"Different! What is the difference?" persisted Maurice.
"There is none that I can discover. Both are equally near of kin,—both my cousins,—both second cousins, or third cousins, some people would call them; the one is kin through my grandmother, the other through my grandfather. What can be the difference?"
"My will makes the difference!" answered the countess, in a severe tone. "Is not that sufficient?"
"It ought to be so, Maurice," Madeleine interposed, without appearing to be either wounded or surprised at her aunt's manner. "If not, I must add my will to my aunt's." Then, as though in haste to change the subject, she said, extending her hand, "I am very, very glad to see you, Maurice."
"You have not changed as much as my pretty Bertha here," remarked Maurice. "She has gained a great deal in the last year. But you, Madeleine, look a little paler than ever, and a little thinner than you were. I fear it is because you still keep that candle burning which last year I used to notice at your window when I returned from balls long after midnight. You will destroy your health."
"There is no danger of that," answered Madeleine, gayly. "I am in most unpoetically robust health. I am never ailing for an hour."
"Never ailing and never weary," joined in Bertha. "That is, she never complains, and never admits she is tired. She would make us believe that her constitution is a compound of iron and India-rubber."
Maurice took a small jewel-case from his pocket, and, preparing to open it, said, "Nobody has yet asked why I am here one fortnight before I was expected. Has curiosity suddenly died out of the venerable Château de Gramont, that none of the ladies who honor its ancient walls by their presence care to know?"
"We all care!" exclaimed Bertha.