The tangled web Count Tristan had woven for others began to fold its meshes around himself, and to torture him with the dread that he might be caught in his own snare. From the moment Maurice arrived in Washington,—an event the count had not anticipated,—his covert use of the authority entrusted to him was menaced with discovery. To a frank, straightforward character, the very natural alternative would have suggested itself of explaining, and, as far possible, justifying the step just taken; but to a mind so full of guile, so wedded to wily schemes as the count's, a simple, upright course would never have occurred. The fear of exposure threw him into a state of nervous irritability which allowed no rest, and he was compelled to pay the price of deception by plunging deeper into her labyrinths, though every step rendered extrication from the briery mazes more difficult.

On the morrow Maurice accompanied his grandmother, Bertha, and Count Tristan to the residence of the Marchioness de Fleury. Count Tristan's malaise evinced itself by his unusually fretful and preoccupied manner, his querulous tone, and a partial forgetfulness of those polite observances of which he was rarely oblivious. He allowed his mother to stand, looking at him in blind amazement, before he remembered to open the door; was very near passing out of the room before her, and scarcely recollected to hand her into the carriage. His abstraction was partially dissipated by her scornful comment upon the contagious influences of a plebeian country; but to recover himself entirely was out of the question.

On reaching the ambassador's mansion, the visitors were disconcerted by the information that Madame de Fleury "did not receive."

"She will receive us!" answered Maurice, recovering himself. "We are here by appointment." And, passing the surprised domestic, he ushered his grandmother into the drawing-room. Bertha and Count Tristan followed.

The servant, with evident hesitation, took the cards that were handed to him, and retired. The door of the salon chanced to remain open, and rendered audible a whispered conversation going on in the entry.

"I dare not disturb madame at this moment; she would fly into a terrible rage. You know she never allows her toilet to be interrupted!"

These words, spoken in a female voice, reached the ears of the visitors.

"But the gentleman says it is an appointment. What's to be done? What am I to answer?" was the rejoinder in rough male tones.

"You are a blockhead,—you have no management," replied the first voice. "I will arrange the matter without your stupid interference."

Lurline now courtesied herself into the room, and, after bestowing an arch glance of recognition upon the viscount, addressed the countess.

"I am desolÉe to be obliged to inform madame that Madame de Fleury is at this moment so much absorbed by her toilet that I fear I shall have no opportunity of making known the honor of madame's visit. My mistress has made an engagement to go to the capitol to hear some distinguished orator. It is madame's dÉbÛt in spring attire this season. Madame's dress, bonnet, and mantle have this moment been sent home. A more delicately fresh toilet de printemps cannot be conceived; it will establish the fact that spring has arrived. But madame has not yet essayed her attire and assured herself of its effect. I trust madame la comtesse will deem this sufficient apology for not being received."

As she concluded, Lurline simpered and courtesied, and seemed confident that she had gracefully acquitted herself of a difficult duty.

"Not receive us when we are here by invitation?" ejaculated the countess, angrily. "Is Madame de Fleury aware that it is the Countess de Gramont and her family who are calling upon her?"

"There must be some mistake," interposed Maurice; then, turning to the femme de chambre, he added, "I beg that you will deliver these cards to the marchioness and bring me an answer."

"How am I to refuse monsieur?" replied Lurline, hesitating, yet softening her unwillingness to comply by a volley of sidelong glances. "Monsieur is not aware that he is placing me in a most delicate position. It is against madame's rules to be disturbed when her toilet is progressing: it requires her concentrated attention,—her whole mind! Still, if monsieur insists, I will run the risk of madame's displeasure. Monsieur must only be kind enough to wait, and allow me to watch for a favorable moment when I can place these cards before madame."

With a low salutation, and a coquettish movement of the head that set all her ribbons fluttering, the femme de chambre made her exit.

"Not receive us? Make us wait?" exclaimed the countess, wrathfully; "truly, Madame de Fleury has profited by her sojourn among savages! This is not to be endured! Let us depart at once!"

"My dear mother," began Count Tristan, soothingly, "it will not do to be offended, or to notice the slight, if there be one; but, I am sure, none is intended. It is absolutely indispensable that I should see the countess, and get her to present this letter to the Marquis de Fleury, and also that I should obtain her promise that she will influence him to secure the vote of Mr. Gobert. Pray, be courteous to the marchioness when she makes her appearance, or all is lost."

