her thought fills my mind night and day? He
_must_ be removed from that house. I say _must_, the very instant his
life would not be perilled by the attempt. Better that it should have
been placed in jeopardy than that he should have remained there thus
long."

"We will talk of this when he is more decidedly convalescent," returned
Maurice, perceiving that some generalship must be employed to protect
his father. "I will let you know how he progresses, and we will make all
the necessary arrangements for his change of abode in due season."

The countess was too shrewd not to see through this answer, and she was
quite competent to return Maurice's move by generalship of her own; for,
in the battle of life, it is the tactics of womanhood that oftenest win
the day. She allowed the conversation to drop; and Maurice secretly
rejoiced at her having, as he supposed, yielded the point. He chatted
awhile with Bertha; then his eyes chanced to fall upon the salver which
Madeleine had prepared. It called to mind her request.

"What have you here? Chocolate? Did you find it well made?"

The countess took no notice of the inquiry.

"These are very fine strawberries," persisted Maurice. "Did you enjoy
them? And these cakes,"--he tasted one,--"used to be favorites of
yours."

The countess checked a rising sigh; for her aversion to betraying even a
passing emotion was insuperable. "They reminded me of Brittany," she
said, involuntarily.

"You liked them, then? They are to your taste?" questioned her grandson,
hoping to be able to tell Madeleine that her labors had been rewarded.

But the countess answered coldly,--

"I find very little in this country, even though the object be imported,
which is to my taste."

She did not open her lips again until Maurice was taking his leave. Then
she said,--

"Has your father's physician been to see him to-day?"

"No; he had not come when I left, though it was past his usual hour."

"Let him know that I wish to see him," ordered the countess.

Had Maurice suspected her object he would not have replied so
cordially,--

"I am truly glad that you will accept medical aid at last. You look very
feeble."

The countess considered such a suggestion an insult; and drew herself up
as she replied,--

"You are mistaken. I am far from feeble. Feebleness does not belong to
my race. My strength does not forsake me readily; it will last while I
last. Still you may inform your father's physician th