A SHOCK.
Count Tristan, on reaching Madeleine's residence was ushered into her
boudoir. He found her reclining upon the sofa, with a book in her hand.
She had not entirely recovered from her indisposition, and wisely
thought that one of the most effectual modes of battling against illness
was to divert the mind: an invaluable medicine, too little in vogue
among the suffering, yet calculated to produce marvellous amelioration
of physical pain. As all _matter_ exists from, and is influenced by,
spiritual causes, the happy workings of this mental ministry are very
comprehensible. Madeleine invariably found medicinal and restorative
properties in the pages of an interesting and healthful-toned volume
which would draw her out of the contemplation of her own ailments. She
had trained herself, when the prostration of her faculties or other
circumstances rendered it impossible for her to read, to lie still and
reflect upon all the blessings that were accorded to her, to count them
over, one by one, and _compel_ herself to estimate each at its full
value. In this manner she successfully counteracted the depression and
unrest that attend bodily disease, and often succeeded in lifting her
mind so far above its disordered mortal medium that she was hardly
conscious of suffering, which was nevertheless very real. Sceptical
reader! you smile in doubt, and think that if Madeleine's wisdom and
patience could accomplish this feat, she was a rare instance of
womanhood. Try her experiment faithfully and then decide!
Madeleine only partially rose when Count Tristan entered.
"My dear niece,--my dearest Madeleine,--I hope you are not ill?"
Although the count spoke with an air of exaggerated affection, his
manner was far more self-possessed than when he left the hotel. The
fresh air had revived him. Madeleine was not struck by any singularity
in his deportment.
"Not exactly ill, yet not quite well," she answered, without pretending
to respond to his oppressive tenderness; "and I was trying to forget
myself."
"That was always your way, Madeleine; you are always forgetting yourself
and remembering others. I always said so. I always appreciated your
beautiful traits. The time has come when your whole family will
appreciate them, and rejoice that you are restored to us. My mother is
in a very different frame of mind to day; you must forget all that took
place yesterday. You must forgive the past, and accept the hand of
reconciliation which she extends to you."
"Is it possible that the Countess de Gramont has charged you to say this
for her?"
"This, and a great deal more. She opens her arms to you; hereafter you
two are to be as mother and daughter."
Count Tristan spoke with so much earnestness, that probably he had
succeeded in believing his own liberally invented statements.
"It seems very strange," returned Madeleine; "yet I thank the countess
for her unlooked-for cordiality. I do not know what good angel has
opened her heart to me; but I am grateful if she will give me a place
there."
"The good angel in question was Lord Linden," answered the count, quite
seriously. "His lordship called this morning. I left him with my
mother."
"Lord Linden?"
"Yes, it was at his suggestion that I hastened here; not that I thought
any influence of mine was needed; but just now it is well to keep in
with every one, and you must oblige me by permitting Lord Linden to
imagine that it was through my advocacy you were induced to look
favorably upon his suit."
"That is impossible."
"Not at all; a mere suggestion in your letter will have the desired
effect. You have not answered Lord Linden's letter yet,--have you."
"No,--I intend to reply this morning, and"--
"That's right! You will grant me this favor, I know you will! Say that
_after having conversed with me_, you accept the offer of his hand."
"I mean to decline it in the most definite manner."
"Decline?" cried Count Tristan, breathing hard, while his face rapidly
changed color; for at one moment it was overspread with a death-like
pallor, and then, suddenly grew purple. "Decline? Such a thing is not to
be thought of; you are jesting?"
"I was never more serious in my life."
"But you will think better of the matter; you will listen to reason; you
will reverse your decision," pleaded the count, his nervous incoherence
and confusion increasing as he grew more and more agitated. "It's for
the honor of the family to say 'yes,' and therefore 'yes' is the proper
_answer_,--eh, Madeleine? Don't joke any more, my dear; it troubles me;
it gives me such a throbbing and heavy weight in my brain. All's
right,--is it not?"
Count Tristan lay back in his chair, and continued muttering, though his
words were no longer comprehensible.
Madeleine now began to be alarmed, and, approaching him, said kindly,
"Can I give you anything? You are not well. Let me order you a glass of
wine."
He stared at her with vacant, glassy eyes, while his lips moved and
twitched without giving forth any distinct sounds. He lifted up his arms
in appeal; they dropped suddenly, as if struck by a giant's invisible
hand, and his head fell forward heavily.
Madeleine, greatly terrified, spoke to him again and again, shook him
gently by the shoulder, to rouse him,--tried to lift his head; the face
she succeeded in turning toward her was frightfully distorted; white
foam oozed from the lips; the eyes were suffused with blood. She had
never before seen a person in a fit, but instinct told her the nature of
the seizure.
