is nature. Bertha was equally ignorant, but said she would
go and see. Maurice prevented her by going himself.

The room looked as though it had not been entered since the day when he
had packed up his father's clothes to move them to Madeleine's, and that
was more than a fortnight ago. There was some delay in getting a
chambermaid; servants are always busy, yet never to be had in an
American hotel; after several ineffectual attempts, he obtained the
services of an Irish girl; and he induced Adolphine to lend her aid,
that the room might be aired, swept, and put in order more rapidly.
Adolphine was rather a hinderance to the bustling Irish help, for a
Parisian lady's-maid knows one especial business, and knows nothing
else, however simple; she is an instrument that plays but one tune, and
she boasts of her _speciality_ as a virtue. In something more than an
hour Adolphine announced that the apartment of _M. le Comte_ was in
readiness.

Count Tristan was very willing to retire, and after Maurice had played
the valet without assistance, his father seemed disposed to sleep, and
Maurice closed the blinds and sat down quietly until he perceived that
the invalid had fallen into a deep slumber. Henceforth he was to watch
beside him, when watching was needed, alone! Those blessed nights,
shorter and sweeter than the happiest dreams, when he had sat in the
pale light, with that beautiful face beaming opposite to him,--that soft
voice sounding melodiously in his ears,--they were gone, never to
return!

At that very moment Madeleine herself was haunted by the same
reflections. When she drove home alone, and reentered her house, how
desolate and dreary it appeared! How empty and lonely seemed those
apartments so lately occupied by the ones nearest of kin and dearest to
her heart! She wandered through the rooms, up and down, up and down,
with restless feet, pondering upon the singular events of the last few
weeks; she had not before had leisure to dwell upon them. Was it indeed
true that her roof had sheltered Count Tristan de Gramont?--Count
Tristan de Gramont, whose persecutions in other days, had driven her
from his own roof, and whose hatred had embittered and blighted her
life? And had he learned to depend upon her? to love her? To talk to
her, even when his mind wandered, of _gratitude_, as though that emotion
was ever uppermost in her presence? And Maurice, her dear
cousin,--Maurice, the beloved of her soul, who must never