Fairy Fingers Part 88

"My son," said his mother, raising her voice as she now always did when she spoke to him, seeming to imagine that by this means she could make him comprehend better. He was not, however, in the least afflicted with deafness, and the loud tone was more likely to startle him than to calm the perturbation which was usually apparent when she addressed him. "My son, you are to take your airing this morning without me. You understand that this will be your _last_ drive in this detestable city. You perfectly comprehend, I hope, that you leave here to-morrow; and before long we shall be safely within the time-honored walls of the old chateau which we ought never to have left."

The proposed change had been so constantly impressed upon the count's mind by his mother that he seemed, at times, to be thoroughly aware of it; yet at others the recollection faded from his memory. At first, when the voyage was mentioned, he would remonstrate in a piteous, feeble, fretful way, declaring that he would not go; but of late he had appeared to yield to the potency of Madame de Gramont's will.

Maurice offered his arm to the count and they left the room. As the door closed after them, Count Tristan turned, as though to a.s.sure himself that it was shut, then looked at Maurice significantly and nodded his head, while a smile brightened his countenance. It was so long since Maurice had seen him smile that even that strange, half-wild, inexplicable kindling up of the wan face was pleasant to behold. As they descended the stair, the count looked back several times, and gave furtive glances around him, smiling more and more; then he rubbed his hands and chuckled as though at some idea which he could not yet communicate. At the carriage-door he paused again, and again looked all around, continuing to rub his hands, then fairly laughed out. Maurice began to be alarmed at this unaccountable mirth. They entered the carriage and the coachman drove in the usual direction; but the count exclaimed impatiently,--

"No--no--that's not the way! stop him! stop him!"

Maurice, at a loss to comprehend his father's wishes, did not immediately comply with his request, and the count, with unusual energy, himself caught at the check-cord and pulled it vehemently.

"This is not the way,--not the way to _Madeleine's_!"

Then Maurice comprehended his father's exultation; he had conceived the project of visiting Madeleine! But what was to be done? The countess would be enraged if she discovered Count Tristan had seen Madeleine; and the agitation caused by the interview might prove harmful to him. Yet would it not do him more injury to thwart his wishes? And would it not be depriving Madeleine of an inestimable joy?

The count grew impatient; he shouted out, in a clearer tone than he had been able to use since his first seizure, "To Madeleine's! To Madeleine's, I say! I _will_ see Madeleine!"

Maurice hesitated no longer and gave the order. His father's agitation was, every moment, on the increase, though it was now of the most pleasurable nature; he gave vent to little bursts of triumphant laughter, muttering to himself, "I shall see her! I knew I should see her again!"

"My dear father, you will endeavor to be calm,--will you not? I am fearful this excitement will injure you, and my grandmother will never forgive me if you become worse through my imprudence. She must not know that we have been to Madeleine's. It would render her uselessly indignant; but Madeleine will be so overjoyed to see you once more that I could not refuse to comply with your wishes."

The count murmured to himself, rather than replied to his son,--

"Good angel! My good angel! We are going to her! We are very near--there! that's the house yonder. I'd know it among a thousand!

Maurice, I'm well! I'm strong! I want nothing now but to see Madeleine!

It's all right--is it not? She settled about that mortgage--she obtained us those votes--there's no more trouble! n.o.body knows what a scoundrel I have been! I remember all clearly. I am very joyful; I must tell Madeleine; I must say to her that she--she--she brought something of heaven down to me; there must _be_ a heaven, for where else could Madeleine belong?"

Maurice had not heard his father speak as much or as connectedly for a month. His face was pleasantly animated, in spite of its unnatural expression, and he moved his arms about so freely it was evident the weight which had pressed with paralyzing force upon them was removed.

The carriage stopped. Maurice could scarcely prevent his father from springing out before him and without a.s.sistance.

The silent Robert looked his surprise and gratification as he opened the street door. While Maurice was inquiring where his mistress would be found, Count Tristan pressed on alone, walking with a firm, rapid step.

He entered the first room. It was Madeleine's bed-chamber; the one he himself had occupied during his illness. It was vacant. He pa.s.sed on, crying out,--

"Madeleine! Madeleine!" He looked into the drawing-room, then into the dining-room, still calling, "Madeleine! Madeleine!"

