He descended the stair with slower steps than was his wont when on his way to Madeleine. Bertha was still sitting in the carriage beside her cousin. Maurice read anxious expectation, mingled with some faint hope, in Madeleine's countenance. He entered the carriage before he ventured to speak.
"Your father, Maurice?" she asked eagerly.
"I think he is better; the attack does not appear as severe as the former one must have been."
"Did you speak to your grandmother of me? Did you plead for me, and entreat that she would allow me to go to Count Tristan?"
"She is not to be moved, Madeleine; she is implacable."
"But if your father should desire to see me?" persisted Madeleine.
"He did desire,—he even asked for you,—but my grandmother was inflexible."
"Maurice, I must,—must go to him, if he wishes to see me. I understand his wants so well,—I must, must go to him! Madame de Gramont may treat me as she will; but if he wants me, I must go to him!"
Madeleine was so carried away by her strong impulse to reach one to whom she knew her presence was essential, that she was less reasonable than usual, and it was with some difficulty that Maurice pacified her. But to resign herself to the inevitable, however hard, was one of the first duties of her life, and after awhile her composure was partially restored, and, bidding Bertha and Maurice adieu, she drove home.