An hour passed and the countess did not return to her son's bedside. Maurice, at Madeleine's suggestion, ventured to intrude upon her. She appeared to be lost in a deep revery, and did not raise her eyes at his approach.
"I fear you are not well, my grandmother; will you not allow me to conduct you home?"
"I am well," she answered bitterly, "but I will go. My presence is of no use here; my own son ignores it!"
She spoke as though the invalid had refused to recognize her for the express purpose of adding a fresh insult to those which an evil fortune, a malicious chance (to use her own expressions), had heaped upon her head.
Without again visiting her son's chamber, she entered the carriage which Maurice had ordered; he took his seat opposite to her, and neither remembered, until they entered the hotel, that Bertha was left behind.
"I was thinking so much of my poor father that I quite forgot Bertha," he said, apologetically. "I will return for her at once."
"Yes, go, go!" was all the countess replied.