his smile, he could not prevent Madame de Tecle from feeling a lively
alarm.

He did not pretend, however, entirely to reassure her. Under his
reserved and measured replies, she felt the presentiment of some
disaster. After first pressing him with many questions, she kept silent
during the rest of the drive.

The young Countess, to spare her mother the first shock, had quitted her
bed; and the poor child had even put a little rouge on her pale cheeks.
M. de Camors himself opened for Madame de Tecle the door of her
daughter's chamber, and then withdrew.

The young woman raised herself with difficulty from her couch, and her
mother took her in her arms.

All that passed between them at first was a silent interchange of mutual
caresses. Then the mother seated herself near her daughter, drew her
head on her bosom, and looked into the depths of her eyes.

"What is the matter?" she said, sadly.

"Oh, nothing--nothing hopeless! only you must love your little Mary more
than ever. Will you not?"

"Yes; but why?"

"I must not worry you; and I must not wrong myself either--you know why!"

"Yes; but I implore you, my darling, to tell me."