copy. Bertha sat beside her, destroying pencils in
her awkward attempt to sharpen them. Madeleine did not desist from her
occupation, but Bertha's was quickly at an end.

She and her lover conversed for a while; then Gaston offered to show her
Madeleine's conservatory, and then they passed into the garden. What
wonder that they found unknown charms in the opening flowers! Was it not
a spring morning? And was there not spring in their hearts? Was it not
life's blossoming season with them?

At noon luncheon was served; and Madeleine, in remembrance of her
guests, had given such especial instructions to Mrs. Lawkins that the
luncheon closely resembled the _dejeuner a la fourchette_ served at that
hour in France. As Bertha was still in the garden, Madeleine passed into
the conservatory and called her.

"Will you not go in, Bertha, and see if you can induce the countess to
accompany you and Maurice to the dining-room? Say that I will remain
with Count Tristan while they take luncheon."

Bertha went on her errand, but quickly returned with Maurice.

"My aunt does not seem disposed to eat."

In reality Bertha had received no answer from the countess. Did
Madeleine expect that Madame de Gramont would break bread under her
roof? The haughty aristocrat would sooner have perished of hunger.

"Then we will go to table together," replied the hostess, disappointed,
in spite of herself. "M. de Bois, you will join us?"

The meal passed off very quietly, but very pleasantly. Bertha and Gaston
were happy enough in each other to have thought a repast of bread and
cheese a banquet. Maurice could not but be penetrated by the charm of
sharing Madeleine's home; and, at table, where she presided with such
graceful ease, he never forgot that it was in _her_ home he was
dwelling. Madeleine herself could not gaze upon the little circle of
beloved ones, from whom she had been so long separated, and who were now
so singularly drawn around her, without feeling supremely happy. In the
midst of sorrow there are often given, to soften and render it
endurable, passing flashes of absolute joy.

When they rose from table Maurice returned to his father's chamber. His
grandmother still sat erect and statue-like in her chair as though she
had not moved.

The hours flew by only too rapidly with Bertha, however they might have
dragged in the sick-chamber. M. de Bois, also, must have lost all
consciousness of time, for he did not propose to take his