Fairy Fingers Part 66

"My father must remain here, for he cannot be removed. I gladly accept my cousin's kind offer, and will remain to watch beside my father.

Bertha and yourself can continue to live at the hotel and visit him as often as you feel inclined."

"Let me go! Let me go! I am suffocating! I stifle in this house!" burst forth the countess, as though she were really choking. "I cannot remain.

Bertha, I want you. Maurice, give me your arm,--let me get away quickly."

Maurice reconducted his grandmother to the hotel, almost without their exchanging a word by the way. Bertha accompanied them, but she walked behind with Gaston de Bois.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

MINISTRATION.

Maurice, exasperated as he was at his grandmother's insolence to his cousin, well knew that any attempt to soothe Madame de Gramont, or even to reconcile her to the inevitable, would be fruitless. Her domineering spirit could not bow itself to be governed, even by the pressure of inexorable circ.u.mstance; she strove to control events by ignoring their existence, and to break the force of her calamity by encasing herself in an iron mail of resistance, which, she thought, no blows could penetrate. This was her state when she hastened to her own chamber, and was about to lock herself in, under the conviction that she could shut out the phantom of misery which seemed to dog her steps.

"I will return this evening, and let you know how my father progresses,"

said Maurice, as she was closing the door.

She reopened it without moving her hand from the silver k.n.o.b. "Then you persist in going back to that house?"

"Would you have me leave my father without a son's care? I shall remain at Madeleine's while it is necessary for my father to stay there."

Maurice spoke with a decision that admitted no argument.

The countess shut her door, and the sound of the turned key was distinctly audible. How she pa.s.sed the succeeding hours no one knew; she was not heard to move; she answered no knock; she took no notice of Bertha's pet.i.tion that her dinner might be brought to her; she was not again seen until the next morning.

There is no proverb truer than the one which suggests that even an ill wind blows some one good. Bertha was the gainer by her aunt's seclusion: she had full liberty, and for a large portion of the time she did not enjoy her freedom _alone_.

Madeleine had been actively employed during the absence of Maurice. Her first step was to send for an upholsterer. Other arrangements followed which quickly converted the drawing-room into a comfortable bed-room.

She herself proposed to take such rest as she found needful upon the sofa in her boudoir.

The upholsterer had arrived, and Madeleine had no little difficulty in making him comprehend her plan of completely shutting off the staircase which led to the exhibition and working rooms above, by means of drapery. She had felt bound thus far to consult the countess' desire for privacy. A separate entrance from the street was out of the question, but the draperies were to be disposed in such a manner that the instant Madame de Gramont and her family pa.s.sed the threshold they were completely secluded.

Madeleine was standing in the hall giving her orders, when Maurice reappeared. Finding her occupied, he pa.s.sed on to his father's chamber.

It was now six o'clock. Dinner was served for three persons. Madeleine summoned her housekeeper and requested her to watch beside Count Tristan while his son dined.

On entering the count's room Madeleine a.s.sured herself that there was no change in the patient's condition, and then said, "Come, Ruth, dinner is served; come, Maurice, if you a.s.sume the office of _garde malade_, I must take care that your strength is not exhausted."

Her cheerfulness dispelled some of the heavy gloom that hung about Maurice, and he rose and followed her. She led the way through the apartment which had been the drawing-room, and pointing to the bed, said,--

"That is for you; this is your bed-chamber."

"Mine? I do not expect to need a bed; I mean to sit up with my father."

"Yes, to-night; but not every night," she added, with playful imperativeness. "I shall not allow _that_, and you see I have taken the reins into my own hands, and show that a little of the de Gramont love of rule has descended to me with its blood."

They entered the dining-room. Maurice was struck by the air of combined simplicity and elegance which characterized all the appointments. The dinner, too, was simple, but well-cooked. Maurice had no appet.i.te at first, but was soon lured to eat,--everything placed before him appeared so inviting. Then, it was delightful to see Madeleine sitting quietly opposite to him, looking even lovelier than she did in those happy, happy, by-gone days in the ancient chateau! Ruth's pretty and pleasant countenance at another time might have been an addition; but we fear that Maurice at that moment, did not appreciate the presence of a very modest and attractive young girl who reflected in her own person not a few of Madeleine's virtues. The repast was of brief duration; but Madeleine was the one who partook of it most sparingly. She enjoyed so much seeing Maurice eat that she could not follow his example.

Maurice and Madeleine returned to Count Tristan's apartment together.

Soon after, Dr. Bayard paid another visit, but expressed no opinion.

Maurice went back to the hotel to keep his promise to his grandmother.

There was no response when he knocked at her door; no reply, though he spoke to her, that she might hear his voice and know who was there.

Bertha and Gaston were sitting together. Albeit the conversation in which they were engaged appeared to be singularly absorbing, the latter said,--

"Do you return immediately to Mademoiselle Madeleine's? If so, I will accompany you; and, as I suppose you will watch beside your father, we will sit up together."

Maurice a.s.sented and they set forth; that is, as soon as Bertha, who detained them, first upon one plea and then upon another, would permit.

