If Madeleine had been asked which of her relatives would first have sought her after the unexpected rencontre at Madame de Fleury's, she would have answered, "Bertha,"—Bertha, whose devotion had been so unflagging, so open, so daring. But on the day which succeeded that stormy interview, Count Tristan and Maurice had visited Madeleine, yet Bertha remained absent; another day passed, and still she came not.

The Countess de Gramont had resolved, at least, to postpone a meeting she might not be able wholly to prevent. She formed her plans so dexterously that Bertha was chained to her side, fretting through the tedious hours, yet powerless to secure a moment's freedom.

Exasperation caused Bertha sleepless nights; and on the third morning she rose with the sun, summoned her maid, sent for a carriage, and was on her way to Madeleine's residence some three hours before it was likely that the slumbers of the countess would be broken.

Madeleine was preparing for her matinal walk, when her cousin was announced.

After the first joyous greetings were over, Bertha said, with tender delight,—

"And now that I have found you, my own Madeleine, I mean to come to see you every day."

Madeleine shook her head sadly. "Madame de Gramont will never permit that."

"How can she help it if I choose to order all my dresses made here? The choice and discussion of becoming attire shall occupy as much of my time as it does of Madame de Fleury's. I mean to become her rival and almost ruin myself in splendid toilets,—that is, unless you accept my proposition."

"What proposition, Bertha?"

"To give up your—your—your—What shall I call it? Your occupation,—your vocation,—I have a great mind to say your 'trade,' that the word may shock you. Live with me; travel with me; go where I go. Will you not consent?"

"No," answered Madeleine, gently, but resolutely.

"Do not decide hastily. You cannot know how much I need you, Madeleine. Your counsels were indispensable to me even in days when I had no secret to confide: now—now"—

"Now you have a secret? Is it indeed so?"

Bertha nodded, paused awhile, then went on abruptly,—

"I have been pestered to death by men who aspired to my hand, and my uncle declares there is no possibility of my finding peace until I make some choice."

"And you intend to secure peace upon his terms? Possibly among those who aspired to your hand there is one who has discovered the entrance to your heart."

"Among those who have aspired,—ah, there is the difficulty! Among those there is none."

"Then you love one who has never aspired?"

"I fear so," answered Bertha, ingenuously, and yet blushing deeply.

Madeleine looked troubled; she had long entertained a pleasant hope which she saw about to vanish.

"And you have loved him,—how long?" she asked, gravely.

"Oh, a very short time; only since day before yesterday," replied Bertha.

This answer added to Madeleine's discomposure. There was no hope for Gaston de Bois.

"Why do you look so sorrowful?" inquired Bertha, noticing her cousin's expression.

"I am thinking of one who has loved you long, with such devotion, with such self-abnegation, with such an ardent desire to become worthy of you, that I could not but sigh over his disappointment. But this sudden affection of yours may not be very deep."

"Ah, but it is! And as for suddenness, when I say I have only loved him since day before yesterday, I mean that I only then discovered how much I cared for him."

"And how came you to know that he was dear to you?"

"You will be very much shocked when I answer that question; but you always said I was eccentric. I first felt that I loved him when I saw him getting into a great rage, and when I positively fancied that I caught the sound of a horrible oath, which he uttered in an undertone!"

"That is original! I never before heard of a young lady being inspired by love for a young man when he was angry, or when he was profane."

"Ah, but he was angry in a good cause," returned Bertha, earnestly. "It was righteous indignation, and it was the violence with which he defended one whom I love, that won my heart completely."

"Whom did he defend?" asked Madeleine, unsuspiciously.

"You,—you, my own, best Madeleine, and for that I loved him. It was so wonderful, knowing how constitutionally diffident he is, to see him so courageous. And when I remembered how he used to hesitate and stammer, it seemed marvellous to hear him talk on with an ease, a fluency, a fervor truly eloquent. I never ask to listen to finer oratory. My aunt, in spite of her indignation, was confounded into silence. Count Tristan could not say a word, and Maurice looked as though amazement alone kept him from throwing himself in his friend's arms, and I fear I almost felt like doing the same."

"It was Gaston de Bois, then?" cried Madeleine, with sudden transport.

"Yes. Who else could it be? And he was so comical at the same time that he was so pathetic! At first I almost felt like laughing at his odd gesticulations. And then he talked so nobly, so grandly, that I felt like weeping; and you know it is my nature to laugh and to cry in spite of myself. I have made up my mind that I could never love anybody who could not make me do both at once, just as he did, in such a comically pathetic manner."

"How shall I thank you? Gaston de Bois is my best, my truest, friend!" said Madeleine, rapturously.

