asing herself in
an iron mail of resistance, which, she thought, no blows could
penetrate. This was her state when she hastened to her own chamber, and
was about to lock herself in, under the conviction that she could shut
out the phantom of misery which seemed to dog her steps.

"I will return this evening, and let you know how my father progresses,"
said Maurice, as she was closing the door.

She reopened it without moving her hand from the silver knob. "Then you
persist in going back to that house?"

"Would you have me leave my father without a son's care? I shall remain
at Madeleine's while it is necessary for my father to stay there."

Maurice spoke with a decision that admitted no argument.

The countess shut her door, and the sound of the turned key was
distinctly audible. How she passed the succeeding hours no one knew; she
was not heard to move; she answered no knock; she took no notice of
Bertha's petition that her dinner might be brought to her; she was not
again seen until the next morning.

There is no proverb truer than the one which suggests that even an ill
wind blows some one good. Bertha was the gainer by her aunt's seclusion:
she had full liberty, and for a large portion of the time she did not
enjoy her freedom _alone_.

Madeleine had been actively employed during the absence of Maurice. Her
first step was to send for an upholsterer. Other arrangements followed
which quickly converted the drawing-room into a comfortable bed-room.
She herself proposed to take such rest as she found needful upon the
sofa in her boudoir.

The upholsterer had arrived, and Madeleine had no little difficulty in
making him comprehend her plan of completely shutting off the staircase
which led to the exhibition and working rooms above, by means of
drapery. She had felt bound thus far to consult the countess' desire for
privacy. A separate entrance from the street was out of the question,
but the draperies were to be disposed in such a manner that the instant
Madame de Gramont and her family passed the threshold they were
completely secluded.

Madeleine was standing in the hall giving her orders, when Maurice
reappeared. Finding her occupied, he passed on to his father's chamber.

It was now six o'clock. Dinner was served for three persons. Madeleine
summoned her housekeeper and requested her to watch beside Count Tristan
while his son dined.

On entering the count's room Madeleine assured herself that there was