"Oh, you have come at last!" exclaimed the countess, with acrimony, as Maurice opened the door of his father's chamber. Then, pointing to the count, who still lay in a state of unconsciousness, she added, "Do you see what calamities you leave me alone to bear?—you who are the only stay I have left?"

By the aid of Mrs. Lawkins and the servants of the hotel, the count had been removed to his room. When Maurice entered, Mrs. Lawkins was standing on one side of the bed, Dr. Bayard on the other. The countess was pacing up and down the small chamber like a caged lioness.

Her grandson did not reply to her taunt, but addressed the doctor in a tone too low for her to hear. His answer was a dubious movement of the head which augured ill.

Bertha, who chanced to be in her own chamber, writing to her dyspeptic uncle, had only that moment become aware of what had happened. She stole into the count's room, pale with terror, crept up to Maurice, and clung to his arm as she asked, in a frightened tone,—

"Will he die, Maurice? Is it as bad as that?"

"I cannot tell; I have great fears. But see, he is opening his eyes; he looks better."

The senses of the count were returning; the fit had been of brief duration, and hardly as violent as the one with which he had before been attacked. In a short time it was apparent that he was aware of what was passing around him.

Maurice whispered to Bertha: "Madeleine is in her carriage at the door; put on your bonnet and run down to her,—you will not be missed. Tell her that my father is reviving."

Bertha lost no time in obeying, and was soon sitting by Madeleine's side, receiving rather than giving comfort.

Dr. Bayard, whose visits were necessarily brief, was compelled to leave, but he did so with the assurance that he would return speedily.

Count Tristan's eyes wandered about as though in search of some one; they rested but for one instant upon his mother, Maurice, Mrs. Lawkins, and then glanced around him again with an anxious, yearning expression, and he moaned faintly.

Maurice bent over him. "My dear father, is there anything you desire?"

The count moaned again.

"Is there any one you wish to see?" asked Maurice, determined to take a bold stand.

"Mad—Mad—Madeleine!"

The feeble lips of the sufferer formed the word with difficulty, yet it was clearly spoken.

Maurice turned bravely to the countess. "You hear, my grandmother, that my father wishes to see Madeleine; it is not usual to refuse the requests of one in his perilous condition. With your permission I shall at once seek Madeleine and bring her to him."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" she asked with tyrannous passion. "Or do you think that I have not borne insults enough, that you strive to invent new ones to heap upon me? How can you mention the name of that miserable girl in my hearing? Has she not occasioned me and all my family sufficient wretchedness? Are you mad enough to imagine that I will allow you to bring her here that she may triumph over me in the face of the whole world?"

"My father asks to see her," returned Maurice, adding, in a lower tone, "and he may be on his death-bed."

Madame de Gramont, losing all control over herself, replied savagely, "If he were stretched there a corpse before me,—he, my only son, the only child I ever bore, the pride of my life,—Madeleine de Gramont should not enter these doors to glory over me! I know her arts; I know the hold she has contrived to obtain over him while he was at her mercy. That is at an end! I have him here, and she shall never come near him more,—neither she nor her accomplices!" and she indicated Mrs. Lawkins by a disdainful motion of the hand, as though she feared her meaning might not be sufficiently clear.

Maurice could not yield without another effort; for he perceived, by his father's countenance, that he not only heard the contest, but appealed to him to grant his unspoken wish.

"This is cruel, my grandmother! It is inhuman! You have nothing to urge against Madeleine, who has too nobly proved her devotion to her family, and her respect for your feelings; but if you had real and just cause of complaint, it should be forgotten at this moment. If my father desires to see her, she should be permitted to come to him."

"Do you presume to dictate to me, Maurice de Gramont? Is this one of the lessons you have learned from the mantua-maker? Do you intend to teach me my duty to my own child? I swear to you that Madeleine de Gramont shall never see my son again, while I live! I, his mother, am by his side,—that is sufficient. No one's presence can supersede that of a mother!"

Maurice saw that contention was fruitless; he sat down in silence, but not without noticing the look of compassion which Mrs. Lawkins bestowed upon him. The count had closed his eyes again, but low groans, almost like stifled sobs, burst at intervals from his lips.

The countess essayed to unbend sufficiently to attempt the task of soothing him.

"My son," she said, in the mildest tone she could command, "do you not know that your mother is near you?"

Without unclosing his eyes, he answered, "Yes."

