THE NEW ENGLAND NURSE.
Madeleine, in spite of the positive denial she had received, experienced
as strong a desire to be near her afflicted relative as though his
yearning for her presence drew her to him by some species of powerful
magnetism. The wildest plans careered through her brain. She thought of
the days in Paris when she had so successfully assumed the garb of the
_soeur de bon secours_, and kept nightly vigils beside the bed of
Maurice. Was there no disguise under which she could make her way to the
count? But the doubt that she could elude the countess's scrutinizing
eyes,--the certainty of the violent scene which must ensue if Madame de
Gramont discovered her,--made her reluctantly relinquish the attempt.
Then she clung to the hope that her aunt would not, while Count Tristan
lay in so perilous a condition, insist upon discharging Mrs. Lawkins.
All uncertainty upon that head was quickly dispelled by the appearance
of Mrs. Lawkins herself. The countess had peremptorily repeated her
sentence of banishment, and refused to listen to her grandson's
entreaties that she might be permitted to remain until a substitute
could be procured. To search for that substitute was the sole work left
for Madeleine's hands. She despatched the willing housekeeper to make
inquiries among her acquaintances, and charged her to spare neither time
nor expense. Few Europeans can imagine the difficulty of executing such
a commission in America; but the Englishwoman had lived in Washington
long enough to know that she had no light labor before her. She was too
zealous, however, to return home until she had found a person who was
fully qualified to fill her vacant post.
Maurice was sitting beside Madeleine when Mrs. Lawkins returned from her
weary peregrinations and made known her success.
"I did not send for the nurse to come here," said Madeleine. "It seemed
to me better for you, Maurice, to go and see her and engage her to enter
upon her duties to-morrow morning. That will give you an opportunity
this evening of preparing the countess for her reception."
Maurice acted upon Madeleine's suggestion, and, after a very brief
conversation with Mrs. Gratacap, secured her services.
Mrs. Gratacap belonged to the "Eastern States," albeit the very opposite
of _oriental_ in her appearance and characteristics. She was a tall,
angular, grave-visaged person, possessing such decided, common-place
good sense that she came under the head of that feminine class which
Dickens has taught the world to designate as "strong-minded." There was
no "stuff and nonsense" about her; she had a due appreciation of her own
estimable attributes, as well as a firm conviction of the equality of
all mankind, or, more especially, _womankind_. When she accepted a
situation, it was in the conscientious belief that the persons whom she
undertook to serve were the indebted party; yet she was a faithful nurse
and both understood and liked her vocation. In spite of her masculine
bearing toward the rest of the world, she always treated her invalid
charges with womanly gentleness.
When Maurice informed his grandmother that he had obtained a new _garde
malade_, the countess at once asked,--
"Are you attempting to introduce another spy of Mademoiselle de Gramont
into my dwelling?"
Maurice controlled his indignation and replied, "My cousin Madeleine has
never seen this person. I hope she will suit, as I have engaged her for
a month, that being the custom here; even if she does not meet _all_ our
requirements, we cannot discharge her until that period has elapsed."
"I shall not consent to any such stipulation," answered the countess.
"If she does not please me, I shall order her to leave at once."
"The arrangement is already concluded," returned Maurice; "it is the
only one I could make, and you cannot but see that it is a matter of
honor, as well as of necessity, to abide by the contract."
Maurice evinced tact in his choice of language. The imposing words
"honor" and "contract" made an impression upon the countess, and she
said no more.
The next day, shortly after the morning meal, the sound of sharp tones
echoing through the entry, was followed by the noisy opening of the
countess' drawing-room door.
"This is the place, is it?" cried a harsh voice. "I say, boy, bring
along that box and dump it down here."
Mrs. Gratacap entered with a bandbox in one hand, and in the other a
huge umbrella and huger bundle, while the box (which was a compromise
between a trunk and a packing-case) was carried in without further
ceremony. Mrs. Gratacap was attired with an exemplary regard for
_utility_; her garments were too short to be soiled by contact with the
mud, and disclosed Amazonian feet encased in sturdy boots, to say
nothing of respectable ankles protected by gray stockings. Her dress was
of a sombre hue and chargeable with no unnecessary amplitude; where it
was pulled up at the sides a gray balmoral petticoat was visible;
crinoline had been scrupulously renounced (as it should be in a
sick-chamber); the coal-skuttle bonnet performed its legitimate duty in
shading her face as well as covering her head.