"What degradation will you demand of me next? How can you suppose it possible that I can be courteous? I tell you I am furious!"

"But you do not know all that depends upon obtaining these votes. Think of this railroad,—of the vital importance of the direction it takes! Think of the Maryland property, which is almost all that is left to us"—

"Have I not again and again begged you not to meddle with railroads,—not to occupy yourself with business matters which a nobleman is bound to ignore?"

"And by obeying you, as far as I could, and only acting in secret, I have nearly ruined myself," answered the count, with growing excitement.

At this moment the loud ringing of a bell was heard, accompanied by the voice of Lurline, speaking in tones of great tribulation.

"Patrick! Patrick! do you not hear the bell? Come here quickly! What's to be done? Such a calamity! It's dreadful! dreadful!"

Count Tristan started up, and went to the door to question the femme de chambre, fearing that the calamity in question might be of a nature sufficiently serious to prevent the much-desired interview.

Lurline was standing in the hall; she wore her hat and shawl, and was giving directions to a domestic in the most rapid and flurried manner.

"Will Madame de Fleury receive us?" inquired the count, anxiously.

"I told monsieur that I could not promise him, and, now that this misfortune has befallen us, it is thoroughly impossible even to make your presence here known to madame. Who could have anticipated such a contretems? Never before has Mademoiselle Melanie allowed a dress to issue from her hands which did not fit À merveille, and there are two important alterations to be made in this before it can be worn. Madame is in despair; she will go out of her senses; it will give her a brain fever!"

"Can we not have the pleasure of seeing her for a few moments, when her toilet is completed?" inquired Maurice.

"Ah, there it is! When her toilet is completed? Will it be completed in time for her to reach the senate at the hour proposed? Monsieur will pardon me, but I have not a moment to spare."

Turning to Patrick, she added, "I am forced to go out to purchase some ribbons. I have left madame in the hands of Antoinette. Madame is in such a state that one might weep to see her! Take care not to admit any one, except the Countess Orlowski, who accompanies your mistress to the senate. I will be back presently."

The Countess de Gramont rose up majestically.

"Let us depart, my son! Never more will I cross this threshold,—never enter this house where I have been insulted!"

"No insult was intended," replied Count Tristan, nervously. "Even if it were, we are not in a position to be cognizant of insults; we should be forced to ignore them. I cannot leave without entreating the marchioness to deliver this letter to Monsieur de Fleury, herself: it must be done,—and to-day. There is not an instant to lose."

"And you can stoop so low,—you can demean yourself to such a degree? What a humiliation!"

"Humiliations are not to be taken into consideration where ruin stares us in the face!" he answered, violently.

"Is it so very important?" inquired Bertha, struck by the count's angry manner.

"Of more importance than I can explain to you!"

"Oh, then let us stay, aunt! We must make allowances for Madame de Fleury's ruling passion. Her toilet first, all the world afterward!"

A carriage just then drove to the door, and attracted the attention of Bertha, who was standing by the open window.

"What magnificent horses! and what a neat equipage! All the appointments in such admirable taste! A lady is descending. I suppose it must be the Countess Orlowski. What a dignified air she has! What a graceful bearing! I wish I could see her face. She must be handsome with such a perfect figure. Yes,—I am right,—it is the Countess Orlowski, for the servant has admitted her."

As the lady was passing through the hall, she said to the domestic, "No, you need not announce me; I will go at once to the chamber of Madame de Fleury."

At the sound of that voice, the shriek of joy that broke from Bertha's lips drowned the amazed exclamation of Maurice. In another instant, Bertha's arms were around the stranger, and her kisses were mingled with tears and broken ejaculations, as she embraced her rapturously.

Maurice stood beside them, struggling with emotion that caused his manly frame to vibrate from head to foot, while his dilated eyes appeared spellbound by some familiar apparition which they hardly dared to believe was palpable.

There is a joy which, in its wild excess, paralyzes the faculties, makes dumb the voice, confuses the brain, until ecstasy becomes agony, and all the senses are enveloped in a cloud of doubt. Such was the joy of Maurice as he stood powerless, questioning the blissful reality of the hour, yet in the actual presence of that being who was never a moment absent from his mental vision.

