Maurice perceived his mistake too late. He had not foreseen that the countess would have drawn this conclusion from the intelligence just communicated.
"My dear grandmother, you cannot think of desiring to remove my father at present?"
"Cannot think of it? What other thought fills my mind night and day? He must be removed from that house. I say must, the very instant his life would not be perilled by the attempt. Better that it should have been placed in jeopardy than that he should have remained there thus long."
"We will talk of this when he is more decidedly convalescent," returned Maurice, perceiving that some generalship must be employed to protect his father. "I will let you know how he progresses, and we will make all the necessary arrangements for his change of abode in due season."
The countess was too shrewd not to see through this answer, and she was quite competent to return Maurice's move by generalship of her own; for, in the battle of life, it is the tactics of womanhood that oftenest win the day. She allowed the conversation to drop; and Maurice secretly rejoiced at her having, as he supposed, yielded the point. He chatted awhile with Bertha; then his eyes chanced to fall upon the salver which Madeleine had prepared. It called to mind her request.
"What have you here? Chocolate? Did you find it well made?"
The countess took no notice of the inquiry.
"These are very fine strawberries," persisted Maurice. "Did you enjoy them? And these cakes,"—he tasted one,—"used to be favorites of yours."
The countess checked a rising sigh; for her aversion to betraying even a passing emotion was insuperable. "They reminded me of Brittany," she said, involuntarily.
"You liked them, then? They are to your taste?" questioned her grandson, hoping to be able to tell Madeleine that her labors had been rewarded.