But when Madeleine learned Gaston's friendly proposition, she answered, "We shall not need you. Maurice is hardly experienced enough for me to trust him just yet. I intend to sit up to-night; to-morrow night Maurice must rest, at least part of the night, and then, M. de Bois, we will be glad to claim you as a watcher."

There was no appeal from Madeleine's decision. She exerted a mild authority which was too potent for argument.

After Gaston departed, Madeleine, for a brief s.p.a.ce, left Maurice alone with his father. When she stole back to her place at the head of the bed, she was attired in a white cambric wrapper, lightly girded at the waist; a blue shawl of some soft material fell in graceful folds about her form. She had entered with such a soundless step, that when Maurice saw her sitting before him, he started, and his breath grew labored, as though, for a second, he fancied that he gazed upon some unreal shape.

The flowing white drapery, and the delicate azure folds of the shawl helped the illusion, which her musical voice would scarcely have dispelled, but for the sense of reality produced by the words she uttered.

"It is just eleven; that is the hour at which the medicine was to be given."

She took up the cup and administered a spoonful of its contents, before Maurice had quite recovered himself.

The silence which followed did not last long. Madeleine began to question Maurice concerning his life in America, his opinions, his experiences, the people he had known and esteemed; and he responded, in subdued tones, by a long narrative of past events.

It was the first time that Maurice had been called upon to watch beside a bed of sickness, and his was one of those vivacious temperaments to which sleep is so indispensable that an overpowering somnolence will fling its charms about the senses, and bear the spirit away captive, even in the soul's most unwilling moments. Five o'clock had struck when Madeleine perceived that her companion's eyes had grown heavy, and that he was making a desperate struggle to keep them open. With womanly tact she leaned her elbow on the bed, and rested her forehead on her hand, in such a manner that her face was concealed, and thus avoided any further conversation. In less than ten minutes, the sound of clear but regular breathing apprised her that Maurice had fallen asleep.

When she looked up, at first timidly, but soon with security, Maurice was lying back in his arm-chair--his hands were calmly folded together, his head drooped a little to one side, the rich chestnut curls (for his hair had darkened until it no longer resembled Bertha's golden locks) were disordered, and fully revealed his fair, intellectual brow; the pallor of his face rendered more than usually conspicuous the chiselling of his finely-cut features; the calm, half-smiling curve of his handsome mouth gave his whole countenance an expression of placid happiness which it had not worn, of late, in waking hours. Madeleine sat and gazed at him as she could never have gazed when his eyes might have met hers; she gazed until her whole soul flashed into her face; and if Maurice had awakened, and caught but one glimpse of the fervent radiance of that look, he would surely have known her secret.

There is intense fascination to a woman in scanning the face that to her is beyond all others worth perusing, when the soft breath of sleep renders the beloved object unconscious of the eyes bent tenderly upon his features. No check is given to the flood of worshipping love that pours itself out from her soul; then, and perhaps _then only_, in his presence, she allows the tide of pent-up adoration to break down all its natural barriers. However perfect her devotion at other times, there _may_, there always _does_ exist a half-involuntary _reticence_, a secret fear that if even her eyes were to betray the whole wealth of her pa.s.sion, it would not be well with her. Men are const.i.tutionally, unconsciously _ungrateful_; give them abundance of what they covet most and they prize the gift less highly than if its measure were stinted.

And women have an instinct that warns them not to be too lavish. Those women who love most fervently, most deeply, most _internally_, seldom frame the full strength of that love into words, or manifest it in looks even; that is, in the waking presence of the one who holds their entire being captive.

Maurice slept on, though the streets had long since become noisy, and door-bells were ringing, and there was a sound of hammering in the entry (the upholsterer at work), and steps could be distinguished pa.s.sing up and down the stair.

Madeleine, who at one period of her life had been used to night vigils, hardly felt fatigued; but she knew that she must h.o.a.rd her strength if she would have it last to meet prolonged requirements. She touched Maurice softly; but he was not aroused until she had made several efforts to break his slumber. He looked about him in bewilderment, and then at the white-robed figure before him as though it were an apparition.

"It is I, and no ghost," said Madeleine. "The morning has come; go and lie down for a couple of hours to refresh yourself,--I will do the same.

Mrs. Lawkins will stay with your father."

"Have I really been asleep?" asked Maurice, in a tone of mortification.

"Asleep, while you were waking? What a stupid brute I am!"

"Have brutes easy consciences? for that is said to be man's best lullaby. You must consider yourself still subject to my orders. Go and lie down. You shall be called to breakfast at nine o'clock; that will give you two hours' rest. As for me, I shall fall asleep in a few moments."

Maurice yielded.

Madeleine did _not_ fall asleep quite as soon as she predicted; but, after a time, she sank into a refreshing slumber. At nine o'clock the ringing of the alarum she had taken the precaution to set, awoke her.

She stole to Maurice's door, but had to knock several times before she could arouse him; he was again enjoying that blessing which he had lately professed to despise.