The countess might well look up in stupefied amazement; for she had
never before been thrown into communication with humanity so strikingly
primitive, and so complacently self-confident.
"This is the nurse of whom I spoke," was Maurice's introduction.
Mrs. Gratacap who had been too busily engaged in looking after her
"properties" to perceive the viscount until he spoke, now strode
forward, extended her hand, and shook his with good-humored familiarity.
"How d'ye do? How d'ye do, young man? Here I am, you see, punctual to
the moment. Told you you could depend on me. Well, and where's the poor
dear? And who's _this_, and who's _that_?" looking first at the countess
and then at Bertha.
Maurice was forced to answer, "That is Madame de Gramont, my
grandmother, and this is Mademoiselle de Merrivale, my cousin."
"Ah, very good! How are you, ma'am? Glad to see you, miss!" said Mrs.
Gratacap, nodding first to one and then to the other. "Guess we shall
get along famously together."
Then, totally unawed by the countess' glacial manner, for Mrs. Gratacap
had never dreamed of being afraid of "mortal man," to say nothing of
"mortal woman," she disencumbered herself of her bandbox, bundle, and
umbrella, deliberately took off the ample hat and tossed it upon the
table, sending her shawl to keep it company, walked up to Madame de
Gramont, placed a chair immediately in front of her, and sat down.
"Well, and how's the poor dear? It's a pretty bad case, I hear. Never
mind,--don't be down in the mouth. I've brought folks through after the
nails were ready to be driven into their coffins. Nothing like keeping a
stiff upper lip. Your son, isn't he? Dare say he'll do well enough with
a little nursing. Let's know when he was taken, and how he's been
getting on, and what crinks and cranks he's got. Sick folks always have
crumpled ways. Post me up a bit before I go in to him."
The countess's piercing black eyes were fixed upon the voluble nurse
with a look of absolute horror, and she never moved her lips.
Maurice came to the rescue.
"My father has been ill nearly a month; he was attacked with apoplexy;
he had a second stroke yesterday."
"You don't say so? That's bad! Two strokes, eh? We must look out and
prevent a third; that's a dead go; but often it don't come for years. No
need of borrowing trouble,--worse than borrowing money."
"Let me show you to my father's apartment," said Maurice, to relieve his
grandmother.
"All right,--I'm ready! And then you'll let me see where I am to stow my
duds; any corner will do, but I must have a cupboard of a place all to
myself; it need only be big enough to swing a cat round in. It isn't
much comfort I want, but a hole of my own I always bargain for. Aren't
you coming along?" she said, looking back at the countess, who sat
still.
Madame de Gramont did not betray that she even suspected these words
were addressed to her, nor that she heard those which followed, though
they were spoken in a stage-whisper which could hardly escape her ears.
"Is your granny always so glum? We must cheer her up a bit," was Mrs.
Gratacap's encouraging comment.
The nurse's high-pitched voice was softened to a lower key when she
entered the apartment where Count Tristan lay, and there were genuine
compassion and motherly tenderness in her look as she regarded him. She
continued to question Maurice until she had learned something of the
patient's history,--not from sheer curiosity, but because she always
took a deep interest in the invalids placed under her charge, and by
becoming acquainted with their peculiarities she could better adapt
herself to their necessities.
One word only can express the countess's sensations at the dropping of
such a "monstrosity" into the midst of her family circle,--she was
appalled! Never had any one ventured to address her with such freedom;
never before had she been treated by any one as though she were mere
flesh and blood. She had not believed it possible that any one could
have the temerity to regard her in the light of equality. One might
almost have imagined that the formidable New England nurse had inspired
her with dread, for she could not rouse herself, could not gain courage
to face the intruder, and, during that day, never once approached her
son's chamber. But Mrs. Gratacap, in the most unconscious manner, made
repeated invasions into the drawing-room, and even extended her sallies
to the countess's own chamber, always upon some plausible pretext,--now
to inquire where she could find the sugar, or the spoons, now to beg for
a pair of scissors, or to ask where the vinegar-cruet was kept, or to
learn how the countess managed about heating bricks, or getting bottles
of hot water to warm the patient's feet!
The countess, compelled by these intrusions to address the enemy, and
galled by the necessity, said sternly, "Go to the servants and get what
is needful."
