"Yes, you! Have you not sought to fascinate Maurice by every species of wily coquetry? Have you not"—
"Grandmother!" cried Maurice, furiously.
"Be silent, Maurice,—it is Madeleine to whom I am addressing my remarks, and her own conscience tells her their justice."
"Aunt, if ever by word, or look, or thought"—
"Oh! it was all done in the most apparently artless, natural, purposeless manner! But the same end was always kept steadily in view. What I have witnessed this morning convinces me of your aims. Your movements were so skilfully managed that they scarcely seemed open to suspicion. The most specious coquetry has governed all your actions. You were always attired more simply than any one else; but by this very simplicity you thought to render yourself remarkable, and attract a larger share of attention. You always pretended to shun observation, that you might be brought into more positive notice. You affected to avoid Maurice, that he might feel tempted to follow you,—that he might be lured to seek you when you were alone, as you were a moment ago,—that he might"—
Maurice could restrain his ire no longer. He broke forth with vehemence,—"Grandmother, I cannot listen to this injustice. I cannot see Madeleine so cruelly insulted. Were it my mother herself who spoke, I would not stand by and see her trample thus upon an innocent and defenceless heart."
Madeleine turned to Maurice beseechingly. "Do not utter such words to one whom you are bound to address with reverence;—do not, or you will render my sufferings unendurable!"
"Your sufferings?" exclaimed the countess, catching at a word that seemed to imply a reproof, which galled the more because she knew it was deserved. "Your sufferings? That is a fitting expression to drop from your lips! I had the right to believe that, far from causing you suffering, I had put an end to your suffering when I threw open my doors to admit you."
"You misunderstood me, aunt. I did not intend to say"—
"You have said enough to prove that you add ingratitude to your other sins. And, since you talk of sufferings, I will beg you to remember the sufferings you have brought upon us,—you, who, in return for all you have received at my hands, have caused my very grandson to treat me with disrespect, for the first time in his life. Your sufferings? I can well conceive that she who creates so much affliction in the house that has sheltered her,—she who so treacherously pierces the hearts that have opened to yield her a place,—she who has played the viper warmed upon almost a mother's bosom,—she may well have sufferings to wail over!"