Bertha was too happy as she walked toward the hotel, to dread the rebukes which she had good reason to anticipate from the countess. For a young lady to traverse the streets alone with a gentleman, however intimate a friend, was, according to the strict rules of French etiquette, a gross breach of propriety. And, though the escort of a gentleman was deemed allowable in the purer and less conventional society of the land in which they were sojourning, Bertha knew that her supercilious aunt considered all customs barbarous but those of her refined native country.

The countess was sitting in her drawing-room, evidently in a state of high excitement, when Bertha and Gaston entered. Count Tristan appeared to be endeavoring to palliate his recent conduct by a series of contradictory statements, and a garbled explanation of the events which had placed Maurice in a dubious position; but his mother had sufficient shrewdness to detect that his object was to deceive, not to enlighten her.

The appearance of Bertha and Gaston gave inexpressible relief to the count, and his satisfaction betrayed itself in a singularly unnatural and childish manner. He kissed Bertha on both cheeks as though he had not seen her for a long period, asked her how she did, shook hands warmly with Gaston as if they had not parted a couple of hours before, offered them chairs, put his arm about Bertha, and drew her to him, as though he were making her his shield against some imaginary assailant.

"What is the meaning of this prolonged absence, Bertha?" demanded the countess, without appearing to notice M. de Bois. "Where have you been? Why did you not return immediately? Where is Maurice?"

"The day was so fine," answered Bertha, trying to speak with some show of dignity and composure, but failing lamentably, "that I thought I would enjoy a walk in the capitol grounds. We met Lady Augusta and Lord Linden. Maurice did not return with us."

"Are you aware of the singular impropriety of your behavior, Mademoiselle de Merrivale? Is it possible that a niece of mine can have become so perfectly regardless of all the rules of decorum?"

"Will you excuse me for the present, aunt?" interrupted Bertha, retreating toward the door in a rather cowardly fashion. "I leave M. de Bois to—M. de Bois wishes to"—

Gaston had risen and opened the door for her to pass, with as much self-possession as though bashfulness had not been the tormenting evil genius of his existence. His look reassured her, and, without finishing her sentence, she disappeared.

The countess rose with even more than her wonted stateliness, and was about to follow her niece; but M. de Bois, pretending not to perceive her intention, closed the door and said,—

"There is a communication which I desire to have the honor of making to Madame de Gramont and Count Tristan."

"You can make no communication to which I feel disposed to listen," answered the countess haughtily, and advancing toward the door.

"I regret to hear the aunt of Mademoiselle de Merrivale say so, as I have this morning ventured to solicit the hand of that young lady in marriage, and have received a favorable answer to my suit, as well as permission to request the approval of her relatives."

The countess sank into the nearest chair. She knew that her consent was a mere form, and that Bertha could dispose of her hand in freedom.

Count Tristan, still speaking in a confused, incoherent manner, exclaimed,—

"Bless my soul! How astonishing! The game's up, and Maurice has lost his chance! Bertha's fortune is to go out of the family! It's very puzzling. How did it all come about? De Bois, you sly fellow, you lucky dog, I never suspected you. Managed matters quietly, eh? Should never have thought you were the man to succeed with a pretty girl."

"Really," returned Gaston good-humoredly, "I am almost as astonished as you are by Mademoiselle de Merrivale's preference. Let me hope that the Countess de Gramont and yourself will render my happiness complete by approving of Mademoiselle Bertha's choice."

"Of course, of course; there's nothing else to be done; we have lost our trump card, but there's no use of confessing it! Very glad to welcome you as a relative, sir; very happy indeed; everything shall be as Mademoiselle de Merrivale desires."

Count Tristan uttered these disjointed sentences, in the flurried, bewildered manner which had marked his conduct since Gaston entered. A stranger might easily have imagined that the count was under the influence of delirium; for his face was scarlet his eyes shone with lurid brightness, his muscles twitched, his hands trembled nervously, and he was, to all appearance, not thoroughly conscious of what he was doing.

His mother's look of rebuke was entirely lost upon him, and he rattled on with an air of assumed hilarity which was painfully absurd.

Gaston was disinclined to give the disdainful lady an opportunity of expressing her opposition to his suit, and, pretending to interpret her silence favorably, he took his hat, and said, "I thank you for the cordial manner in which my proposition has been received; I hope to have the pleasure of visiting Mademoiselle de Merrivale this evening; I wish you a good-morning."

The door had closed upon him before the countess had recovered herself sufficiently to reply.

That evening, before paying his proposed visit to Bertha, M. de Bois sought Madeleine, to make her a participator in the happiness which she had so truly predicted would, one day, be his. He also purposed, if possible, to put her on her guard against the advances of Lord Linden. At the door he encountered Maurice, who with unaffected warmth, congratulated him upon his betrothal.

When the servant answered their ring, both gentlemen were denied admission. Mademoiselle Melanie was not well, and had retired.

"Are you going back to the hotel?" asked Gaston, as they left the door.

"No, not until late. I hardly know what I shall do with myself; I may go to the reading-rooms."