"Law sakes! You needn't take my head off! I haven't got any other and
can't spare it!" answered Mrs. Gratacap, not in the least abashed. "I
don't want to go bothering hotel help; I always keep out of their way,
for they have a holy horror of us nurses, and the fuss most of us make;
though I am not one of that sort. I leave the help alone and help myself
considerable; and what I want I manage to get from the folks I live
with. That's my way, and I don't think it's a bad way. I've had it for
thirty odd years that I've been nursing; and I don't think I shall
change it in thirty more."
She flounced out of the room after this declaration, leaving the
countess in a state which Mrs. Gratacap herself would have described as
"quite upset;" but the haughty lady had scarcely time to recover her
equanimity before the strong-minded nurse returned to the attack.
The countess had retreated to her own room; but Mrs. Gratacap broke in
upon her, crying out, "I say, when will that young man be back? He's
gone off without telling me when he'd be at his post again."
Madame de Gramont's usual refuge was in silence, ignoring that she
heard; but here it was not likely to avail, for she saw that the unawed
nurse would probably stand her ground, and repeat her question until she
received an answer. The countess, therefore, forced herself to inquire
in a severe tone,--
"Whom do you mean?"
"Why, the young man, your grandson, to be sure! A very spry young
fellow. I like his looks mightily."
If Madame de Gramont had been an adept in reading countenances she would
have read in the nurse's face, "I cannot say as much for his
grandmother's;" but the proud lady was not skilled in this humble art,
and never even suspected that a person in Mrs. Gratacap's lowly station
would dare to pass judgment upon one in her lofty position. She replied,
with increased austerity,--
"I am not in the habit of hearing the Viscount de Gramont; my grandson,
mentioned in this unceremonious manner; it may be the mode adopted in
this uncivilized country, but it is offensive."
"Law sakes! You don't say so?" answered Mrs. Gratacap, as if the rebuke
darted off from her without hitting. "I didn't suppose you'd go to fancy
I was _snubbing_ him because I called him a young man! What could he be
better? He's not an old one, is he? But I know some folks have a
partiality to being called by their names, and I have no objection in
life to humoring them. Well, then, when will Mr. Gramont be back? I'd
like to know!"
"M. de Gramont did not inform me when he would return;" was the freezing
rejoinder.
"Now, that's a pity! I want somebody in there for a moment, for the poor
dear's so heavy I can't turn him all alone. Aren't you strong enough to
lend a hand? To be sure, at your time of life, one an't apt to be worth
much in the arms. At all events, an't you coming in to see him? You're
his own mother; and, I swan, you haven't been near him this blessed
day."
"Woman!" cried the countess, lashed into fury. "How dare you address
such language to me?"
"Law sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Gratacap, lifting up her hands and eyes.
"What _did_ I say? You _are_ his mother, an't you? There's no shame
about it, I suppose. I hadn't a notion of putting you into a passion. I
thought it mighty queer you didn't come in to see your own son when he's
lying so low; and I said so,--that's all! But if you don't want to come,
I don't want to force you. I can't put natural feelings in the hearts of
people that haven't got them; it stands to reason I can't, and you
needn't be flying out at me on that account."
Mrs. Gratacap, after delivering this admonitory sentiment, was returning
to the patient when she encountered Bertha, and inquired,--
"Did Mr. Gramont say when he would come back?"
"He did not say; but I think he will be absent for a couple of hours,"
replied Bertha.
"Oh, if that's the case, I must get a helping hand somewhere.
You're a young thing, and, I dare say, strong enough. Come along and
help me move the poor dear."
"Willingly," replied Bertha, "if I am only able."
As they entered the count's chamber, Mrs. Gratacap again subdued her
voice, and though her words and manner were always of the most positive
kind, there was a sort of rude softness (if we may use the contradictory
expression) in her mode of instructing Bertha in the service required.
When the count was comfortably placed, she sat down, and Bertha also
took a seat.
"I say," commenced Mrs. Gratacap, in a half whisper, "that's the most of
a tigress yonder I ever had the luck to come across. Why, she's got no
more natural feeling than an oyster,--no more warm blood in her veins
than a cauliflower. I wonder how such beings ever get created. Are there
many of that sort in the parts you came from?"
"She is very proud," replied Bertha, "and I am afraid there is no lack
of pride in France among the noble class to which she belongs."