"And her presence under all circumstances," she continued, "should leave nothing to desire. In spite of what Maurice with so little respect and consideration has attempted to make me believe, I know you too well not to be certain that he did you injustice."

No answer; but the countess interpreted her son's silence into acquiescence with her observation, and remarked to Maurice with asperity,—

"I presume you perceive that your father is fully satisfied. It does not interfere with his comfort that you have failed in your attempt. I well know you were instigated by one who hopes to make use of your father's indisposition as the stepping-stone by which she can again mount into favor with her family, and force them into public recognition of her. This is but one of her many cunning stratagems; there are others of which we will talk presently."

She glanced at Mrs. Lawkins, who was arranging the count's pillows, and raising him into a more comfortable position.

Maurice bethought him that it was time to let Madeleine know there was no hope of her obtaining admission to his father. As he left the apartment, the countess followed him into the drawing-room.

"I have something further to say to you, Maurice, and I prefer to speak out of the hearing of that woman. Am I to understand that you were privy to her introduction into this house, and that you were aware that she was a spy of Mademoiselle de Gramont?"

"A spy, madame?"

"Yes, a spy! Why should Mademoiselle de Gramont wish to place her menials here except to institute espionage over my family?"

"Mrs. Lawkins was sent here by Madeleine because she is an efficient nurse,—such a nurse as my father needs and as he could not readily obtain, I brought her here, and I did not do so without knowing her fitness for her office."

"Her chief fitness consists, it appears, in her having been in the employment of the mantua-maker. I have no more to say on this subject, except that the woman must quit the house this evening."

"That is out of the question; she cannot leave until I have found some one to take her place."

"Do you mean to dispute my orders, Maurice de Gramont? I shall not entrust to you the task of dismissing her. I shall myself command her to leave, and that without delay."

"You will do as you please, madame; but may I ask by whom you intend to replace her?"

"Somebody will be found. I will give orders to have another nurse procured. In the mean time, Adolphine can make herself useful."

"Adolphine!" replied Maurice, contemptuously. "A butterfly might turn a mill-wheel as efficiently as Adolphine could take charge of an invalid."

"Be the alternative what it may," replied the countess, peremptorily, "I am unalterable in my determination. That woman sent here by Madeleine de Gramont leaves the house to-day!"

Just then her eye fell upon the salver which Robert had left upon the table when he ran for the doctor; that sight added fresh fuel to her indignation.

"Have you also been aware that Mademoiselle de Gramont carried her audacity so far that she had even ventured secretly to send donations, in the shape of chocolate, beef-tea, cakes, jellies, and fruit, to her family?"

"I am aware," replied Maurice, "that Madeleine's thoughtful kindness prompted her, during your indisposition as well as my father's, to prepare, with her own hands, delicacies which are not to be obtained in a hotel. I was aware that this was her return for the harsh and cruel treatment she had received at the hands of,—of some of her family."

"Mad boy! You are leagued with her against me! This is unendurable! Oh, that I had never been lured to this abominable country! Oh, that I had never known the shame of finding my own grandson sunken so low! But I have borne the very utmost that I can support! Now it shall end! I will return with your father to our old home, that we may die there in peace! If you are not lost to all sense of filial duty, you will not forsake your father, but accompany him to Brittany; he will henceforth need a son!"

Maurice avoided making a direct reply by saying, "Have the goodness to excuse me, madame; I will return in a few moments."

He descended the stair with slower steps than was his wont when on his way to Madeleine. Bertha was still sitting in the carriage beside her cousin. Maurice read anxious expectation, mingled with some faint hope, in Madeleine's countenance. He entered the carriage before he ventured to speak.

"Your father, Maurice?" she asked eagerly.

"I think he is better; the attack does not appear as severe as the former one must have been."

"Did you speak to your grandmother of me? Did you plead for me, and entreat that she would allow me to go to Count Tristan?"

"She is not to be moved, Madeleine; she is implacable."

"But if your father should desire to see me?" persisted Madeleine.

"He did desire,—he even asked for you,—but my grandmother was inflexible."

"Maurice, I must,—must go to him, if he wishes to see me. I understand his wants so well,—I must, must go to him! Madame de Gramont may treat me as she will; but if he wants me, I must go to him!"

Madeleine was so carried away by her strong impulse to reach one to whom she knew her presence was essential, that she was less reasonable than usual, and it was with some difficulty that Maurice pacified her. But to resign herself to the inevitable, however hard, was one of the first duties of her life, and after awhile her composure was partially restored, and, bidding Bertha and Maurice adieu, she drove home.