"Madeleine! Madeleine! My own Madeleine! Have we found you at last? Is it really you?" sobbed Bertha, whose tears always flowed easily, but now poured in torrents from their blue heavens.

And Madeleine, as she passionately returned her cousin's embrace, dropped her head upon Bertha's shoulder, and wept also.

"Madeleine!"

At that tremulously tender voice her face was lifted and turned toward Maurice,—turned for the first time for nearly five long years; and yet, at that moment, he felt as though it had never been turned away.

Bertha involuntarily loosened her arms, and Madeleine extended her hand to Maurice. He clasped it fervently, but his quivering lips gave forth no sound. One irrepressible look of perfect joy from Madeleine's luminous eyes had answered the impassioned gaze of his; one smile of ineffable gratitude played over her sweet lips. For an instant the eyes were raised heavenward, in mute thanksgiving, and then sought the ground, as though they feared to reveal too much; and the smile of transport changed to one of grave serenity, and the wonted quietude of her demeanor returned.

The countess and Count Tristan had both risen in speechless surprise, but had made no attempt to approach Madeleine, whom Bertha now drew into the room.

"Madeleine! I cannot believe that I am not dreaming," cried the latter; "I cannot believe that I have found you!—that it is really you! And you are lovelier than ever! You no longer look pale and careworn; you are happy, my own Madeleine,—you are happy,—are you not? But why have you forgotten us?"

"I have never forgotten—never—never forgotten!" faltered Madeleine, in a voice that had a sound of tears, answering to those that glittered in her eyes.

Maurice had not released her hand, and, bending over her, made an effort to speak; but at that moment the stern voice of the countess broke in harshly,—

"How is it that we find you here, Mademoiselle de Gramont? Where have you hidden yourself? What have you done since you fled from my protection?"

"Yes, what have you done?" chimed in Count Tristan. "How is it that we find you descending from a handsome equipage and elegantly attired?"

"I have done nothing for which I shall ever have to blush!" answered Madeleine, with a dignity which awed him into silence.

"It was needless to say that, dear Madeleine," cried Maurice, whose powers of utterance had returned when he saw Madeleine about to be assailed. "No one who knows you would dare to believe that you ever committed an action that demanded a blush."

Madeleine thanked him with her speaking countenance. Perhaps it was only fancy, but he thought he felt a light, grateful pressure of the hand he held.

"But tell us where you have been!" continued Bertha, affectionately. "You look differently, Madeleine, and yet the same; and how this rich attire becomes you! You are no longer poor and dependent then,—are you?"

"I am no longer poor, and no longer dependent!" answered Madeleine, in a tone of honest pride.

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the count and his mother together.

"But how has all this happened?" Bertha ran on. "Oh! I can divine: you are married,—you have made a brilliant marriage."

At those words a suppressed groan, of unutterable anguish, struck on Madeleine's ear; and the hand Maurice held dropped from his grasp.

"Speak! do speak! dear Madeleine!" continued Bertha. "Tell us all your sufferings,—for you must have suffered at first,—and all your joys, since you are happy now. And tell us how you chance to be here,—here in America, as we are; and how it happens that you are calling upon the Marchioness de Fleury, at the same time as ourselves; and why you expect to be received by her, though she will not receive us."

Before Madeleine could reply, and she was evidently collecting herself to speak, Lurline, who had just returned from executing her commission, passed through the hall. The door of the drawing-room stood open; she caught sight of Madeleine, and ran toward her, exclaiming joyfully,—

"Oh, what good fortune! How rejoiced my poor mistress will be! She did not dare to hope for this great kindness! I am so thankful! I will fly to announce to her the good news!"

She hurried away, leaving Madeleine's relatives more than ever amazed by these mysterious words.

Count Tristan was the first to break the silence. Ever keenly alive to his own interest, he saw a great advantage to be gained if he had interpreted the language of the femme de chambre rightly.

In an altered tone, a tone of marked consideration, he asked, "You are well acquainted with the Marchioness de Fleury?"

"Very well!" replied Madeleine, with an incomprehensible emphasis, while a smile that had a faint touch of satire flitted over her face.

"She receives you?" questioned the count.

"Always," answered Madeleine, smiling again.

"She esteems you?" persisted the count.

"I have every reason to believe that she does."