"Pride! Why, I wonder what she's got to be proud of? She looks as though
she couldn't do a thing in life that's worth doing? I like pride well
enough! I'm awful proud myself when I've done anything remarkable. But I
wonder what that rock yonder ever did in all her born days to be proud
of?"
Bertha tried to explain by saying, "Her pride is of family descent."
"I suppose she don't trace back further than Adam, does she? And we all
do about that," was the answer.
Here the conversation was interrupted. Bertha was summoned to receive
visitors.
The instant Maurice returned his grandmother attacked him. "Maurice,
that woman's presence here is insupportable; there is no use of argument
on the subject; I have made up my mind,--go and dismiss her at once, and
seek somebody else!"
May not Maurice be pardoned for losing his temper and answering with
considerable irritation,--"Have I not clearly explained to you, madame,
that I cannot do anything of the kind? I have engaged her for a month,
and I cannot turn her away without a good reason; here she must remain
until the time expires."
"Pay her double her wages, and let her go!" urged the countess.
"Once more, and for the last time," cried Maurice, determinedly, "I tell
you, I cannot and will not!"
"Then send her to me!" answered the countess.
Maurice did not stir; she repeated, in a more commanding voice, "Send
her to me, I say!"
Maurice reluctantly went to his father's room and returned with Mrs.
Gratacap. Before the countess could commence the formal address she had
prepared, the good woman took a chair, and with complacent familiarity,
sat down beside her, saying, "Well, and what is it? I hope you feel a
little better. I'm afraid you've a deal of _bile_; really, it ought to
be looked after; if you can just get rid of it you'll be a deal more
comfortable."
"Woman"--began the countess.
Mrs. Gratacap interrupted her, but without the least show of ill-temper.
"Now I tell you, if it's all the same to you, I'd just as lief you'd
call me by my name, and that's 'Gratacap'--'Mrs. Gratacap!' Fair play's
a jewel, you know, and you didn't like my calling your grandson a 'young
man' even, but politely begged that I'd term him 'Mr. Gramont;' so you
just call me by my name, and I'll return the compliment."
"I choose to avoid the necessity of calling you anything," returned the
countess, when Mrs. Gratacap allowed her to speak. "You are discharged!
I desire you to leave my house" (the countess always imagined herself in
her château, or some mansion to which she had the entire claim), "leave
my house within an hour."
"Hoighty-toighty! here's a pretty kettle of fish! But it's no use
talking; I'm settled for a month! that's my engagement."
"I am aware of it; you will receive double your month's wages and go!"
"I'll receive nothing of the kind! I don't take money I've not earned;
and I'll not go until the time's up! That's a declaration of
independence for you, which I suppose you're not accustomed to in the
outlandish place you came from, where people haven't a notion how to
treat those they can't do without. Do you suppose your paltry money
would compensate me for the injury it would do my character, if it
should be said I was engaged for a month, and before I had been in the
situation a day, I had to pull up stakes and make tracks? No,--unless
you can prove that I don't know my business, or don't do my duty, I've
just as much right here, being engaged to take up my quarters here, as
you have. Don't think I'm offended; make yourself easy on that head.
I've learnt how to deal with all sorts of folks. I saw at the first
squint that you and I would have a rather rough time, and I made ready
for it. If you've got nothing more to say, I'll go back to the poor
dear, for he's broad awake and may be wanting something."
"And you dare to refuse to go when I dismiss you?"
"_Dare?_ Law sakes! there's no _dare_ about it. _Who's to dare me?_ or
to frighten me either? You don't think you've come to a free country to
find people afraid of their shadows,--do you? I'm afraid of nothing but
not doing my duty; I always dare do that, to say nothing of asserting my
own rights and privileges. So let's have no more nonsense, and I'll go
about my business."
Mrs. Gratacap returned to her patient as undisturbed as though the
countess had merely requested her presence as a matter of courtesy.
The torment Madame de Gramont was destined to endure from this
straightforward, steady-of-purpose, unterrified New England woman, must
exceed the comprehension of those who never felt within themselves the
workings of an overbearing spirit. Mrs. Gratacap maintained her ground;
there was no displacing her; and she had become thoroughly sovereign of
the sick-room, as a good nurse ought to be. The only alternative for the
countess was to avoid her; but she was a pursuing phantom that met the
proud lady at every turn, haunted her with untiring pertinacity. Madame
de Gramont absented herself from her son's chamber, except when Mrs.
