"I found them very beautiful," replied Mrs. Walton, "and the likenesses of Maurice are perfect."
"Of Maurice?" was all that Madeleine could say, her agitation increasing every moment.
"Yes, I could not understand the subjects, but his face and form are admirably depicted. You have a true talent for making portraits."
Madeleine could not answer, but as Mrs. Walton glanced at her conscious and troubled countenance, woman's instinct whispered, "It is Maurice whom she loves."
CHAPTER LI.
SEED SOWN.
Once more Count Tristan was convalescent. He could move his limbs with tolerable freedom,—could walk without support, though with slow, uncertain, uneven steps; his articulation was now hardly impaired, though he never spoke except in answer to questions, and then with evident unwillingness. He took little or no notice of what passed around him, but ever seemed brooding over his own misfortunes,—that is, if his mind retained any activity, of which it was not easy to judge.
In another week the month for which Mrs. Gratacap considered herself engaged would expire. That worthy, but voluble and independent person determined that she would not submit to the slight of having due notice of dismissal given her, and therefore herself gave warning that she purposed to take her departure. At the same time she said to Maurice,—