"And you have influence with her," joined in Bertha, suspecting the count's drift, and feeling desirous of aiding him.

"I think I may venture to say I have."

"Oh, how fortunate!" cried Bertha; "you maybe of the greatest service to our cousin, Count Tristan." She took the letter out of his hand, and placing it in Madeleine's, added, "Beg Madame de Fleury to read this letter, and obtain her promise that she will use her influence with the Marquis de Fleury to cause Mr. Gobert,—Gobert, that's his name, is it not?" appealing to the count,—"to cause Mr. Gobert to vote as herein instructed. See, how well I have explained that matter! I really believe I have an undeveloped talent for business."

"The letter should reach Madame de Fleury this morning. The appeal should be made to the marquis to-day,—this very day!" urged the count.

"It shall be!" replied Madeleine, with quiet confidence.

The countess here interposed.

"What, my son, you are willing to solicit the interference of Mademoiselle de Gramont, without knowing how and where she has passed her time, how she has lived since she fled from the ChÂteau de Gramont? I refuse my consent to such a proceeding."

"Aunt,—madame," returned Madeleine, in a gently pleading voice, "do not deprive me of the pleasure of serving you. Humble and unworthy instrument that I am, leave me that happiness."

"If the marchioness would only grant me a few moments' interview this morning," said Count Tristan, who evidently doubted the strength of Madeleine's advocacy.

"I promise that she will grant you an interview this morning," replied Madeleine, interrupting him.

The femme de chambre now reËntered and said, "Madame is impatient at this delay; every moment seems an hour."

"Say that I will be with her immediately," answered Madeleine. She then addressed the count: "Have no fears,—you may depend upon me; the countess will receive you the moment her toilet is completed."

Madeleine once more embraced Bertha, once more extended her hand to Maurice, who stood bewildered, dismayed, looking half petrified, and passed out of the room.

As soon as she had disappeared, Bertha broke forth joyously, "Well, aunt, what do you think now of our Madeleine? Is not this magic? Is not this a fairy-like denouement? She disappears from the ChÂteau de Gramont as though the earth had opened to swallow her; no trace of her could be discovered for nearly five years, and suddenly she rises up in our very midst, a grand lady, enveloped in a cloud of mystery, and working as many wonders as a veritable witch. She leaves us poor, friendless, dependent; she returns to us rich, powerful, and with influential friends ready to serve those who once protected her. But I think I have found the key to the enigma. Did we not hear strict orders given that none but the Countess Orlowski should be admitted? Well, Madeleine was at once allowed to enter: it follows, beyond doubt, that she is the Countess Orlowski."

This version of Madeleine's position seemed to strike both the countess and her son as not merely possibly, but probably, correct.

"I always thought," returned the count, "that Madeleine was a young person who, in the end"—

His mother finished the sentence, in a tone of pride, "would prove herself worthy of the family to which she belongs."

The loud ringing of the street door-bell attracted the attention of the group assembled in the drawing-room. A well-known voice exchanged a few words with the servant, and Gaston de Bois entered. His manner was unusually perturbed, and he looked around the room as though in search of some one.

The instant he appeared, Bertha exclaimed, "Oh, M. de Bois! M. de Bois! We are all so much rejoiced! Madeleine, our own Madeleine, is found at last! She is here,—here in this very house, at this very moment!"

"I—I—I knew it!" answered M. de Bois, with a mixture of embarrassment and exultation.

"You knew it? How could you have known it?" asked Maurice, eagerly.

"I saw her car—ar—arriage at the door."

"Her carriage? She has a carriage of her own, then?" inquired the count.

"Yes, and the most superb horses in Washington."

"You knew, then, that she was here?" cried Maurice, with emotion; "you knew it, and you never told us?"

"I knew it, but I was forbidden to tell you. I hoped you would meet; I felt sure you would. I did not know how or when; but, from the moment you put your foot in this city, I looked for this meeting. I was strongly impelled to bring it about, but my promise withheld me."

"Of course, you could not break a promise; that explanation is quite satisfactory," remarked Bertha. "I am sure you would have given us a hint but for your promise."

"I almost gave one in spite of it. I found it harder to keep silent than I used to find it to speak; and that was difficult enough."