Gratacap went to her meals; but little was gained by that, for the nurse
was always flitting in and out of the drawing-room, or dining-room, at
unexpected moments, and only the turning of the key kept her out of the
countess's own chamber.
The first time that Madame de Gramont bethought herself of visiting her
son when the inevitable _garde malade_ was absent, Mrs. Gratacap
returned in one quarter the time which the countess imagined it would
require to swallow the most hasty meal.
"Well, I _do_ say, that's a sight for sore eyes!" exclaimed the nurse.
"I am as pleased as punch to find you here; but I've been thinking that
like as not, you're scared of sick folks; there's plenty of people that
are; but there's nothing to be skittish about; I think this poor dear
will get all right again."
"Silence, woman!" commanded the countess.
"Never you fear," replied Mrs. Gratacap, either misunderstanding her or
pretending to do so. "I'm not talking loud enough for him to hear. I
don't allow loud talking in a sick-room, nor much talking either, of any
kind. If you'd stay here a little while every day, you'd get some ideas
from my management."
The exasperated countess retreated from the apartment, falling back, for
the first time, before an enemy.
As she made her exit Mrs. Gratacap said to Maurice, "It's a pity your
grandmother is so cantankerous; but, I'm used to cranks and whims of all
sorts of folks, and it's only for her own sake, that I wish she'd make
herself more at home here. Who'd think she was the mother of that poor
dear lying so low? and she never to have a word of comfort to throw at
him. But people's ways an't alike, thank goodness! It may be the style
over in your parts, but I'm thankful I was born this side of the great
pond."
A fortnight passed on, and the count rallied again. The shadows which
obscured his brain seemed in a measure to have passed away; but they
were succeeded by a deep melancholy. No effort made by Maurice or Bertha
(Madame de Gramont made none) could rouse him. His countenance wore an
expression of utter despair. He never spoke except to reply to some
question, and then as briefly as possible; but his answers were quite
lucid. As far as mere _physique_ was in question, he was convalescing
favorably.
Maurice received another letter from his partner, urging him to return
to Charleston as soon as possible, and giving him the information that
there was a most advantageous opening in his profession. While the count
remained in his present feeble state, Maurice could not leave him;
besides the countess and Bertha required manly protection.
Bertha continued to resist all Gaston's entreaties to name the day for
their union, always replying that the day depended upon Madeleine, and
if the latter remained single, she would do the same.
Maurice decided that, as soon as his father had recovered sufficiently
to travel, it would be advisable for the whole party to take up their
abode in Charleston. Many and sharp were the pangs he suffered at the
thought of leaving a city which Madeleine's presence rendered so dear;
but he would be worthier of her esteem, and his own self-respect, if he
resolutely and steadfastly pursued the course he had marked out for
himself before she was restored to him. To prepare the mind of his
grandmother, and to learn Bertha's opinion of the proposed change, were
subjects of importance which demanded immediate attention. He spoke to
his cousin first, seizing an opportunity when the countess chanced to be
absent.
Bertha looked amazed, and asked, "How can you leave Madeleine?"
"When I think of it, I feel as though I could not; and yet I must. I
cannot linger here in idleness. Madeleine herself would be the first one
to bid me go."
"I dare say!" answered Bertha, pettishly.
"But you, Bertha," continued Maurice, "how will you leave one who has a
dearer claim upon you, than I, alas! will ever have upon Madeleine? How
will you be reconciled to part from M. de Bois?"
"I answer as you do, that I _must_."
"But you, Bertha, have an alternative; Gaston, if he could induce you to
remain,--induce you to give him a wife,--would be enraptured."
"I suppose so," returned Bertha, with charming demureness; "but that is
out of the question. Wherever my aunt goes, I will go."
"But how long is this to last, Bertha?"
"Nobody knows, except Madeleine, perhaps. I shall not be married until
she is."
That very suggestion sent such a shuddering thrill through the veins of
Maurice, that he cried out,--
"Bertha! for the love of Heaven! never mention such a possibility again!
