The beau monde had decided that as Mademoiselle de Gramont's family had claimed her, she would unhesitatingly abandon her humble occupation, and assume her legitimate position in the social sphere; and great were the lamentations over the noble couturière's supposed abdication of her throne.
The next question to be settled was whether her former patrons should recognize and visit her as an equal, ignoring their previous acquaintance. Madame de Fleury was the first to reply to that query. We will not make ourselves responsible for the assertion that she was prompted by purely disinterested motives, and the unqualified admiration with which Mademoiselle Melanie had long since inspired her. It is just possible that other incentives had their weight in her light head, and that believing herself about to be deprived of the inventive genius which had rendered her toilet the glory and delight of her life, she might have determined to preserve Mademoiselle Melanie's friendship that she might secure her advice on all important occasions. Be that as it may, Madame de Fleury immediately left cards for Mademoiselle de Gramont, and her example was followed by the Countess Orlowski, and a host of other ladies, who conscientiously walked in her footsteps.
The morning of the third day after Count Tristan's seizure passed much in the same manner as the second. Maurice conducted his grandmother and Bertha to Madeleine's residence. The countess was as silent, as frigid, as immovable as before. She took the same seat, kept the same unbent position, appeared to be as completely abstracted from what was passing around her, as on the day previous. Madeleine absented herself, and Bertha soon stole to her side. M. de Bois, whose vigils, it appeared, had not fatigued him sufficiently for extra repose to be requisite, joined them at an early hour.
About noon, Maurice hastily entered Madeleine's boudoir and said, "I think there is some change in my father; his face is much paler and his eyes appear to be wandering about with a faint sign of consciousness; the motion of his right hand is restored, for he has lifted it several times. Pray come to him, Madeleine."
"I only banished myself in the fear that my presence would not be agreeable to the countess," replied Madeleine. "Do you think it will not now pain her to see me?"
"I cannot tell, but you must come."
Madeleine obeyed.
The countess had risen and was bending over the bed.
"My son! Tristan, my son! do you not hear your mother?" she cried, in a hollow, unnatural voice.
His eyes still gazed restlessly about, with a helpless, hopeless, supplicating look.