ramont would have considered highly improper.

Gaston's visits, though he came every day, were brief and
unsatisfactory; for the countess, who could not forbid them, (as she
felt inclined to do), ordered the large folding-doors which divided her
chamber from the drawing-room to be left open, and desired Adolphine to
take her work into the latter apartment. Conversation in an ordinary
tone was quite audible to the countess, and could not but be heard by
Adolphine, who had a tolerable knowledge of English. What lover cares to
converse to more than one listener?

Bertha pined for the fresh air,--for a drive in the country, or, better
still, a stroll in the capitol grounds with Gaston; but this latter was
a happiness almost as far out of her reach as the paradise which she
deemed it foreshadowed.

The countess had grown highly irascible during her illness, and as
Bertha and her maid were the only ones upon whom she had a chance of
venting her spleen, she spared neither. She experienced a sick longing
for her native land; she more than ever detested the republican country
in which she was sojourning, and she heaped upon Bertha the bitterest
reproaches as the instigator of the exile which had been followed by so
many calamities. The countess never condescended to remember that her
wealthy young relative had liberally borne all expenses since they left
the Chateau de Gramont, where its owners had no longer the means of
residing. Of this fact she might be supposed to be ignorant, as she
never vouchsafed a thought to _money matters_; it, however, had been
made known to her by Count Tristan before she consented to the journey;
but the _trivial circumstance_ was quickly forgotten.

While Bertha was dreamily looking out of the window, and wondering when
she would be freed from this prison-like life, she heard the door open,
and turned quickly, hoping to greet the all-brightening presence. It was
Robert, Madeleine's servant, who entered bearing a silver salver. Bertha
had not supposed that the countess would, without warning, occupy her
usual place in the drawing-room, and had not guarded against Robert's
being seen. The young girl was so much discomposed that she stood
motionless, aghast, expecting some terrible outburst from her aunt.
Robert had admitted the countess at each of her compulsory visits to the
residence of "Mademoiselle Melanie," and it seemed hardly possible that
she would not recognize him again. Bertha ought to