I'm not going."

"My son," replied the countess, "I have informed you; but that insolent woman prevented your understanding; we are to return very soon to Brittany, to the ChÂteau de Gramont; I expect you to rejoice at this pleasing intelligence."

"No—no, I cannot go! I cannot leave"—

He stopped as though his mother's flashing eyes checked the words ready to burst from his lips.

"You will not have to leave Maurice," she said, coldly; "he is to accompany us."

"But Madeleine! Madeleine!" he sobbed forth as if unable to restrain himself.

The countess was on the point of replying angrily, when Maurice interposed.

"I beg you, madame, not to excite my father by further discussion. Come, my dear father, you are tired; it is getting late; I know it will do you good to lie down."

And he conducted the unresisting invalid to his own chamber, leaving the countess swelling with rage, yet glorying in the certainty that she would carry out her plans, in spite of every opposition.