Her violent ringing of the bell quickly brought servants to her
assistance, and she ordered Robert to summon Dr. Bayard with the utmost
haste.
This distinguished physician pronounced the attack apoplexy; and, after
applying those remedies which recent discoveries in science have proved
most efficacious, ordered the patient to be undressed and put to bed.
Madeleine's own chamber was prepared for the count's use. The attack was
of brief duration, and he recovered from its violence soon after the
physician arrived, but remained exhausted and insensible.
Another critical case required Dr. Bayard's immediate attendance, and
after giving Madeleine minute directions, he took his leave, saying that
he would return in a couple of hours.
Then Madeleine, who had been engrossed by the necessity of promptly
ministering to the sufferer, remembered that the count's family should
at once be made aware of his condition. What a frightful shock the
countess would receive when she heard of her son's state! And Maurice
and Bertha,--would they not be greatly alarmed? How could intelligence
of the calamity be most gently communicated? Should Madeleine write? A
note bearing the tidings might startle his mother too much. Madeleine
saw but one alternative,--it was to go in person and break the sorrowful
news as delicately as possible. She did not waste a moment in pondering
upon the manner in which the haughty countess might receive her, but
ordered her carriage, and drove to the hotel, leaving Count Tristan
under the charge of Ruth, and Mrs. Lawkins, the housekeeper.
Arrived at her destination, Madeleine ordered her servant to inquire for
the Viscount de Gramont. He was not at home. Was Mademoiselle de
Merrivale at home? The same reply. Was the Countess de Gramont at home?
Madeleine could not help hoping that a negative would again be returned,
for she grew sick at heart at the prospect of encountering her aunt
alone. The countess was within.
Madeleine's card was requested. She had none. What name should the
servant give? Here was another difficulty: she was only known as
"_Mademoiselle Melanie_;" she could not make use of her real name;
besides, she feared that the countess would deny her admission if made
aware who was her visitor. But something must be done. Madame de Gramont
had issued orders that prevented any guest from entering her presence
without permission. Madeleine asked for a sheet of note-paper, and, with
her pencil, hastily wrote,--
"Madeleine entreats the Countess de Gramont to see her for a moment. She
has a matter of importance to communicate."
The servant returned almost immediately, and, replacing the note in
Madeleine's hand, said, "The Countess de Gramont desires me to say that
she is engaged."
"It is absolutely necessary that I should see Madame de Gramont,"
replied Madeleine. "I will bear the blame of her displeasure if you will
show me to her apartment."
"The lady is very rigid, ma'am. I don't dare."
"She will be angry at first, I admit," returned Madeleine; "but her
dissatisfaction will not last when she knows upon what errand I have
come. I can confidently promise you _that_. Perhaps you will consider
this money sufficient compensation for her displeasure, should I prove
wrong; and if I am right, you can keep it in payment for having served
me."
She handed him a piece of gold, which the man took with so little
hesitation it left no doubt upon Madeleine's mind that he was well
acquainted with the nature of a bribe.
"I'll do what I can, ma'am, if you will take the blame," replied he.
Madeleine alighted, followed him to the door of the room which he
designated as the drawing-room of the countess, and then desired him to
retire; he obeyed with well-pleased alacrity.
The young girl had been trembling from agitation until that moment; but
there was necessity for calmness in executing her mission. She opened
the door with a firm hand, and entered the apartment with unfaltering
steps.
The countess was sitting with her back turned to the entrance; she did
not perceive Madeleine until the latter stood beside her.
Madame de Gramont pushed back her chair with a repellant gesture, and,
before her niece could speak, asked indignantly, "What is the meaning of
this intrusion? Did you not receive my message, Mademoiselle de Gramont,
and understand that I declined to see you?"
"I received it, madame," returned Madeleine, mildly and mournfully; "but
I feel sure you will pardon an intrusion I could not avoid when you
learn the cause which brings me here."
"I can divine your errand, Mademoiselle de Gramont; you probably imagine
that, because I permitted my son to say that your marriage with Lord
Linden would, _after a proper interval_, allow me to acknowledge you
once more as a relative, your mere acceptance of his lordship's hand
entitles you to seize upon any frivolous excuse to force yourself upon
my privacy. You are mistaken. I have no intention of recognizing _the
mantua-maker_, and I forbid her to make any attempt to hold the most
transient intercourse with me. I have already said, I will receive Lady
Linden when I meet her in another country, where her history is unknown;
but not until then. And now I must request you to retire, or you will
compel me to leave my own apartment."
Madeleine had made one or two fruitless attempts to interrupt the
countess; but now, as the latter moved toward the door, about to put her
threat into execution, the young girl sprang after her and said,
beseechingly,--
"I implore you not to go until you hear me! I did not come to speak of
myself at all. I came in the hope of sparing you too severe a shock."
