"You have uttered my very thought," returned Maurice. "It is less hard to part now that we know how closely we are linked,—now that separation cannot any longer disunite, and love's assurance has taken the place of doubt and anguish. Were we less to each other in spirit, we should feel the material space that can divide us more,—is it not so?"
If Maurice expected any answer, he was forced to be contented with the one which, according to the proverb, gives consent through silence.
It was needful to prepare the countess for his departure. Maurice went to her chamber, and, after a few inquiries concerning her health, to which she hardly replied, said,—
"I am truly grieved that I am forced to leave you, my dear grandmother. I am summoned away by urgent business."
At that last word her brows were slightly knitted, and she murmured contemptuously, "Business" as though the expression awakened some old train of painful recollection.
"If it were not needful for me to go," continued Maurice, "I would not leave you; but you have the tender and skilful care of Madeleine and Bertha, and I shall be able to return to you at any moment that you may require me."
"Where are you going?" asked the countess, but hardly in a tone of interest.
"To Charleston."
"Charleston!" she repeated with a startled, troubled look, "Paris,—you mean Paris?"