Madeleine, when she went forth to receive her relative, was much relieved to find her accompanied by Bertha.
Bertha threw herself in Madeleine's arms, whispering, "Is he very ill?"
"Yes, I fear so," answered Madeleine, in too low a voice for the countess to hear. Then turning to Madame de Gramont, she inquired, gently, "Do you wish to go to him at once?"
"For what other purpose have I come?" was the ungracious rejoinder.
Madeleine led the way to the apartment, and motioned Ruth to withdraw.
The countess walked up to the bed with a firm step, as though nerving herself to disbelieve that anything serious was the matter.
"My son!" she said, in a voice somewhat choked, but which expressed confidence that he would immediately reply, "My son! why do you not answer me?"
She took his hand; it remained passive in hers; his eyes still stared vacantly. His mother more tightly grasped the hand she held, shook it a little, and called out to him again in a hoarser tone; but there was no answer.
Bertha burst into tears, and knelt down sobbing by the bed.