course he meant to pursue, but well assured that he would
keep his word; and, if he did, it would be impossible for him to
introduce this delicate subject without compromising himself,--nay,
without positively offering himself to Bertha. The very mention of such
a theme would be a proposal; and, with this consolatory reflection, he
returned to the chateau.

As he passed the drawing-room, he caught a glimpse of Bertha, sitting at
his mother's feet. The latter was holding both of the young girl's
hands, and talking to her earnestly. Bertha's countenance wore an
expression of maidenly confusion and perplexity which, even if the count
had not been aware of his mother's intentions, would have betrayed the
nature of her discourse.

CHAPTER V.

HEART-BEATS.

Maurice must have found his equestrian exercise particularly agreeable
upon that day, for he returned to the chateau so late that no one saw
him again until the family assembled at dinner.

Bertha was unusually silent and _distrait_, not a single smile rippled
her slumbering dimples, and she answered at random. She did not once
address Maurice, to whom she usually prattled in a strain of merry
_badinage_, and he evinced the same constraint toward her.

As soon as the ladies rose from table, Madeleine retired to her own
chamber. Her preparations for the morrow demanded all her time. The
count retreated to the library. Maurice and Bertha were on the point of
finding themselves _tete-a-tete_, for the countess just remembered that
she had a note to write, when her little plot to leave the cousins
together was frustrated by the entrance of the Marquis de Lasalles.

The clouds suddenly melted from Bertha's countenance when the dull old
nobleman was announced. She greeted him with an air of undisguised
relief, as though she had been happily reprieved from an impending
calamity. The lively warmth of her salutation attracted the marquis to
her side, and he remained fascinated to the spot for the rest of the
evening. The countess was too thoroughly well-bred to allow herself to
look annoyed, or, even in secret, to acknowledge that she wished the
marquis elsewhere; but she was disconcerted, and puzzled by the
unaccountable change in Bertha's deportment.

So passed the evening.

The next morning, when Bertha appeared at breakfast, every one, Maurice
perhaps excepted, remarked that she seemed weary and dispirited. Her
brilliant complexion had lost something of its wo