Fairy Fingers. Anna Cora Ogden Mowatt Ritchie
it would be a great inconvenience to have any addition to his home circle; and we—I suppose we have not been inconvenienced for the last three years"—
"I am not astonished at such a reply from M. de Bonneville. I expected nothing else. Give me Madame de Nervac's letter. She is a charming woman, whom every one admires and respects, and I know her kindness of heart."
The count handed the letter. His mother opened it, and read—
"My Dear Cousin:
"Are you not aware that a woman of any tact, who has still some claims to admiration, could hardly commit the absurd faux pas of establishing in her own house, and having always by her side, a person younger and handsomer than herself? To consent to your proposition concerning Madeleine would therefore be a suicidal act"—
"This is insupportable!" ejaculated the count. "It seems that we are to be forced into continuing to bear this burden, though it may bring us to ruin. What insupportable vanity Madame de Nervac betrays! You see what her kindness of heart is worth!"
"There is still one letter to open," remarked his mother, clinging to a faint hope.
"Oh, it will be a repetition of the others—you may be sure of that!" He tore it open angrily; but, glancing at the first lines, exclaimed, "What do I see? Have we found one reasonable and charitable person at last? The Count Damoreau writes—
"'A thousand thanks, my dear cousin for the opportunity you afford me of being useful to that lovely and unfortunate relative of ours. I have always regarded her with admiration and affection, and always appreciated the noble generosity which prompted your kindness to the orphan.'"
"The count is a man endowed with most excellent judgment," remarked the countess with complacency.
Her son continued reading the letter—
"'I am at this moment about to make a number of necessary repairs in my château, which will cause me to absent myself for some time. I shall probably spend a year or two on the continent.'"
"So much the better! He will doubtless take Madeleine with him," suggested the countess.
Count Tristan in an altered tone read on—
"'As I shall travel entirely en garçon, of course it will be impossible for Madeleine to accompany me, but an admirable opportunity presents itself for placing her in a situation that is very suitable. My friend, Lady Vivian, of Edinburgh, who forms one of the party here, is in search of an humble companion. I have spoken to her ladyship concerning Madeleine. She made some slight demur on account of the young lady's attractive person, but finally consented to offer her this situation.'"
"A de Gramont hired out as an humble companion! What an indignity!" ejaculated the countess.
The count continued reading—
"'I will myself write to Madeleine and apprise her of what I have done, and present the many advantages of such a position.'"
"She must not receive the letter!" said the countess, earnestly. "She is capable of accepting this offer for the sake of wounding us. But Count Damoreau has insulted us grossly. How has he dared to entertain such an offer for a member of our family—one in whose veins flows the same untainted blood? Why do you not speak, my son? But indignation may well deprive you of speech!"
"I can only say that in some manner we must at once rid ourselves of Madeleine."
"I would rather see her dead than in a situation which disgraced her noble name," answered the countess, violently.
"I quite agree with you," returned the count, with a sardonic look; "but, unfortunately, life and death are not in our hands!"
As he spoke, there was a gleam in his malignant eye, almost murderous. His foot was lifted to crush the worm in his path, and, could he have trodden it out of existence in secret, the deed would have been accomplished with exultation. His hatred for Madeleine had strengthened into a fierce passion as his fears that Maurice loved her threatened to be confirmed. Far from sharing his mother's indignation at the proposal of Count Damoreau, he had made up his mind to force Madeleine into acceptance, if no other presented itself for freeing the château from her presence.
CHAPTER VII.
A CRISIS.
Count Tristan was in the heat of argument with his haughty mother, when the door of the library opened, and Madeleine entered. One who had beheld the tempestuous burst of grief, the torrent of tears, the heart-rending despair that convulsed her frame but half an hour before, in the little châlet, would scarcely have recognized the countenance upon which the eyes of the Countess de Gramont and her son were now turned. Not the faintest shadow of that whirlwind of passionate anguish was left upon Madeleine's face, unless it might be traced in the great calm which succeeds a heavy storm; in the death-like pallor which overspread her almost rigid features; in the steady light that shone from her soul-revealing eyes; in the firm outline of her colorless lips; in the look of heroic resolve which imparted to her noble lineaments a higher beauty than they ever before had worn.
She approached Count Tristan with an unfaltering step, holding a letter in her hand. That letter had given a sudden check to her vehement sorrow, and restored her equilibrium.
"I have received this communication from Count Damoreau."
As she spoke, she extended the epistle to the count, who for one instant quailed before her clairvoyant eyes. It seemed as though a prophetic judgment spoke out of their shining depths.
He took the letter mechanically, without opening it. His gaze was riveted, as though by a magnetism too powerful for him to resist, upon her purposeful countenance.
Madeleine went on—
"Count Damoreau tells me that you and my aunt desire to withdraw your protection from me; that you feel I have sufficiently long enjoyed the shelter of your roof; that you wish to provide me with some other asylum."
There was no hesitation in her voice as she uttered these words. She spoke in a tone rendered clear and quiet by the dignity of self-respect.
"Count Damoreau had no authority to write in such a strain to you," observed the countess, with asperity.
"There is his letter. He informed me that he has the Count Tristan's authority. To prove it, he encloses the letter yesterday delivered to him by M. Gaston de Bois."
Count Tristan was too thoroughly confounded to attempt any reply. He was painfully aware of the unmistakable character of that epistle.
"Count Damoreau announces to me," continued Madeleine, undisturbed, "that he is unable to comply with your request, and extend an invitation for me to join his family circle; and that my other relatives have also declined to accede to a solicitation of yours that they should by turns receive me as an inmate. He adds that his friend, Lady Vivian, is seeking an humble companion to accompany her to Scotland; and he trusts that I will thankfully accept this situation."
"It is an insult—a deliberate insult to us and you!" broke forth the countess.
Madeleine's lips trembled with a half smile.
"I do not deem it an insult to myself: I am as thankful as Count Damoreau can desire me to be; but I decline his well-intentioned offer."
Count Tristan ground his teeth, and cast upon Madeleine a glance of fury and menacing detestation. Their eyes met, and she returned the look with an expression which simply declared she recognized what was passing in his mind.
"You did right to decline: I should