some of the hardnesses of
his own nature were melted away.

Count Tristan had practised deception until he had nearly lost all
belief in the truth and purity of others,--had apparently grown
insensible to all holy influences. Yet the daily contemplation of a
character which bore witness to the existence of the most heavenly
attributes silently undermined his cold scepticism, and tacitly
contradicted and disproved his creed that duplicity and selfishness were
universal characteristics of mankind,--a creed usually adopted by him
who sees his fellow-men in the mirror which reflects his own image.
Madeleine had discovered some small, not yet tightly closed avenue to
Count Tristan's soul. Her toiling, pardoning, helping, holy spirit had
done more to lift him out of the bondage of his evil passions than could
have been affected by any other human agency.

CHAPTER XLVII.

INFLEXIBILITY.

"Oh, you have come at last!" exclaimed the countess, with acrimony, as
Maurice opened the door of his father's chamber. Then, pointing to the
count, who still lay in a state of unconsciousness, she added, "Do you
see what calamities you leave me alone to bear?--you who are the only
stay I have left?"

By the aid of Mrs. Lawkins and the servants of the hotel, the count had
been removed to his room. When Maurice entered, Mrs. Lawkins was
standing on one side of the bed, Dr. Bayard on the other. The countess
was pacing up and down the small chamber like a caged lioness.

Her grandson did not reply to her taunt, but addressed the doctor in a
tone too low for her to hear. His answer was a dubious movement of the
head which augured ill.

Bertha, who chanced to be in her own chamber, writing to her dyspeptic
uncle, had only that moment become aware of what had happened. She stole
into the count's room, pale with terror, crept up to Maurice, and clung
to his arm as she asked, in a frightened tone,--

"Will he die, Maurice? Is it as bad as that?"

"I cannot tell; I have great fears. But see, he is opening his eyes; he
looks better."

The senses of the count were returning; the fit had been of brief
duration, and hardly as violent as the one with which he had before been
attacked. In a short time it was apparent that he was aware of what was
passing around him.

Maurice whispered to Bertha: "Madeleine is in her carriage at the door;
put on your bonnet and run down to her,--you will not be missed. Tell
her that my father is revivin