Fairy Fingers Part 70

"I think so too," answered Gaston, sorely perplexed; "and yet I must not tell you! Will you not be generous enough to pity me, and ask me no more?"

Bertha only pouted at this appeal; but Gaston must have found some means of soothing her, for, by and by, she said, coquettishly,--

"Of course, I only wanted to know on Madeleine's account and on yours."

"_Mine?_" exclaimed Gaston.

"Yes, _yours_; because if I had discovered who this lover was, I might have given him some valuable hints, and all might come right very quickly; as it is, you may have to wait a long time for a bride."

"I? Why, I am not Mademoiselle Madeleine's lover!"

"No, but you are very dependent upon him. You cannot encircle your bride's finger with a wedding-ring until he pa.s.ses one on the taper finger of his."

"Bertha, that is unreasonable!" remonstrated Gaston.

"All the more womanly! Of course it is unreasonable; I never laid claim to being _reasonable_; but, on the other hand, I am obstinate. When Madeleine names the day for her marriage she names the day for mine."

"But if she should never marry, and that is possible."

"Then _I never shall!_" said Bertha, with a petulant little air of determination which looked only too real.

M. de Bois had no opportunity at that moment to test the effect of his newly-acquired eloquence, for Maurice entered.

"Bertha, will you believe that I have escorted my grandmother home and actually forgotten you? The carriage waits, and I am deputed to see you safely to the hotel."

"Do you suppose I shall accept as an escort one who thought me of too little importance to bear me in mind?" asked Bertha, who was not wanting in feminine tact, that sixth sense of womanhood, which becomes wonderfully quickened when love sharpens the faculties.

Gaston joined in; "My dear fellow, you could scarcely hope to be treated civilly after such a confession. But I will do my utmost to relieve you in this unpleasant predicament. Mademoiselle Bertha refuses you as an escort--but, as she cannot return alone, I will take your place."

"And you may dismiss your carriage," returned Bertha. "I prefer to walk."

"And you really will not let me accompany you?" asked Maurice. "What will my grandmother say?"

"No doubt we shall hear _that_ when we reach the hotel," was the young lady's saucy reply.

But they did _not_ hear; for the countess had closed her door, and did not open it again until she summoned Adolphine to undress her.

The watchers beside Count Tristan that night were Madeleine and Maurice.

The count was somewhat restless and often muttered unintelligible words; but he continued to recognize Madeleine and seemed pleased to have her near him. Maurice did not fall asleep again; he and Madeleine talked, in whispers, the whole night through, with the exception of those brief intervals when the count was awake. The themes of conversation were so abundant, so self-increasing, there was always so much which remained untold, that the topics of interest appeared to be inexhaustible.

Madeleine had given orders that Ruth and Mrs. Lawkins should commence their watch at five o'clock; but she could hardly believe that hour had arrived when the housekeeper entered, followed by Ruth. Maurice declared that he was not in the slightest degree fatigued, or sleepy, and did not need rest; but Madeleine, with smiling imperativeness, ordered him to bed; and certainly Maurice, when he obeyed, slept remarkably sound for a man who was not in the least fatigued or sleepy, and who was inclined to battle against sleep because he could not bear to lose the consciousness of being beneath the same roof as the one so long loved, so long and vainly sought; and because it was a joy inexpressible to lie still and think over all the words she had just uttered, and to picture her face until it seemed actually before him. Yet, in spite of this delightful occupation, inexorable sleep would suddenly fling her mantle over his senses, and even refused to grant him the happiness of continuing his blissful dreams in her own realm.

Maurice sought his grandmother the next morning, at the usual hour, and carried her the tidings that Count Tristan moved his limbs more freely, and that he had even spoken several words which could be comprehended.

She gave no sign of preparing to accompany her grandson, and, after waiting awhile, he asked,--

"Will you and Bertha be ready soon? It is later than usual."

"I shall not go," replied the countess slowly, and as though it cost her a great effort to force out the words.

Maurice made no remonstrance; he well knew that to endeavor to alter a resolution of hers would be a fruitless attempt.

"And you, Bertha?" he inquired.

Bertha looked toward the countess: "Perhaps you would not like me to leave you?"

"_All leave me!_" she almost groaned out. "Why not you?"

"I will stay with my aunt," replied Bertha, without hesitation.

And she remained all day beside the afflicted, but ever haughty, countess. They did not converse, for the latter rarely spoke, even in answer to Bertha's questions, and Bertha could invent no mode of arousing and amusing her.

