urned Bertha. "Ah,
uncle, can we not go there at once? We shall certainly find her.
Yes,--we must go. I am tired of Paris,--let us start to-morrow."

"Dresden, my dear!" cried her uncle, in a tone of unmitigated disgust.
"Why, the barbarians would feed us upon _sour kraut_, and give us
pudding before meat! Go to Dresden? Impossible! Not to be thought of!
Paris was a wise move,--we have enjoyed the living amazingly; but trust
ourselves to those tasteless German cooks? We should be poisoned in a
couple of days. Keep cool, my dear, or you will make yourself ill by
getting into such a violent state of excitement just after breakfast.
How do you suppose the important process of digestion can progress
favorably if your blood is agitated in this turbulent manner?"

Bertha was about to answer almost wrathfully, but Maurice interrupted
her.

"_I_ will go, Bertha. Madeleine must be in Dresden. At last she has sent
us a token of her existence, a token of remembrance, thank Heaven!"

"Go! go! go at once!" was Bertha's energetic injunction.

Maurice pressed her hand tightly, and bowing to the marquis, without
attempting to utter another syllable, took his leave, carrying with him
the envelope which bore Madeleine's handwriting.

After having his passport _vised_, he returned to his apartment to make
rapid preparations for starting that evening. Very soon Gaston de Bois
entered, evidently in a state of ill-concealed perturbation.

"Mademoiselle Bertha tells me you are going to Dresden."

"Yes, to seek my cousin. Look at the post-stamp upon that envelope.
Madeleine is in Dresden."

"How can you be sure of that?" asked Gaston.

"She writes from Dresden; can anything be clearer?" returned Maurice,
confidently.

"It is not clear to me that she is there. I wish I could persuade you
against taking this jour--our--ourney."

"That is out of the question, Gaston; so spare yourself the trouble of
the attempt."

"But the journey will be use--use--useless," persisted M. de Bois.

"How can you know that?" inquired Maurice, quickly.

"I think so; it is my impression, my conviction."

"It is not mine, and nothing can prevent my making the experiment,"
answered Maurice, decidedly.

Gaston looked as thoroughly vexed as though he were responsible for the
rash actions of his friend; but he knew that Maurice was inflexible
where Madeleine was concerned, and that all entreaties would be thrown
away unless he could sustain them by som