"But have the goodness to unravel to us this grand mystery," demanded the count. "Madeleine is married—married to Count Orlowski, the Russian ambassador."

"A nobleman of position!" added the countess.

"How did this come about?" inquired the count.

M. de Bois looked stupefied.

"Who—who—said she was married?" he gasped out. "Why do you imagine that she is mar—ar—arried?"

"She is not—not married then? Say she is not!" broke in Maurice, hanging upon the reply as though it were a sentence of life or death.

"No—no—not married at all—not in the least married."

Maurice did not answer, but the sound that issued from his lips almost resembled the sob of hysteric passion.

"Tell us quickly all about her!" besought Bertha, impatiently.

"Yes, speak! speak!" said the countess, imperiously.

"Speak!" echoed the count.

"Gaston, my dear friend, pray speak,—speak quickly!" Maurice besought.

"I wi—is—ish I could! That's just what I wa—an—ant to do! But it's not so easy, you bewil—il—ilder me so with questions. But the time has come when you must know that she has the hon—on—onor—the honor—the honor to be"—

"Go on, go on!" urged Maurice.

"I wish I could! It's not so easy to expla—plai—plain."

The rustling of a silk dress made him turn. The Marchioness de Fleury, in the most captivating spring attire, stood before them.

"Ah! here is Madame de Fleury, and she will tell you herself better than I can," said M. de Bois, apparently much relieved.

The marchioness saluted her guests with excessive cordiality, softly murmured her gratification at their visit, and added apologetically,—

"I must entreat your pardon for allowing you to wait; it was not in my power to be more punctual; a terrible accident—the first of the kind which has ever occurred to me—is my excuse. Do not imagine, my dear viscount," turning to Maurice with a fascinating smile, "that I had forgotten my appointment; but, at the Russian embassy, yesterday, I was prevailed upon to promise that I would be present at the senate to-day to hear the speech of a Vermont orator, a sort of Orson Demosthenes, who has gained great renown by his rude but stirring eloquence. We ladies have been promised admission (which is now and then granted) to the floor of the house, instead of being crammed into the close galleries. It will be a brilliant occasion. I invited the Countess Orlowski to accompany me. If all had gone well I should have been ready to receive your visit before she came."

The brow of the countess smoothed a little as she answered, "I felt confident, madame, that there must have been some explanation."

"Ah! I fear you are displeased with me," resumed Madame de Fleury, playfully. "But I will earn my pardon. You will be compelled to forgive me; M. de Fleury meets me at the capitol, and I will deliver this letter of the count's into his hand, and make him promise, blindfold, to consent to any request that it may contain."

"Madame," returned the count, bowing to the ground, "I shall never be able to express my gratitude. You can hardly form a conception of the favor you are conferring upon me. That letter is of the highest importance, and my indebtedness beggars all expression."

"To be frank with you, count," answered Madame de Fleury, "you owe me nothing. You are only indebted to the advocate you chose,—one whom I never refuse,—one to whom I feel under the deepest obligation, especially this morning,—one who is so modest that she can seldom be induced to ask me a favor, or to allow me to serve her. Thus, you see, it is but natural that I should seize with avidity upon this opportunity."

The count looked at his mother triumphantly; and, as the face of the marchioness was turned toward Bertha, he whispered, "Shall I not tell her that Madeleine is our niece?"

The countess seemed disposed to consent, for the words of Madame de Fleury had gratified as much as they astonished her.

The marchioness addressed the Countess de Gramont again. "I trust, madame, that you will allow me to waive ceremony, and take a liberty with you, since it is in the hope of being some service. I should like to reach the capitol before the oration commences; and, if this letter must be delivered to M. de Fleury immediately, my going early will enable me to have a few moments' conversation with him, which I probably shall not get after the orator rises. Will you excuse me, if I tear myself away? And will you give me the pleasure of your company to-morrow evening? To-morrow is my reception-day, and some of my friends honor me in the evening. I am desolÉe at this apparent want of courtesy, but I am sure you see the necessity."

The countess bowed her permission to Madame de Fleury's departure, and the count overwhelmed her with thanks. The countess would herself have taken leave, but anxiety to learn something further of Madeleine, caused her to linger.

The marchioness now addressed her valet, who was standing in the hall waiting orders.

"Patrick, when Madame Orlowski calls, beg her to pardon my preceding her to the capitol; say that I will reserve a seat by my side."

