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 to charities forced upon your poor relations."

Madeleine was silent.

"Then the aid which came to me at such an opportune moment was yours, 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 it was she, 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 deceived and 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 our noble house for the benefit of my grandson."

"That money, madame," rejoined M. de Bois, warmly, "has saved the honor of your noble 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 been sullied," 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 deem this, 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 a mantua-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 glass and 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 ask me to 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 them all go; 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 not now."

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.