When the fever gradually abated, and consciousness returned to the countess, she lay in a state of half-dreamy exhaustion which precluded the power of thought or the stir of her high passions. It was manifest that she recognized those who moved about her bed, for she now and then addressed Bertha, Maurice, and even Madeleine by name. Madeleine's heart throbbed with joy when she dared to believe that there was no unkindness in Madame de Gramont's tone. Maurice and Bertha had made the same observation and augured future harmony and happiness from the unanticipated change. But their delusion was quickly dispelled, for it soon became apparent that the countess believed herself to be in the Château de Gramont, and that her mind had gone back to a period previous to the one when Madeleine had awakened her displeasure. Either the objects by which she was surrounded had grown familiar to her eyes, or as she beheld them indistinctly in the dim light, imagination lent them olden shapes, for she assuredly fancied herself in her own chamber, in that venerable château to which she had so earnestly longed to return. It was somewhat remarkable that she never mentioned Count Tristan, though she several times spoke of her antiquated femme de chambre, Bettina, and of Baptiste, and desired Madeleine to give them certain orders, just as she would have done in by-gone days.
It was not deemed prudent to make any attempt to banish the hallucination under which she was laboring, and which unavoidable circumstances must gradually disperse.
Maurice received a second letter from Mr. Lorrillard, again urging him to return to Charleston, and apprising him that his services would be particularly valuable at that moment, as he (Mr. Lorrillard) was occupied in preparing to conduct a case of much importance, which needed great care in collecting authorities, and these researches it was the province of Maurice to make.
Maurice placed the letter in Madeleine's hands, less because he needed her counsel than because it was so delightful to feel that he had the right to consult her.
"What do you advise, Madeleine?" he asked, after she had perused it.
"I would have you send the answer you have already concluded to send."
"How do you know that answer?"
"I have read more difficult books than your face, Maurice; besides, there seems to me only one answer which would be advisable. Your grandmother is safe under Bertha's care and mine; she does not absolutely need your presence."
"And nobody else needs it, I am to infer?" retorted Maurice, a little ungenerously.
He deserved that Madeleine should give him no answer, or, at least, one that implied a rebuke; but such women are usually tardy in giving men their ill deserts, and she answered softly, "It will be less hard to part than it has been."