He hurried on toward the well-remembered little boudoir. There Madeleine was sitting at her desk, quietly sketching. When, to her amazement, she heard the count's voice, she thought it was fancy; but the sound was repeated again and again. Those were surely his tones! She started up and opened the door. Count Tristan was standing only a few paces from it,--Maurice behind him.

"Madeleine! Madeleine! I see you. I am happy. I can die now."

As these words burst from his lips, the count staggered forward and sank on Madeleine's shoulder; for she had involuntarily stretched out her arms toward him. The next instant he slipped through them and dropped heavily upon the floor. One glance at his distorted face, and at the foam issuing from his lips, one sound of that stertorous breathing was enough. Maurice and Madeleine knew that he had been struck with apoplexy for the third time!

Maurice and Robert carried him to the bed he had before occupied; and Madeleine sent for Dr. Bayard in all haste.

The count lay quite still, save for that heavy breathing and the convulsive motion of his features. Madeleine and Maurice stood beside him in silence, with hands interlocked.

Dr. Bayard arrived, looked at the patient, shook his head, and, turning to Maurice, said, in a low tone,--

"There is nothing to be done."

"But see," answered Maurice, clinging to a faint hope, "he is getting over it,--he seems better."

"It is the third stroke," replied the doctor, significantly, as he was leaving the room.

Madeleine heard these words, though they were spoken in an undertone, and she followed Maurice and the physician from the apartment.

"Do you mean," she inquired of the physician, in accents of deep sorrow, "it is _impossible_ for Count Tristan to recover from this shock?"

"My dear young lady, I am unwilling to say that anything is _impossible_. The longer a physician practises, the more he realizes that we cannot judge of _possibilities_; but, in my experience, I have never known a case of apoplexy that survived the third stroke."

"He will die, then? Oh, will he die?"

"His life, for the last two months, has been a living death," replied the physician, kindly. "Could you wish to prolong such an existence?"

The doctor took his leave, promising to return, but frankly avowing that his presence was needless. As soon as he had gone, Madeleine said to Maurice, who appeared to be so much stunned by this new blow that he was incapable of reflection,--

"Your poor grandmother,--O Maurice, what a terrible task lies before you! You will have to break this news to her. She must want to see him once more, and he may not linger long. You have not a moment to lose."

"I feel as though I could not go to her," answered Maurice. "What good can she do here? She will only insult you again; and, if my father should revive, her words may render his last moments wretched. Let him die in peace."

Madeleine replied,--

"She may be softened by the presence of the angel of death. She may long to hear one parting word of tenderness from his lips, and utter one in return. Go, I beseech you! Go and bring her!"

And Maurice went.

CHAPTER LV.

AMEN.

Maurice, when he opened the door of his grandmother's drawing-room, found the apartment vacant. The countess was still in her own chamber issuing orders to the bewildered Adolphine, whose packing process advanced but indifferently. Bertha had retired to her room. Maurice pa.s.sed into his father's apartment, where Mrs. Gratacap sat knitting, and, in a few words, told her what had occurred.

"Poor dear!" cried the compa.s.sionate nurse. "I feared it would be so. I saw it coming this last week; and a third stroke is a death-knell--that's certain! But it will be a blessed escape for the poor dear; so don't take on, Mr. Morris" (this was her nearest approach to saying "_Maurice_"). "You'll need all your spirit to get along with the old lady; though, if she were the north pole itself, I should think this blow would break up her ice."

"Will you have the goodness to desire my cousin to come here? I had better tell her first," said Maurice.

Mrs. Gratacap withdrew and quickly returned accompanied by Bertha who was trembling with alarm; for the messenger had lost no time in making the sad communication.

"I cannot tell my grandmother, Bertha, in the presence of Adolphine.

Will you not beg your aunt to come to me in the drawing-room?" said Maurice.

Bertha had scarcely courage to obey, she had such a dread of witnessing the countess's agitation; for she felt certain it would take the form of anger against Madeleine and Maurice. With hesitating steps the young girl entered the apartment where the countess sat. She had been much irritated by Adolphine's stupidity, and cried out,--

"Positively, Bertha, this maid of yours has been totally spoiled by her residence in this barbarous country. She is worth nothing; she has no head; and she even presumes to offer her advice and suggest what would be the best mode of packing this or that! It is fortunate for us that this is our last day in this odious city, and that we shall soon be on our way back to Brittany. But Adolphine is completely ruined; there is no tolerating her."

"I am very sorry," said Bertha, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.