The Countess de Gramont had resolved, at least, to postpone a meeting she might not be able wholly to prevent. She formed her plans so dexterously that Bertha was chained to her side, fretting through the tedious hours, yet powerless to secure a moment's freedom.
Exasperation caused Bertha sleepless nights; and on the third morning she rose with the sun, summoned her maid, sent for a carriage, and was on her way to Madeleine's residence some three hours before it was likely that the slumbers of the countess would be broken.
Madeleine was preparing for her matinal walk, when her cousin was announced.
After the first joyous greetings were over, Bertha said, with tender delight,—
"And now that I have found you, my own Madeleine, I mean to come to see you every day."
Madeleine shook her head sadly. "Madame de Gramont will never permit that."
"How can she help it if I choose to order all my dresses made here? The choice and discussion of becoming attire shall occupy as much of my time as it does of Madame de Fleury's. I mean to become her rival and almost ruin myself in splendid toilets,—that is, unless you accept my proposition."
"What proposition, Bertha?"
"To give up your—your—your—What shall I call it? Your occupation,—your vocation,—I have a great mind to say your 'trade,' that the word may shock you. Live with me; travel with me; go where I go. Will you not consent?"
"No," answered Madeleine, gently, but resolutely.