As their roads were different, they parted, and Maurice, not being able to select any better place of refuge, took his way to the reading-rooms most frequented by gentlemen of the metropolis. He was fortunate in finding an apartment vacant. He sat down by the table, took up a newspaper, though the words before him might have been printed in an unknown tongue, for any sense they conveyed.

He had been sitting about half an hour, musing sadly, when Lord Linden sauntered through the rooms. The instant he observed Maurice, he advanced toward him, and unceremoniously took a seat at the same table. This was just the opportunity which the piqued nobleman had desired. Maurice returned his salutation politely, but with an occupied air which seemed to forbid conversation. But Lord Linden was not to be baffled. He opened a periodical, and, after listlessly turning the leaves, closed it, and, leaning over the table in the direction of Maurice, said, with a sarcastic intonation,—

"I hope you had an agreeable visit, M. de Gramont."

Maurice looked up in surprise.

"I beg pardon,—I do not comprehend. To what visit do you allude?"

"When we last met," returned Lord Linden, in the same offensive manner, "I left you in charming company; the lovely mantua-maker, you know!—the very queen of sirens!"

Maurice flushed crimson and half started from his chair, then sat down again, making a strong effort to control himself, as he answered coldly, "I am at a loss to comprehend the meaning of the language in which you are pleased to indulge."

"'Pon my life, that's going too far; especially as I feel not a little aggrieved that your inopportune entrance cut short my visit. And you seemed to be a decided favorite. Deuced lucky! for she is the handsomest woman in Washington. Come, be frank enough to confess that you think so, and I'll admit that I think her the most beautiful woman upon the face of the globe."

"My frankness," returned Maurice, sharply, "forces me to confess that this conversation is particularly distasteful to me. The lady in question"—

Lord Linden interrupted him with a light laugh. "Lady? Oh! I see you adopt the customs and phraseology of the country in which you live; and here, a mantua-maker is, of course, a lady; just as a respectable boot-black is, in common parlance, an accomplished gentleman."

"My lord,"—began Maurice, angrily; but Lord Linden would not permit him to continue.

"Oh, don't be offended; I suppose you are a naturalized foreigner; you are quite right to accept the manners of the country you adopt; it is the true diplomatic dodge. And, besides, I admit that the lady in question might anywhere be mistaken for a thorough lady. She has all the points which betoken the high-bred dame. I'll not quarrel with the term you use! All I ask is fair play, and that you will not attempt to monopolize the field."

"Lord Linden," replied Maurice, unable to endure this impertinence any longer, "once more I beg to inform you that you are using language to which I cannot listen. I will not permit any man to speak of that lady in the manner which you have chosen to employ. I shall consider it a personal insult if you persist."

"Indeed! Have matters gone so far? Really, I did not suspect that the ground was already occupied, and that the lady whose mantua-making and millinery are the admiration of all Washington, had a protector by whom her less favored acquaintances must expect to be taken to task."

These words were spoken in a tone sufficiently caustic to render their meaning unmistakable.

"She has protectors, my lord,—legal protectors,—who are ready to prove their right to defend her," replied Maurice, with severity, and rising as he spoke.

All considerations of prudence,—the wishes of Madeleine and of his family,—were forgotten at the moment: she was insulted, and he was there to defend her; that was all he remembered.

Lord Linden, though he could not but be struck by the tone and manner of the viscount, echoed the words, "The right?"

"Yes, the right, as well as the might. Mademoiselle Melanie, the mantua-maker, is in reality Mademoiselle Madeleine Melanie de Gramont, the daughter of the late Duke de Gramont, and the second cousin of my father, Count Tristan de Gramont."

"Good heavens! of what gross stupidity I have been guilty! How shall I ever obtain your pardon?"

Without answering this question, Maurice went on.

"You have forced me to betray a secret which my cousin earnestly desired to keep; but it is time that her family should refuse their countenance to this farce of concealment. I, for one, will not be a party to it any longer. I will never consent to calling her, or hearing her called, by any but her true title, and I do not care how soon that is proclaimed to the world."

"M. de Gramont," said Lord Linden, whose embarrassment was mingled with undisguised joy, "I am overwhelmed with shame, and I beg that you will forget what I have said. My apology is based upon the error under which I was laboring. I make it very humbly, very gladly, and trust the Viscount de Gramont will accept it generously. Without being able to conceive the circumstances which have placed a noble lady in a position which has caused me to fall into so grave a mistake, I shall only be too proud, too thankful, to make the one reparation in my power,"—

Lord Linden had not finished speaking, but Maurice was disinclined to hear any more or to prolong the interview, and said, frigidly, "I am bound to accept your apology; but your lordship can hardly expect that I can find it easy to forget that my cousin, Mademoiselle de Gramont, has been regarded by you in an unworthy light. Good-evening."

Feigning not to see Lord Linden's outstretched hand, and disregarding his attempt to exculpate himself further, Maurice walked out of the reading-room, leaving the nobleman too much elated by the discovery of Madeleine's rank to experience a natural indignation at her cousin's cavalier treatment.