"I know that well enough! Once I feared he might be the mysterious individual whom you loved; but he said himself that you were a sister to him; and I almost leapt for joy at those words. A sister never fills the whole of a man's heart,—does she?"

"Not such a heart as Gaston de Bois'. He will tell you himself who occupies the sovereign place in that heart when he knows that he may speak."

"But how is he to know? You must promise me not to tell him, not to give him even the faintest hint, of what I have communicated. Promise me that you will not."

"I promise. But you forget how diffident M. de Bois is, how distrustful of his own merits. He will not easily believe that you can think of him. And, meantime, you"—

"Will suffer. Yes, I know it; but I should suffer more if I were guilty of an unmaidenly action. So you will keep your promise?"

"I will keep it faithfully."

It was time for the cousins to part. Bertha returned to the hotel with a lighter heart, because she had transferred its weighty secret to another's keeping. But Madeleine's joy was mingled with forebodings that Gaston de Bois would not suspect his own happiness for a long, sad period, if ever.

When she went forth, it was long past the hour usually devoted to her walk. The capitol grounds were gay with promenaders. Madeleine and Ruth attracted more attention than was agreeable, and, after a short ramble, turned homeward.

As they passed out of the gates, the first person they met was Gaston de Bois. He bowed, hesitated, seemed half inclined to walk on without speaking, but changed his mind and joined them.

It was long since Madeleine had seen him apparently so ill at ease or so distressed. She smiled as she reflected how quickly three little words (which she, alas! was forbidden to speak) would change that perturbed look to one of ineffable happiness.

For a few moments he walked moodily by her side, replying at random to her casual remarks. It chanced that Ruth was not conversant with the French language, and Madeleine, struck by his abstracted air, inquired in that tongue whether he had any cause for vexation.

Gaston answered, vaguely, that he was troubled; he did not himself know with how much real cause. A moment after, he mentioned her interview with Count Tristan, and, stammering a little in his old fashion, asked whether she would deem it a great liberty if he desired to know the object of the count's visit.

A moment's reflection convinced Madeleine that M. de Bois would not have made this inquiry out of sheer, causeless curiosity; and she made known to him the count's request concerning the votes which she was to exert herself to obtain. Gaston caught eagerly at her words, and exclaimed,—

"Valueless? Are you sure Count Tristan said the property of Maurice would be valueless but for the advent of this railroad?"

"Yes," replied Madeleine; "I am quite sure that such was his assertion. But why do you ask? What has happened? Nothing to compromise Maurice?"

"I do not yet definitely know; but, if it be what I suspect, what I fear, it will compromise him wofully."

"Pray be explicit," said Madeleine, becoming alarmed. "Tell me what you positively know, and what you fear. Remember, Maurice is my cousin."

"Would he were more! But that wish now is vain. In a word, then, I have no faith in Count Tristan. I believe him capable of unscrupulous actions which might ruin his son. At the club, last night, a group of gentlemen chanced to be conversing near me. The name of Maurice de Gramont attracted my attention. A Mr. Emerson asserted that he had just made a discovery which convinced him that the Viscount de Gramont was a young man regardless of honor; and added that he intended, without delay, to commence legal proceedings against him. As soon as I could control my indignation, I informed Mr. Emerson that the Viscount de Gramont was my friend, and I could not allow his name to be used with disrespect without demanding an explanation."

"And he gave you one?" inquired Madeleine, greatly agitated.

"He did not give me one. At first he was inclined to treat my request cavalierly. But, upon my persisting, he replied that neither place nor time served to discuss a business matter; adding that he would be at his office on the morrow, at twelve o'clock, and, if I chose to call at that hour, the whole matter would be made known to me; remarking, significantly, that he had no intention of keeping the transaction from the public."

"What could he mean?"

"That I can only surmise. But a few hours will make all clear."

"To gain a few hours' time may be of the utmost importance," answered Madeleine. "Try to see Mr. Emerson at once. Learn the meaning of his words, and return to me with the intelligence."

"Ah, Mademoiselle Madeleine, you are always so prompt! I should have lingered until twelve without"—

"Go! Go at once, and come back to me quickly! You have said enough to awaken a horrible suspicion. I do not dare to let my mind dwell upon the frightful possibility that suggests itself."

M. de Bois bade her good-morning as precipitately as she could desire, and hastened upon his mission.

When Madeleine reached her home she said to Ruth, "I am unfit for my usual duties to-day. Ruth, I have long intended that you should occupy a more active and prominent position in this establishment. Do you not feel yourself competent to do so?"

Ruth returned affectionately,—

"I have studied diligently under your tuition; sometimes I fancy that I have almost mastered some of the rules, and fathomed some of the mysteries, of your art."

