Fairy Fingers Part 72

"We will talk of this when he is more decidedly convalescent," returned Maurice, perceiving that some generalship must be employed to protect his father. "I will let you know how he progresses, and we will make all the necessary arrangements for his change of abode in due season."

The countess was too shrewd not to see through this answer, and she was quite competent to return Maurice's move by generalship of her own; for, in the battle of life, it is the tactics of womanhood that oftenest win the day. She allowed the conversation to drop; and Maurice secretly rejoiced at her having, as he supposed, yielded the point. He chatted awhile with Bertha; then his eyes chanced to fall upon the salver which Madeleine had prepared. It called to mind her request.

"What have you here? Chocolate? Did you find it well made?"

The countess took no notice of the inquiry.

"These are very fine strawberries," persisted Maurice. "Did you enjoy them? And these cakes,"--he tasted one,--"used to be favorites of yours."

The countess checked a rising sigh; for her aversion to betraying even a pa.s.sing emotion was insuperable. "They reminded me of Brittany," she said, involuntarily.

"You liked them, then? They are to your taste?" questioned her grandson, hoping to be able to tell Madeleine that her labors had been rewarded.

But the countess answered coldly,--

"I find very little in this country, even though the object be imported, which is to my taste."

She did not open her lips again until Maurice was taking his leave. Then she said,--

"Has your father's physician been to see him to-day?"

"No; he had not come when I left, though it was past his usual hour."

"Let him know that I wish to see him," ordered the countess.

Had Maurice suspected her object he would not have replied so cordially,--

"I am truly glad that you will accept medical aid at last. You look very feeble."

The countess considered such a suggestion an insult; and drew herself up as she replied,--

"You are mistaken. I am far from feeble. Feebleness does not belong to my race. My strength does not forsake me readily; it will last while I last. Still you may inform your father's physician that I desire to see him."

"I will send him to you at once. You shall certainly see him to-day."

"Thank you."

These two words were spoken dryly by the countess, and with an emphasis which might have struck Maurice and caused him to suspect her intentions and possibly to frustrate them, had he not been so thoroughly convinced that her own state required medical care, and had he not known that her stoical fort.i.tude made it easier for her to suffer than to admit that she _could_ suffer.

Maurice found Madeleine where he had left her. The count had just awakened, much refreshed. He was softly stroking her head and saying with the same indistinct utterance, "Good angel! good angel!"

At the sight of Maurice the old troubled look pa.s.sed again over his face, and he whispered hoa.r.s.ely,--

"He shall never know. Never, never let him know. It would kill me! kill me!"

Maurice had told Madeleine how much better he had found his grandmother, and was giving her the gratifying intelligence that Madame de Gramont had said the cakes reminded her of Brittany (the highest praise possible for her to bestow on anything), when the doctor entered.

His patient, he said, had made marvellous progress; but that was owing, in a great measure, to admirable nursing; and he nodded approvingly to Madeleine.

"If physicians had only at their disposal a train of well-informed, efficient, conscientious nurses to distribute among their patients, medical services might be of some use in the world; but, as it is, we might make a new application of the old proverb, that G.o.d sends us dinners, and the devil sends us cooks who make the dinners valueless; a physician gives his orders and prescriptions, and a careless nurse renders them null."

Dr. Bayard was not a man who dealt in compliments, even in a modified form; he was sagacious, abrupt, straightforward, and at times spoke his mind rather sharply. He had been impressed by Madeleine's unremitting care of his patient, and, in declaring that the count's convalescence was, in a large degree, due to her prudence and vigilance, he simply said what he thought.

"I am glad to see you have removed your charge to this room," he continued. "Change of scene and of air is always good, when practicable.

I recommend a short drive to-morrow. I never keep an invalid imprisoned one hour longer than is necessary."

Maurice delivered his grandmother's message; and Dr. Bayard promised to call upon her before his return home. The claims upon his time, however, were so numerous that it was evening before he reached Brown's hotel.

The countess would not, even to herself have admitted that she could be subject to such an unaristocratic sensation as impatience; but we are unable to hit upon any other word to express the state of unquiet anxiety with which she awaited his coming.

He was announced at last.

At that hour in the day, it was not unnatural for Dr. Bayard to be in a great hurry to get home to his dinner; and consequently his manners were even more blunt and informal than usual. Without losing a minute, he took a seat in front of the lady whom he supposed to be his patient, looked scrutinizingly into her face and said,--

"Well, and what's the matter? A touch of fever, I suspect. We shall soon bring that under."

Without further ceremony he placed his fingers on her wrist.

The countess drew her hand away, as though something loathsome had dared to pollute her; and the bright red fever spot on either cheek deepened into the crimson of wrath.

"Sir, I am perfectly well. I did not send for you to ask your advice concerning myself."

Dr. Bayard drew back his chair an inch or two, but made no apology.

"I am the mother of Count Tristan de Gramont whom you are attending."

Dr. Bayard bowed.

"I hear that he is much better."

"Much better," was the physician's laconic reply.

"It would no longer be dangerous for him to be removed from his present most unfit abode," the countess a.s.serted rather than interrogated.

Dr. Bayard, in answering the queries of patients, or those of their families, did not follow the practice of physicians in general, but adhered to the exact truth. He replied, "It would not be dangerous, madame, but it would be unwise,--confounded folly, I might say. He is very comfortable where he is, and he has capital care. I do not believe there is such another nurse as Mademoiselle Melanie in Christendom."

If fiery arrows ever flash from human eyes, as some who have felt their wound declare they do, such darts flew fast and thick from the eyes of the countess as she regarded him.

"Sir, it is not a question of nurses. A mother is the fittest person to watch beside her son."

Dr. Bayard differed with her, but did not give her the benefit of his private opinion.

"As Count Tristan is in a state to be removed, I will give orders to have him brought here to-morrow. I suppose it is too late to-night?"

observed the countess.

"I have already said that I do not see the necessity of his being moved at all, until he is perfectly restored," persisted the doctor.

"It is enough that I see it!" remarked the countess, frigidly. "I believe my inquiries only extended to asking your medical opinion as to the _danger_ not the _propriety_ of moving my son."