on."

Count Tristan returned her salutation, but looked strangely
uncomfortable, as though the atmosphere oppressed and chilled him.

"Dear cousin Tristan, I am so glad to see you better; you will soon be
quite well again," said Bertha, embracing him far more warmly than his
mother had done.

The countess made no allusion to his illness; she preferred wholly to
forget the past.

Maurice led his father to an arm-chair, and asked Bertha to bring a
pillow. Under Madeleine's tuition Maurice had become quite expert in
promoting an invalid's comfort, and yet he now failed to arrange the
pillow satisfactorily. Perhaps his father's chair was not easy, or the
one to which he was accustomed was more commodious, or Maurice was more
clumsy than usual; for though Bertha also lent her aid, the count kept
repeating, fretfully,--

"It's not right,--it does not support my shoulders! You can't do it!
Leave it alone! Leave it alone!"

They desisted, and sat down beside him.

The countess had no faculty of starting conversation, and Bertha's merry
tongue had of late lost its volubility; she had so often irritated her
aunt by her remarks that she had become afraid to speak. Maurice was too
sad to be otherwise than taciturn. Thus the reunited little family sat
in solemn silence. Count Tristan looked around him drearily for a while,
and then having for a moment lost recollection of what had just taken
place, exclaimed disconsolately,--

"Where is Madeleine?"

These unfortunate words roused the countess. She rose up as loftily as
in her proudest, most unchastened days, and approaching him, asked, in a
rebuking voice,--

"For _whom_ do you inquire, my son? Am I to understand that a mother's
presence is not all-sufficient for her own child? Is not hers the place
by his side? If that place has been, for a season, usurped, should he
not rejoice that she to whom it legitimately belongs occupies it once
more?"

The count looked awed, and did not attempt to reply. Maurice perceived
that he must exert himself to shield his father from as much discomfort
as could be warded off, and inquired, without directly addressing either
the countess or Bertha,--

"Is my father's room prepared for him? But I suppose that it is. His
drive must have fatigued him, and I think he would like to retire."

The countess disclaimed any knowledge of the state of the apartment,
signifying that she was not in the habit of occupying herself with
matters of th