Madame de Gramont, losing all control over herself, replied savagely, "If he were stretched there a corpse before me,—he, my only son, the only child I ever bore, the pride of my life,—Madeleine de Gramont should not enter these doors to glory over me! I know her arts; I know the hold she has contrived to obtain over him while he was at her mercy. That is at an end! I have him here, and she shall never come near him more,—neither she nor her accomplices!" and she indicated Mrs. Lawkins by a disdainful motion of the hand, as though she feared her meaning might not be sufficiently clear.
Maurice could not yield without another effort; for he perceived, by his father's countenance, that he not only heard the contest, but appealed to him to grant his unspoken wish.
"This is cruel, my grandmother! It is inhuman! You have nothing to urge against Madeleine, who has too nobly proved her devotion to her family, and her respect for your feelings; but if you had real and just cause of complaint, it should be forgotten at this moment. If my father desires to see her, she should be permitted to come to him."
"Do you presume to dictate to me, Maurice de Gramont? Is this one of the lessons you have learned from the mantua-maker? Do you intend to teach me my duty to my own child? I swear to you that Madeleine de Gramont shall never see my son again, while I live! I, his mother, am by his side,—that is sufficient. No one's presence can supersede that of a mother!"
Maurice saw that contention was fruitless; he sat down in silence, but not without noticing the look of compassion which Mrs. Lawkins bestowed upon him. The count had closed his eyes again, but low groans, almost like stifled sobs, burst at intervals from his lips.
The countess essayed to unbend sufficiently to attempt the task of soothing him.
"My son," she said, in the mildest tone she could command, "do you not know that your mother is near you?"
Without unclosing his eyes, he answered, "Yes."
"And her presence under all circumstances," she continued, "should leave nothing to desire. In spite of what Maurice with so little respect and consideration has attempted to make me believe, I know you too well not to be certain that he did you injustice."
No answer; but the countess interpreted her son's silence into acquiescence with her observation, and remarked to Maurice with asperity,—