The count's glance at his mother seemed again to ask her permission to allow him to announce that Madeleine was their relative.
"We felt certain that she was one of the magnates"—began the count.
The marchioness interrupted him.
"She is better than that; she has all the magnates of the land—that is the female magnates—at her feet. The foreign ladies swear by her, rave about her; and, as for the Americans, they are demented, and would gladly pave her path with gold,—that being their way of expressing appreciation. Madame Manesca passes whole mornings with her,—Madame Poniatowski talks of no one else. She enchants every one, and offends no one. For myself, I have only one fault to find with her,—I owe her only one grudge; if it had not been for her aid, that impertinent little Mrs. Gilmer would not have had such success in society. If I could succeed in making her close her doors against Mrs. Gilmer, what a satisfaction it would be! Then, and then only, should I be content!"
The count could restrain himself no longer.
"We are highly gratified to hear this, madame. It concerns, us more nearly than you are aware; the lady is not wholly a stranger to us; in fact, she—she"—
"Indeed? she was so little known in Paris that you were fortunate in finding her out. I appreciated her there, but I did not know how much actual credit was due to her, for she had not then risen to her present distinction. I confess she is the one person in America without whom I could not exist."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed the countess.
"And I cannot be grateful enough to her," continued the marchioness, "for her visit this morning, for she never goes out, or, so seldom, that I did not dare to expect, to even hope for her presence; yet her conscientiousness made her come; she suspected that I was in difficulty, and hastened here."