to the one which had taken place in himself,
yet quite as remarkable.

Gaston's address was no longer nervous and flurried; he had gained
considerable self-command and repose of manner. The air of uncomfortable
diffidence, which formerly characterized his deportment, had
disappeared, and given place to a manly and cheerful bearing.

"If he loves Madeleine," thought Maurice, "how can he look so calm while
she is--God only knows where, and exposed to what dangers?"

"Have you heard from Mademoiselle Ber--er--ertha?" asked M. de Bois,
with some hesitation.

"Yes, several times. My cousin Bertha was broken-hearted at the news I
sent her from London; but I trust that soon"--

He did not conclude his sentence: his wan face lighted up; his restless,
straining eyes were fastened upon some form that passed in a carriage.
Without even bidding M. de Bois good morning, he broke away and pursued
the carriage; for some time he kept up with it, then Gaston saw him
motion vehemently to a sleepy coachman, who was lazily driving an empty
fiacre. The next moment Maurice had opened the door himself and leaped
into the vehicle; it followed the carriage the young viscount had kept
in view, and soon both were out of sight.

The imagination of Maurice had become so highly inflamed that forms and
faces constantly took the outline and lineaments of those ever-present
to his mind. And when, after some exhausting pursuits, he approached
near enough for the illusive likeness to fade away, or when the shape he
was impetuously making towards was lost to sight before it could be
neared, he always felt as though he had been upon the eve of that
discovery upon which all his energies were concentrated.

After their accidental encounter Gaston de Bois called upon Maurice
repeatedly, but never found him at home.

Bertha continued to write sorrowful letters teeming with inquiries.
Maurice answered briefly, as though he could not spare time to devote to
his pen, but always giving her hope that the very next letter would
convey the glad intelligence which she pined to receive. Four months was
the limit of her yearly visit to the Chateau de Gramont, and the period
of her stay was rapidly drawing to a close. She wrote that in a few days
her uncle would arrive and take her back to his residence in Bordeaux.
The language in which this communication was made plainly indicated that
she would rejoice at the change. She touched upon the probability of
seein