When the time comes, if come it must, I trust I shall behave like a man,
but I have not the courage now to contemplate a shock so terrible. The
very suggestion distracts me. I shall never cease to love
Madeleine,--never! Were she the wife of another man, I should be forced
to fly from her forever, that I might not profane her purity by even a
shadow of that love; yet I should love her all the same! My love is
interwound with my whole being; the drawing of my breath, the flowing of
my blood are not more absolute necessities of my existence; my love for
Madeleine is life itself, and if she should give her hand, as she has
given her heart, to another man, I,--it is a possibility too dreadful to
contemplate,--it sets my brain on fire to think of it. Never, never,
Bertha, never if you have any affection for me, speak of Madeleine as"--
He could not finish his sentence, and Bertha said, penitently,--"I am so
sorry, Maurice, I beg your pardon; and there's no likelihood at present;
and so I have told M. de Bois, that he might reconcile himself and learn
patience."
Madame de Gramont entered, and Maurice, endeavoring to conquer his
recent agitation, said to her,--
"I have been talking with Bertha about our future plans. I purpose
returning shortly to Charleston; indeed, it is indispensable that I
should do so. I trust you and my father and Bertha will be willing to
accompany me as soon as he is able to bear the journey,--will you not?"
"No," replied the countess, decidedly. "Why should I go to Charleston?
Why should I linger in this most barbarous, most detestable country,
where I have suffered so much? I have formed my own plans, and intend to
carry them into immediate execution."
"May I beg you to let me know what they are?"
"I purpose," said the countess, slowly, but with a decision by which she
meant to impress Maurice with the certainty that there was no appeal; "I
purpose returning to Brittany, and there remaining for the rest of my
days!"
Bertha half leaped from her chair, her breath grew thick, and her heart
must have beat painfully, for she pressed her hand upon her breast, as
though to still the violent pulsations.
"To Brittany, my grandmother?" said Maurice, in accents of
consternation. "I trust not. In my father's state of health, I could not
feel that I was doing my duty if I were separated from him, and my
interests, my professional engagements, compel me to remain in this
country."
"Your filial affection, Maurice de Gramont, must be remarkably strong,
if you weigh it against your petty, selfish interests,--your
professional engagements. But, do as you please,--I ask nothing, expect
nothing from you,--not even the protection of your presence, though I
have no longer a son who is able to offer me protection."
"But if you will allow me to explain,--if you will allow me to show you
that my lot is cast in America,--that it would ruin all my future
prospects to return to Europe! My father's affairs are so much entangled
that I must exert myself for his support and my own." (He might have
said the support of his grandmother also, but was too delicate.) "There
is no opening for me in France, no occupation that I am fitted at
present to pursue."
"I do not undertake to comprehend what you mean by your
_prospects_--your _engagements_--your _exerting_ yourself--or any of the
other low phrases that drop so readily from your tongue. These are not
matters with which I can have any concern. I have nothing to do with
your _prospects_, your _exertions_, your _engagements_, or your
_intentions_. _My intentions_ are plain and unalterable. As soon as the
physician says my son is in a state to travel, I shall engage our
passage upon the first steamer that starts for Havre, and turn my back
upon this miserable land, to which you, Bertha, by your capricious
folly, lured us. It does not matter who accompanies me, or who does not;
my son and I will depart,--_that is settled_."
Bertha and Maurice were silent through dismay. The countess finding that
neither replied, said to her niece,--
"Upon what have you resolved, Bertha? Will you allow me to return alone?
Do you intend to refuse to go with me, because my grandson has coldly
disregarded all the ties of kindred and severed himself from his father
and me?"
Bertha answered quickly, "I wish, oh! I wish you could be persuaded to
remain here; but if not,--if you _will_ go,--if you _must_ go--I will go
with you."
It was long since the countess had looked so gratified, and she drew
Bertha toward her and kissed her brow, exclaiming,--
"There is, at least, _one_ of my own kindred left to me! Thank God!"
"Do not suppose," said Maurice, "if this voyage is inevitable, if you
cannot be persuaded to think the step hazardous, that I shall allow you
to take it without a proper escort. If you return to France, let the
consequence be what it may, I will go with you. Circumstances render it
impossible that I should take up my residence there, but I will make the
voyage with you,--I will see you and my father in your own home, and
then"--
The countess contemplated him approvingly. "That was spoken like
yourself, Maurice! I have still a grandson upon whom I can lean. Now,
let us hasten our departure; let us start the instant it is possible; we
cannot set out too soon to please _me_."
The countess _never_ thought of the _necessity_, _propriety_, or
_charity_, of pleasing any one else. Could any one's pleasure be of
importance weighed against hers?