Maurice was gazing in dumb anguish upon his father's altered face, and, though no tears moistened his eyes, his frame shook with emotion far more painful to man than weeping is to woman.
"You will see to his immediate removal," repeated his grandmother, authoritatively, finding that he did not notice her request.
"That cannot be done with safety, I feel certain," answered Maurice.
"But he cannot remain here," persisted the countess. "He must be taken to the hotel, where I can watch by him."
"You would not have the attempt made at the risk of his life?" remarked Maurice, with more sternness than he intended.
Madeleine gently interposed.
"Dr. Bayard, the physician who was called in, promised to return in a couple of hours: he must be here shortly: will it not be best to ask his opinion? And if he says Count Tristan cannot yet be removed with safety, I entreat, madame, that you will allow me to place this suite of apartments at your disposal and his. They are wholly disconnected with the rest of the house, and you can be as private as you desire."
"Do you expect me to remain under this roof? Your roof? Do you imagine that I will allow my son to remain here, even in his present condition? Oh, this is too much! This would be more terrible than all the rest! I could not humble myself to endure that!"
The countess spoke in a perfect agony of mortification.