Bertha had not forgotten that Madeleine had declared the Château de Gramont was no longer her home; but as the latter went through the daily routine of her wonted avocations as though they were always to continue, and as no change was apparent in her manner, save that she was more silent and meditative, and her once ready smiles grew rarer, Bertha, also, was lulled into the belief that her cousin had abandoned her intention.
Count Tristan fell into no such error. Madeleine's preoccupied mien, her unwonted reserve, the tender sadness with which she sometimes gazed around her, as though bidding farewell to dear, familiar objects, assured him that she had not spoken lightly, and that her threat would be carried into execution at no distant period. Well was it for her that he had come to this satisfactory conclusion, for it spared her further persecution at his hands.
On the fourth morning after the departure of Maurice, Bertha entered Madeleine's chamber, according to her custom,--for the young maidens always descended to breakfast together. Her room was empty.
"She has not waited for me to-day," thought Bertha, hurrying down, and expecting to find Madeleine in the breakfast-room.
The countess and her son were at table, but Madeleine was not there.
"Has Madeleine breakfasted?" inquired Bertha, cutting short her morning salutations.
"No, not this morning," replied the countess.
"I suppose she is taking an early walk," continued Bertha. "It seems odd that she does not come back, for she is never late."
Bertha seated herself, but the coffee remained untasted before her; and her head was constantly turned towards the window which commanded a view of the garden and park. Gustave passed, and she cried out to him,--
"Gustave, have you seen Mademoiselle Madeleine, this morning?"
"Why, where _can_ she be?" exclaimed Bertha, impatiently. "If you will excuse me, aunt, I will go in search of her. Since she has not broken her fast yet, we will breakfast together, as usual." And away darted Bertha into the garden.
The countess had not attached any importance to Madeleine's absence, and resumed the conversation with her son.
Through Count Tristan's mind the suspicion at once had flashed that Madeleine was gone, and he chuckled inwardly at the verification of his own unspoken predictions. A quarter of an hour passed, and then he beheld Bertha coming rapidly from the direction of the _châlet_. He felt no surprise in observing that she was alone. The windows of the breakfast-room opened to the ground, and she entered by one of them,--her face crimsoned, her fair hair unbound and floating over her shoulders, for she had been running.