M. de Bois, not finding Bertha at Madeleine's, came to the hotel; but his presence was obviously very distasteful to the countess. She did not withdraw, she would have suffered martyrdom (as she did) rather than commit the impropriety of leaving Bertha alone with her lover; but she sat with knitted brows, her stony eyes turned scrutinizingly upon them, listening to and pa.s.sing judgment upon every word they uttered, and looking a rebuke if Bertha ventured to smile. The icy chill of such a presence rendered Bertha and Gaston so thoroughly uncomfortable, that the young girl, although she was one of those beings who could hardly bear to live out of the sight of those she loved best, felt relieved when Gaston rose and bade her adieu. His visit had been brief, yet it seemed longer than all the combined hours they had pa.s.sed together during the last three days. The visage of the countess relaxed somewhat after Gaston had gone, but she remained lost in thought without further noticing her niece. Bertha was, at least, spared the nervous unrest produced by those piercing eyes ever upon her.

Unfortunately Bertha's resources for self-diversion were of the most limited description. Hers was a social, a wholly dependent nature; she could not, like Madeleine, create her own amus.e.m.e.nt, and make her own occupation. She tried to read, but could not fix her attention; she tried to embroider, but quickly threw down her work; she could only wander in and out of the room, now watching at the window as though she expected some one; now sitting down and jumping up again; now turning over books and papers, and looking about for something, she did not know what, until she had thrown the room into complete disorder; and certainly her restless flitting backward and forward would have half distracted any one less absorbed than the countess. During one of Bertha's fits of contemplation at the window, she exclaimed,--

"Here comes Maurice, at last! I thought he would never be here!"

"I think my father is decidedly improving," said Maurice, as he entered.

"I feel certain he recognized me to-day, and I thought he attempted to p.r.o.nounce my name."

A faint light gleamed in the eyes of the countess at these words, but it was quenched by those which followed.

"Madeleine, he always seems to know, and he evidently likes to have her near him. His eyes wander after her when she leaves the room, and to-day, I thought he tried to smile when she returned."

"He is better then; it will soon be possible to move him; he can soon have that care which _should_ be most acceptable to every son, and, I trust, has ever been to mine."

The countess made this a.s.sertion proudly, in spite of the deep wound she had received through her son's recognition of Madeleine; she had tried to forget that blow, or to persuade herself that it had not been dealt.

Maurice did not know what answer to make, and remained silent.

"Aunt, you would not think of having cousin Tristan brought here until he is nearly well,--that is, well enough to walk about,--would you?"

asked Bertha; and her accents expressed her disapproval of such an attempt.

"He shall come the very moment that it is possible! Do you suppose that I would submit to his remaining where he is one instant longer than is absolutely necessary?"

No reply to this declaration was needed or expected. Maurice returned to Madeleine's house with a sense of thankfulness that the count's seizure had taken place where it did.

Gaston and the housekeeper were the watchers beside the count that night, taking the places of Madeleine and Maurice at midnight,--this exchange having now become the established rule for alternate nights.

In spite of the iron-like const.i.tution, and iron-like character of the countess,--in spite of her valiant, her desperate struggles,--her strength began to fail under the pressure of her hidden sorrow. She was unwilling to admit that she was subject to bodily any more than to mental infirmities. She belonged to that rare cla.s.s described by the poet when he speaks of one who

"Scarce confesses That his blood flows, or that his appet.i.te Is more to bread than stone."

And though she had been suffering for days from a low nervous fever, neither her words nor actions gave the slightest indication that she was not in her usual health. But, one morning, when she endeavored to rise, her limbs refused to support her,--her head swam,--it was with difficulty that she poured out a gla.s.s of water to cool her parched and burning lips, and she was so fearful of falling (there seemed something positively awful to her in the possibility of _prostration_, perhaps on account of the fall it typified) that she staggered back to bed and there remained.

Neither Bertha's persuasions, nor those of Maurice, could induce her to allow a physician to be summoned. Maurice suggested Dr. Bayard, who was attending Count Tristan, but the countess was even more opposed to him than to any other medical attendant. Was he not aware of her relationship to the _mantua-maker_? Had he not seen Count Tristan recognize that humble and degraded relative when he did not know his own mother?--his own son? No,--she never allowed physicians to approach her; she never had need of them; she had none now, so she affirmed.

Bertha was not particularly well fitted to preside in a sick-room, and her maid, Adolphine, was versed in the arts of the toilet alone. She could have made the most charming cap for an invalid, but would have proved particularly clumsy in smoothing a pillow for the head by which the cap was to be worn. Yet the countess obstinately refused to have a proper attendant engaged. She wanted nothing, she said, except to be left to herself,--not to be disturbed,--not even to be accosted.