ad with a brilliant glow as she
cast upon Maurice one hasty look of gratitude.

"I speak what I mean. Madeleine cannot, without sacrificing her
self-respect, accept hospitality which is not freely given,--protection
which is unwillingly accorded. She cannot remain here as an inferior,--a
dependent; one who is under daily obligation,--who is merely tolerated
because she has no other place of refuge. My father, there is only _one_
position in which she _can_ remain in the Chateau de Gramont, and that
is as an equal; as its future mistress; as your daughter; _as my wife!_"

The countess was stricken dumb with rage; and a sudden revulsion of
feeling toward the shrinking girl, whose deep blushes she interpreted
into a token of exultation, made her almost as willing to drive her
forth, no matter whither, as her son himself.

Bertha, with an exclamation of delight, flung her arms joyfully about
Madeleine's neck.

"Maurice, are you mad? Do you forget that you are my son?" was all that
the count could gasp out, in his indignant amazement.

"It is as your son that I speak; it is as the inheritor of your
name,--that name which Madeleine also bears."

"You seem to have forgotten"--began his father.

Maurice interrupted him,--

"I have not forgotten that I have not reached my majority, and that your
consent is necessary to render Madeleine my wife."

(Our readers are doubtless aware that the law in France fixes the
majority of a young man at twenty-five, and that he has no power to
contract marriage or to control property until that period.)

"But, believe me, my father, even if this were not the case, I should
not desire to act without your approval, and I know I could never induce
Madeleine to forego your consent to our union. But what valid objections
can you have? You desired that Bertha should become my wife. Is not
Madeleine precisely the same kin to me as Bertha? Is she not as good, as
beautiful?"

"Oh, a thousand times better and lovelier!" exclaimed Bertha, with
affectionate enthusiasm.

"There is but one difference: she is poor and Bertha is rich. Think you
Bertha's fortune could have one feather's weight in deciding my choice?
I thank Heaven for teaching me to account it more noble, more honorable,
to ask what the woman I would marry _is_, than to inquire what she
_has_."

His father made a vain attempt to speak. Maurice went on without
noticing the futile effort.

"But this is not all: I dare to hope th