"You were present when my dying father placed Madeleine's hand in mine,—do not interrupt me, I entreat! Madeleine and I have loved each other from our infancy; she has rejected me solely that she might not cause grief to you and my father; he has given her to me,—he bade you love her; will you not give her to me also?"
"Never!" answered the countess; and though the tone was low it was steady and resolute.
Maurice went on, disregarding her reply. "I will return with you to Brittany on the condition that she accompanies us, as my affianced bride, or as my wife. You have lived beneath Madeleine's roof; my father died there; gratitude, if nothing else, should bind us to her. Can you urge any reasonable objection to her going with us to Brittany, and as my wife?"
The countess was roused. "Would you have me show my runaway niece to the world? Would you have me publicly patronize, associate with, caress the mantua-maker, in my own land, before my own kin? Never!"
"Then," returned Maurice, resolutely, "I do not return with you to Brittany. Bertha may do so, and you will, doubtless, have the escort of M. de Bois; but if you renounce Madeleine, you renounce me! Madeleine will not become my wife without your consent,—I do not conceal that from you; but I remain in this land, where she will continue to dwell. If you so wholly disregard my father's last wishes, you cannot hope that I can forget them, or that I can feel as bound to you as though they had been respected. If your decision is final, I will not urge you further."
"It is final!" was the laconic answer.
"And so is mine!" replied Maurice, rising. Without longer parley he left the room.
At this crisis, the conduct of M. de Bois threatened to give a new turn to events. We have had abundant proof of his gratitude and unwavering devotion to Madeleine. His aversion to the countess had increased with her persecution of her defenceless niece, and when the inexorable lady remained unmoved by the dying prayer of her son, and refused to sanction Madeleine's union with Maurice, M. de Bois's detestation culminated. He was inspired with an earnest desire to stretch out his arm to shield and aid Madeleine, and humble her oppressor; but an effectual method of accomplishing this act of justice did not present itself to him until Maurice communicated the result of his last interview; then Gaston conceived the project of following up that masterly move with another which would give it force. If he could only have counted upon Bertha as an ally he would have been confident of the success of his plan; but he knew that Bertha's timidity—say, rather, her cowardice—was insuperable, and she held her aunt in too much awe to dare to take any decided stand. M. de Bois called all his energies into play to influence the weak medium he was compelled to employ.
Madeleine was occupied in a different part of the house when Maurice, finding Gaston and Bertha in the boudoir, told them the result of his interview with Madame de Gramont. By and by Gaston lured Bertha into the garden. They made one or two turns in silence; Bertha looked up wistfully into her lover's face, and said, in a tone of reproach,—
"How silent you seem to-day!"