Count Tristan's eyes wandered about as though in search of some one; they rested but for one instant upon his mother, Maurice, Mrs. Lawkins, and then glanced around him again with an anxious, yearning expression, and he moaned faintly.
Maurice bent over him. "My dear father, is there anything you desire?"
The count moaned again.
"Is there any one you wish to see?" asked Maurice, determined to take a bold stand.
"Mad—Mad—Madeleine!"
The feeble lips of the sufferer formed the word with difficulty, yet it was clearly spoken.
Maurice turned bravely to the countess. "You hear, my grandmother, that my father wishes to see Madeleine; it is not usual to refuse the requests of one in his perilous condition. With your permission I shall at once seek Madeleine and bring her to him."
"Have you taken leave of your senses?" she asked with tyrannous passion. "Or do you think that I have not borne insults enough, that you strive to invent new ones to heap upon me? How can you mention the name of that miserable girl in my hearing? Has she not occasioned me and all my family sufficient wretchedness? Are you mad enough to imagine that I will allow you to bring her here that she may triumph over me in the face of the whole world?"
"My father asks to see her," returned Maurice, adding, in a lower tone, "and he may be on his death-bed."