Mrs. Gratacap, after delivering this admonitory sentiment, was returning to the patient when she encountered Bertha, and inquired,—
"Did Mr. Gramont say when he would come back?"
"He did not say; but I think he will be absent for a couple of hours," replied Bertha.
"Oh, if that's the case, I must get a helping hand somewhere. You're a young thing, and, I dare say, strong enough. Come along and help me move the poor dear."
"Willingly," replied Bertha, "if I am only able."
As they entered the count's chamber, Mrs. Gratacap again subdued her voice, and though her words and manner were always of the most positive kind, there was a sort of rude softness (if we may use the contradictory expression) in her mode of instructing Bertha in the service required.
When the count was comfortably placed, she sat down, and Bertha also took a seat.
"I say," commenced Mrs. Gratacap, in a half whisper, "that's the most of a tigress yonder I ever had the luck to come across. Why, she's got no more natural feeling than an oyster,—no more warm blood in her veins than a cauliflower. I wonder how such beings ever get created. Are there many of that sort in the parts you came from?"
"She is very proud," replied Bertha, "and I am afraid there is no lack of pride in France among the noble class to which she belongs."
"Pride! Why, I wonder what she's got to be proud of? She looks as though she couldn't do a thing in life that's worth doing? I like pride well enough! I'm awful proud myself when I've done anything remarkable. But I wonder what that rock yonder ever did in all her born days to be proud of?"