"Very generous on your part, but somewhat misjudged, as your unwelcome
presence has given me as great a shock as I could well sustain."
"Ah, aunt,--Madame de Gramont,--do not speak so harshly to me! I have
scarcely strength or courage left to tell you; I came to speak of--of
Count Tristan."
"My son seems to have chosen a somewhat singular messenger, and one who
he was well aware would be far from acceptable," returned the countess,
wholly unmoved.
"He did not send me; I came myself; He is not aware of my coming,
for--for"--
Madeleine's voice failed her, and the countess took up her words.
"_For_ you desired to make me fully sensible of the length to which you
carried your audacity. So be it! I am satisfied! Mademoiselle de
Gramont, for the second time I request you to retire."
"I cannot, until I have told you that Count Tristan is--is not, not
quite well; that is, he became indisposed at my house."
"In that case, it would have appeared to me more natural, and certainly
more proper, if he had returned to his old residence, and spared me the
pain of being apprised of his indisposition by an unwelcome messenger."
"He had no choice, or, rather, I had none. I feared to have the news
broken in a manner that might alarm you too much, and therefore I would
not even trust myself to write. Count Tristan was seized with,--I mean
was taken ill while conversing with me. He is not in a state to return
home at present, and I came to beg that his mother or his son will go to
him."
"I comprehend you, Mademoiselle de Gramont; you were always politic in
the highest degree. You know how to make the best of opportunities. You
find my son's temporary indisposition an admirable opportunity to lure
his relatives to your house, and to make known to the world your
connection with them. Your well-laid, dramatic little plot will fail.
Your good acting has not succeeded in alarming me, and I see no reason
why Count Tristan de Gramont, in spite of his sudden illness, should not
send for a carriage and return to the hotel. By your own confession, the
step you have taken is unwarranted; for you admitted that my son was not
aware of your intention."
"Because he was too ill to be aware of it, madame," replied Madeleine,
with an involuntary accent of reproach.
The cold and cruel conduct of the countess did not render her niece less
compassionate, less fearful of wounding; but it inspired her with the
resolution, which she had before lacked, to impart the fearful tidings.
"He is too ill to be moved at this moment. I sent for medical aid at
once, and everything has been done to restore him."
"_Restore him?_ What do you mean?" almost shrieked the countess, now
becoming painfully excited, and struggling against her fears, as though,
by disbelieving the calamity which had befallen her son, she could alter
the fact. "Why do you try to alarm me in this manner? It is very
inconsiderate! very cruel! You do it to revenge yourself upon me! Where
is Maurice? Where is Bertha? I must have some one near me on whom I can
depend! Why am I left at your mercy?"
"I asked for Maurice and Bertha before I attempted to force my way to
you," returned Madeleine. "I was told that neither was at home. Pray do
not allow yourself to be so much distressed. I have no doubt that we
shall find Count Tristan better."
"_We_ shall find! What do you mean by _we_ shall find?" sternly demanded
the countess, whose grief and alarm did not conquer her pride, though
her voice trembled as she asked the question.
"My carriage is at the door: I thought I might venture to propose that
you would enter it, and return with me to my house, that no time might
be lost." Madeleine said this with quiet dignity.
"_Your_ carriage? And you expect me to be seen _with you_, in _your_
carriage? I cannot comprehend your object, Mademoiselle de Gramont. What
possesses you to try to exasperate me by your insolent propositions?"
"Pardon me; I did not mean to add to your trouble; if my suggestion was
injudicious, disregard it. Nothing can be easier than to send for
another carriage. Will you allow me to ring the bell for you to do so?
And, since you would not wish to be seen in my company, I can leave the
house before you."
"And you expect me to follow? You expect that I will order the carriage
to drive to the residence of _Mademoiselle Melanie_, the
_mantua-maker_?"
"You need only say, 'Drive to ---- street, number ----.' My errand here
is at an end. I pray you to pardon me, if I have executed it clumsily.
My sole intention was to spare you pain, and I almost fear that I have
caused you more than I have shielded you from."
Madeleine was retiring, but the countess called her back.
"Stay! You have not told me all yet. What is the matter with my son? Was
it a fainting fit? I never knew him guilty of the weakness of fainting."
It was difficult to answer this question without explaining the grave
nature of the attack. Madeleine was silent.
"Did you not hear me? Why do you not answer?"
"The doctor did not call it a fainting fit," was Madeleine's vague
response. "Yet Count Tristan was in a state of insensibility, and had
not spoken when I left him."
"Why did you leave him, then? How could you have been so neglectful?"
The countess burst out as though it was a relief to have some
one on whom she could vent her wrath. "If he is seriously ill,--so
ill as to continue insensible,--you should have remained by his
side, and not left him to the improper treatment of strangers:
it is abominable,--outrageous!"
