CHAPTER XLIII.
OUTGENERALLED.
Madame de Gramont welcomed Maurice that morning with more animation than she had evinced during her illness. He did not anticipate finding her in the drawing-room; and was even more surprised to see her not in an invalid's déshabille, but dressed for visitors; not reclining, but sitting up almost as stiffly as in the days of her grandeur. He congratulated her upon her convalescence with mingled warmth and astonishment.
"Thank you, I am quite well," she replied; though her colorless lips and wan, sunken face solemnly contradicted the words. "How is your father?" This question was asked apparently with newly-awakened anxiety; for of late she had made no inquiries, but listened in silence to Maurice's daily report, and turned sullenly from him as though he were responsible for its unfavorable nature.
He now answered in an unusually cheerful tone,—
"My father is better, much better, to-day; improving fast, I think."
Some of the old triumphant light flashed out of the countess' black eyes as she ejaculated,—
"Thank God! Then he can be brought here at once!"