followed by others, and Mrs. Walton
proved how little she dreaded the countess by inviting Bertha to dine
with her.

"I shall be delighted to go," said Bertha, "that is, if my aunt does not
object."

"Rather tardily remembered," answered the countess, with acerbity.

"Better late than never," retorted Bertha, gayly; "so, my dear aunt, you
will not say 'No.'"

The countess would gladly have found some reason for refusing, but none
presented itself, and Bertha was sufficiently self-willed to dispute her
authority; it was therefore impolitic to make an open objection.

M. de Bois also received an invitation. Maurice and Madeleine joined
the little circle in the evening,--a delightful surprise to Bertha and
Gaston. This was the first evening that Madeleine had passed out of her
own dwelling during her residence in America. She had necessarily
renounced society when she adopted a vocation incompatible with her
legitimate social position; but, on this occasion, she could not resist
Mrs. Walton's persuasions, and perhaps the promptings of her own
inclination.

Once more Madeleine's vocal powers were called into requisition. She was
ever ready to contribute her _mite_ (so she termed it) toward the
general entertainment, and she would have despised the petty affectation
of pretended reluctance to draw forth entreaty, or give value to her
performance. Her voice had never sounded more touchingly, mournfully
pathetic, and her listeners hung entranced upon the sounds. Maurice
drank in every tone, and never moved his eyes from her face; but when
the soft cadences sank in silence, what a look of anguish passed over
his manly features, and told that the sharp bayonet of his life-sorrow
pierced him anew. He turned involuntarily toward Mrs. Walton, and met a
look of sympathy not wholly powerless to soothe.

Mr. Walton was loud in his praises of Madeleine's vocalization; he had a
courtier's felicity in expressing admiration, never more genuine than on
the present occasion.

"We must not be so ungrateful as to forget to offer Mademoiselle de
Gramont the only return in our power, however far it may fall short of
what she merits," said he; "the 'Don' here, does not sing; he is not a
poet even, except in soul, and all his inspirations flow through his
brush; but he interprets poets with an art which I think is hardly less
valuable than the poet's own divine afflatus."

Madeleine, delighted, seized upon the suggestion, and solicited