Gustave was grooming a horse as they passed by the stable. He paused in his work to welcome the viscount, and added, in the same breath,—
"Monsieur will find it very dull at the château, now. It does not seem like the same place since Mademoiselle Madeleine left!"
"Have you no idea how she went, Gustave? Some of you surely must know!"
"I know nothing, monsieur. When they told me that Mademoiselle Madeleine was gone, it was as though a thunder-bolt had struck me. I have never felt good for anything since!"
There was too much sincerity, too much feeling in his tone for Maurice to doubt him, or deem further questioning necessary. He walked sadly away, accompanied by Bertha.
Baptiste was busied near the little châlet; he seemed to hover about it constantly of late. He was aware of the return of his young master,—he had bowed to him as he was descending from the carriage. When Bertha and her cousin approached the venerable domestic, his trepidation was too obvious to escape their notice. He was pruning the luxuriant growth of some of the vines Madeleine had planted, and the hand which held his knife shook and committed unintentional havoc among the blossoming branches.
"Baptiste, come in; I have something to talk to you about," said Maurice, entering the châlet with Bertha.
How painfully that pleasant little retreat reminded him of Madeleine! For a moment he was overpowered, and dropped into a chair, covering his eyes with his hands; perhaps because he could not bear the sight of objects which called up such agonizing recollections; perhaps because his eyes were dim with too womanish a moisture.
"Dear Maurice," said Bertha, bending over him compassionately, "if Madeleine only knew how wretched she has made us both, surely she would not forsake us so cruelly."