"To-day, then," rejoined Madeleine, "I mean that you shall wholly take my place. I have faith in your ability."

Ruth retired, well pleased at the confidence reposed in her; and Madeleine entered her boudoir to await, with a sense of dread which she could ill repress, the return of Gaston de Bois.

The clock had just struck twelve when he was announced. One glance at his pale face hardly left Madeleine courage to ask,—

"What has happened?"

"The worst, the very worst that I deemed possible, and I have been able to accomplish nothing. I feel like a brute to bring you these ill tidings a single hour before you are compelled to know them."

"Do not keep me in suspense!" urged Madeleine.

M. de Bois went on, "Maurice obtained a loan of ten thousand dollars from Mr. Emerson. The security given was upon this Maryland property, which Maurice declared to be free of all mortgage; and, no doubt, he thought it was so."

"And, alas! it is not?"

"So far from clear that Mr. Emerson yesterday learned the estate was mortgaged to its full value. Count Tristan, who held in his hands a power of attorney, has doubtless made use of the instrument without his son's knowledge."

"Did you not explain this to Mr. Emerson in defence of Maurice?"

"Assuredly; but Mr. Emerson received my assertion with open incredulity. He is determined to write to Maurice and inform him of his discovery, and also to commence legal proceedings at once."

"Should these ten thousand dollars be paid into the hands of Mr. Emerson, would they not prevent his sending the threatened letter to Maurice, or taking any other steps?" inquired Madeleine, eagerly.

"Undoubtedly; but how are we to command ten thousand dollars?"

Madeleine smiled an inexpressibly happy smile, opened her desk, took out a paper, and said,—

"I had arranged to make the last payment upon this house yesterday; the sum due was ten thousand dollars: by some mistake, the person who was to receive this money did not keep his appointment. He will, doubtless, be here to-day. A few hours later, I might no longer have had these funds under my own control. See how fortunate it is that I urged you to act promptly!"

"Mademoiselle Madeleine, what—what do you intend to do?"

"Is not my intention plain and simple enough? Here is a check for ten thousand dollars; draw the money at once, and place it in Mr. Emerson's hands."

"But the payment for your house?"

"Cannot be made. We have no time for further discussion."

"Mademoiselle Madeleine, you are"—

"Very impatient and very imperative when I issue orders that I intend to have obeyed? Admitted. You need not waste time in summing up the catalogue of my imperfections."

Gaston took the check and was preparing to depart, when Madeleine delayed him.

"Mr. Emerson must not know that these funds are furnished by me. What an endless theme for gossip and speculation would be afforded by the very suggestion that the fashionable mantua-maker came to the assistance of the young nobleman! Let Mr. Emerson understand that this money is paid by one of Maurice's relatives. That will be sufficient."

"Good," returned Gaston; "and if he should conclude that it was supplied by Maurice's grandmother, all the better. If I said a relative, and Madame de Gramont were not supposed to be the person, there is no one but Mademoiselle Bertha; and Mr. Emerson might infer—I mean, it would be natural to suppose"—

"You are right. We must guard against such a false step. Surely, no name at all is necessary; but I leave the matter to your discretion; pray hasten."

Without further discussion, Gaston set out to execute his agreeable mission. He reached Mr. Emerson's office too late to stop the threatened letter; it had already been despatched.

The young viscount was sitting in his father's drawing-room, at the hotel, musing upon the mournful singularity of his own fate, and the mystery that still enveloped Madeleine, when this letter was placed in his hands. He was, at first, too completely wonder-struck to experience a high degree of indignation. He thought he must have mistaken the meaning of what he read. But no; the words were plain enough; the accusation plain enough; the threat of legal proceedings to be instituted against him plain enough. Still, he was too much amazed to be able to give credence to the communication. He seized his hat, with the intention of hurrying to Mr. Emerson, and demanding an explanation. As he opened the door, his father entered.

"What has disturbed you so much?" asked Count Tristan, noticing his son's disordered mien.

"Nothing that will prove of consequence," returned Maurice, glancing over the open letter. "There is some vexatious mistake which will easily be explained away. And yet, the language of this letter is grossly insulting."

The count's secret guilt kept him in a constant state of torturing fear, and he now vainly endeavored to conceal his alarm.

He gasped out, "That letter—let me see it!"

Before Maurice could hand the letter, it was eagerly snatched by the count. His face grew livid as he read,—his white lips were tightly compressed,—but could not shut in the sound of a convulsive groan.