"I will gladly hasten back. Pray be composed, madame, and let us hope
for a favorable change. I expect to find him better. Before you reach
the house, his consciousness may have returned."
Madeleine retired, without waiting for any further comment; for she had
an internal conviction that whatever she did or said would be unpleasant
to her aunt in her present troubled state.
There was no perceptible alteration in the condition of Count Tristan.
Ruth, who was sitting by his side, said he had scarcely stirred. His
face still wore a purplish hue, and his glassy, bloodshot eyes, though
wide open, were vacant and expressionless. He lay as still as if
deprived of sensation and motion.
Madeleine had been at home nearly an hour before she heard the carriage
which contained the countess stop at the door. Madame de Gramont, even
in a case of such extremity, was not able to complete her arrangements
hurriedly.
Madeleine, when she went forth to receive her relative, was much
relieved to find her accompanied by Bertha.
Bertha threw herself in Madeleine's arms, whispering, "Is he _very_
ill?"
"Yes, I fear so," answered Madeleine, in too low a voice for the
countess to hear. Then turning to Madame de Gramont, she inquired,
gently, "Do you wish to go to him at once?"
"For what other purpose have I come?" was the ungracious rejoinder.
Madeleine led the way to the apartment, and motioned Ruth to withdraw.
The countess walked up to the bed with a firm step, as though nerving
herself to disbelieve that anything serious was the matter.
"My son!" she said, in a voice somewhat choked, but which expressed
confidence that he would immediately reply, "My son! why do you not
answer me?"
She took his hand; it remained passive in hers; his eyes still stared
vacantly. His mother more tightly grasped the hand she held, shook it a
little, and called out to him again in a hoarser tone; but there was no
answer.
Bertha burst into tears, and knelt down sobbing by the bed.
"Hush!" said the countess, angrily. "You will disturb him. Why do you
cry so? It is nothing serious,--nothing _very_ serious;" and she looked
around appealingly, her eyes resting, in spite of herself, upon
Madeleine.
"We must hope not," said the latter, now venturing to draw near. "The
doctor will be here again shortly, and, if you would permit me to
advise, I would suggest that Count Tristan should remain undisturbed."
"I only ask that he will speak to me once!" exclaimed the countess, in
peevish distress. "A _mother_ may demand that! Do you not hear me, my
son? Why, why will you not answer?"
Her voice was raised to a high pitch, but it did not seem to reach the
ears of the insensible man.
Voices in the entry attracted Madeleine's attention; the sound of
well-known tones reached her ears, and she hastily left the room.
The servant was communicating to Maurice the sad event which had just
taken place. Madeleine beckoned her cousin to follow to her boudoir,
and, in a few words, recounted what had just taken place.
Maurice had listened, too completely awe-stricken for language, until
Madeleine rose and asked, "Will you not go to him now, Maurice?"
Then he ejaculated, "How mysteriously all things are ordered, Madeleine!
Truly you are the ministering angel of our family!"
As Maurice, with Madeleine, entered the chamber where Count Tristan lay,
the countess experienced a revulsion of feeling at beholding them side
by side, and cried out, in a louder tone than seemed natural in that
chamber at such a moment,--
"Maurice! Maurice! I have wanted you so much to advise me! You see your
father's condition: he does not seem to recognize us; but it cannot be
anything serious. The great point is to make arrangements for removing
him at once to the hotel. You must attend to that; I wish no time to be
lost."
Maurice was gazing in dumb anguish upon his father's altered face, and,
though no tears moistened his eyes, his frame shook with emotion far
more painful to man than weeping is to woman.
"You will see to his immediate removal," repeated his grandmother,
authoritatively, finding that he did not notice her request.
"That cannot be done with safety, I feel certain," answered Maurice.
"But he cannot remain here," persisted the countess. "He must be taken
to the hotel, where I can watch by him."
"You would not have the attempt made at the risk of his life?" remarked
Maurice, with more sternness than he intended.
Madeleine gently interposed.
"Dr. Bayard, the physician who was called in, promised to return in a
couple of hours: he must be here shortly: will it not be best to ask his
opinion? And if he says Count Tristan cannot yet be removed with safety,
I entreat, madame, that you will allow me to place this suite of
apartments at your disposal and his. They are wholly disconnected with
the rest of the house, and you can be as private as you desire."
"Do you expect _me_ to remain under this roof? _Your roof?_ Do you
imagine that I will allow my son to remain here, even in his present
condition? Oh, this is too much! This would be more terrible than all
the rest! I could not humble myself to endure _that!_"
The countess spoke in a perfect agony of mortification.
Madeleine only replied, "There is no necessity for a decision until you
have consulted the physician."
Maurice thought it wise to echo her words; the countess was partially
soothed, for the time being, and sat down to await the coming of Dr.
Bayard.