"Then the lady who just visited you was not Madame Orlowski?" inquired the count, more puzzled than ever.

"No, indeed; she is worth a thousand Madame Orlowski's!"

The count's glance at his mother seemed again to ask her permission to allow him to announce that Madeleine was their relative.

"We felt certain that she was one of the magnates"—began the count.

The marchioness interrupted him.

"She is better than that; she has all the magnates of the land—that is the female magnates—at her feet. The foreign ladies swear by her, rave about her; and, as for the Americans, they are demented, and would gladly pave her path with gold,—that being their way of expressing appreciation. Madame Manesca passes whole mornings with her,—Madame Poniatowski talks of no one else. She enchants every one, and offends no one. For myself, I have only one fault to find with her,—I owe her only one grudge; if it had not been for her aid, that impertinent little Mrs. Gilmer would not have had such success in society. If I could succeed in making her close her doors against Mrs. Gilmer, what a satisfaction it would be! Then, and then only, should I be content!"

The count could restrain himself no longer.

"We are highly gratified to hear this, madame. It concerns, us more nearly than you are aware; the lady is not wholly a stranger to us; in fact, she—she"—

"Indeed? she was so little known in Paris that you were fortunate in finding her out. I appreciated her there, but I did not know how much actual credit was due to her, for she had not then risen to her present distinction. I confess she is the one person in America without whom I could not exist."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the countess.

"And I cannot be grateful enough to her," continued the marchioness, "for her visit this morning, for she never goes out, or, so seldom, that I did not dare to expect, to even hope for her presence; yet her conscientiousness made her come; she suspected that I was in difficulty, and hastened here."

"It is like her; she was always charming, and so thoughtful for others!" observed the count, as complacently as though this were an opinion he had been in the habit of expressing for years.

"You may well say charming," responded Madame de Fleury; "and what knowledge she possesses of all the requirements, the most subtle refinements of good society! What polished manners she has! What choice language she uses! What poetical expression she gives to her sentiments! I often forget myself when I am talking to her, and fancy that I am communicating with a person of the same standing as myself; and, without knowing what I am doing, I involuntarily treat her as an equal!"

"An equal? Of course, most certainly!" answered the countess, aghast.

The amazement of the count, Maurice, and Bertha, sealed their lips.

"Her taste, her talent, her invention is something almost supernatural," continued the marchioness, enthusiastically; for, now that she was launched upon her favorite theme, she had forgotten her haste. "She sees at a glance all the good points of a figure; she knows how to bring them out strongly; she discovers by intuition what is lacking, and dexterously hides the defects. I have seen her convert the veriest dowdy into an elegant woman. And, when she gets a subject that pleases her, she perfectly revels in her art. Look at this dress for instance,—see by what delicate combinations it announces the spring."

The marchioness was struck with the consternation depicted in the countenances of her visitors.

Bertha was the only one who could command sufficient voice to falter out, "That dress, then"—

"It is her invention," replied the marchioness, triumphantly. "Any one would recognize it in a moment, as coming from the hands of Mademoiselle Melanie. Though she has such wonderful creative fertility, her style is unmistakable. There was never mantua-maker like her!"

"A mantua-maker! a mantua-maker!" exclaimed the countess and her son at once, in accents of disgust and indignation.

"Ah, I see you do not like to apply that epithet to her, and you are right. She should not be designated as a mantua-maker, but a great artist,—a true artist,—a fairy, who, with one touch of her wand, can metamorphose and beautify and amaze!"

At that moment, a servant announced that the Countess Orlowski waited in her carriage, and desired him to say that she feared she was late.

"You will excuse me then?" murmured the marchioness. "I must hasten to execute my mission for Mademoiselle Melanie, since it was she who so warmly solicited me to undertake this delicate little transaction, and I would not disappoint her for the world. Pray, do not forget to-morrow evening. Au revoir."

She floated out of the room, leaving the countess and her son speechless with rage and indignation.

Bertha and Maurice stood looking at each other, and then at M. de Bois, the only one who expressed no surprise, but seemed rather more gratified than moved when he beheld the countess sink back in her chair, and apply her bottle of sal volatile to her nose. The shock to her pride had been so terrible, that she appeared to be in danger of fainting.