Maurice, not suspecting the true cause of his father's agitation, went on,—

"The language is rude; the accusation is made in the most unmannerly style, and as if its justice were beyond doubt; but business men, in this country, are usually abrupt, and, when they are annoyed, not too courteous; one must get accustomed to their manner. My dear father, do not let this mistake affect you too deeply; it will easily be rectified. But, first, let me explain the transaction."

The count dropped his head without speaking, but again the sound of a half-suppressed groan was audible.

"An opportunity offered," continued Maurice, "for the advantageous employment of ten thousand dollars. Mr. Lorrillard suggested my raising the money through Mr. Emerson, on the security of the Maryland estate."

The count staggered and sank into a chair. The hour of discovery then had arrived,—there was no escape! Like those hopeless culprits before the eternal judgment-seat, he could have cried out to the mountains to fall upon him and hide him.

Maurice was too much alarmed by his father's appearance to go on. The death-like pallor of his face had given place to a purple hue; his veins seemed swollen; his blood-shot eyes appeared to be starting from their sockets; his stalwart frame shivered from head to foot; he clutched the table as though for support, and his head dropped heavily upon it.

"My dear father," exclaimed Maurice, "do not let the mistake move you thus. I will go to Mr. Emerson at once"—

The count's face was lifted for an instant, as he cried in a tone of intense agony, "No, no! Not for the world!"

His head fell again; he could not bear the unsuspicious gaze of the son whom he had wronged, and in whose presence he sat, a self-condemned criminal.

"Surely it is the fitting course," replied Maurice. "I will make him retract his words."

"Impossible!" was all the count could ejaculate, still with bowed head.

"But I will prove it very possible!" returned Maurice, in a tone of determination. "Mr. Emerson cannot use such language with impunity. Though he threatens that the affair shall be made public, he cannot act so rashly as to carry out that menace, and upon a mere surmise of some kind. If there is any publicity, he shall publicly retract."

"Impossible! Impossible!" the count groaned forth again.

"That will soon be decided," answered Maurice, moving toward the door.

The count started up.

"Stay! do not go yet! You do not know what you are doing! Stay! I forbid you to go!"

Maurice had such thorough confidence in his father's probity, that his suspicions were not aroused even by this vehement language. He only imagined that the very suggestion of a dishonorable action associated with his son's name affected Count Tristan thus powerfully.

"But it is absolutely necessary that immediate notice should be taken of this letter," argued Maurice. "If I had been guilty of the act of which I have been accused, I could never have lifted my head again, and I feel degraded by the very suspicion. Do not detain me, I entreat you."

"There is something you must hear before you go!" the count whispered hoarsely.

For the first time an indefinable dread stole into the mind of Maurice. He put down his hat, and, approaching his father, could only echo the words,—

"Something I must hear?"

"You should have consulted me," the count continued, speaking with great effort.

"True, and I meant to do so, had I not been prevented. But the transaction was simple enough. My estate is unmortgaged. I had given you a power of attorney, but I knew that it had not been used; you told me so yourself, scarcely an hour before I requested Mr. Emerson to make me this loan."

"No—no,—I did not say that;—you misunderstood me,—I did not say that,—I never said that! You only inferred it! I could not be answerable for your inferences," returned the count, in the tone of a man defending himself.

"Great heavens! What does this mean?" exclaimed Maurice "I cannot have misunderstood you? You cannot have used the power of attorney?"

The count was silent, but the shame and confusion depicted upon his countenance were a fearful answer.

It was some minutes before Maurice could rally sufficiently to take a clear view of his own position. His first impulse caused him to turn to his father in an excess of rage; but the broken, contrite, abject demeanor of the latter silenced the angry reproaches that were bursting from his son's lips.

The count was the first to break the silence.

He said, in a pleading, exculpatory tone,—

"There was no other way; matters had gone terribly wrong with me in Brittany; we were reduced to worse than poverty; I was frightfully entangled; nothing remained but a mortgage upon your property."

"What Mr. Emerson writes me in this letter is true, then?" was all Maurice could utter; but his tone pierced his father as deeply as the sharpest reproaches.

The count assented.

Maurice, unable longer to control himself, broke forth, "And I shall not only be forced to endure the blighting suspicion of being guilty myself, but I must bear the terrible certainty that my father is so!"

The count only murmured in broken accents, "Oh, if the committee should select the left road!"

Maurice caught eagerly at the faint hope, and after a few moments' reflection, replied in a voice which, in spite of its coldness, was not without a touch of pity,—

"I must see Mr. Emerson, and make an effort to postpone his present intentions until the decision is made."

"It will be against us!" cried the count, vehemently. "Mr. Rutledge has made up his mind to vote for the road to the right; that one vote would have saved us! But we are too unfortunate; there is no longer a chance left!"

Maurice went forth without replying.