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"Once more, and for the last time," cried Maurice, determinedly, "I tell you, I cannot and will not!" "Then send her to me!" answered the countess. Maurice did not stir; she repeated, in a more commanding voice, "Send her to me, I say!" Maurice reluctantly went to his father's room and returned with Mrs. Gratacap.
I'm not going to submit to it; and you know you can't frighten me with all your high ways." Mrs. Gratacap was standing beside the count, as though to protect him; Madame de Gramont was seated directly before him, and looking highly incensed. Count Tristan himself appeared to be in great tribulation, and grasped the hand of his nurse with a dependent air.
L.P. Gratacap, in School of Mines Quarterly. Some time ago Mr.
Gratacap was attired with an exemplary regard for utility; her garments were too short to be soiled by contact with the mud, and disclosed Amazonian feet encased in sturdy boots, to say nothing of respectable ankles protected by gray stockings.
Gramont; so you just call me by my name, and I'll return the compliment." "I choose to avoid the necessity of calling you anything," returned the countess, when Mrs. Gratacap allowed her to speak. "You are discharged! "Hoighty-toighty! here's a pretty kettle of fish! But it's no use talking; I'm settled for a month! that's my engagement."
"I am as pleased as punch to find you here; but I've been thinking that like as not, you're scared of sick folks; there's plenty of people that are; but there's nothing to be skittish about; I think this poor dear will get all right again." "Silence, woman!" commanded the countess. "Never you fear," replied Mrs. Gratacap, either misunderstanding her or pretending to do so.
Gratacap who had been too busily engaged in looking after her "properties" to perceive the viscount until he spoke, now strode forward, extended her hand, and shook his with good-humored familiarity. "How d'ye do? How d'ye do, young man? Here I am, you see, punctual to the moment. Told you you could depend on me. Well, and where's the poor dear?
Gratacap had never dreamed of being afraid of "mortal man," to say nothing of "mortal woman," she disencumbered herself of her bandbox, bundle, and umbrella, deliberately took off the ample hat and tossed it upon the table, sending her shawl to keep it company, walked up to Madame de Gramont, placed a chair immediately in front of her, and sat down. "Well, and how's the poor dear?
You're his own mother; and, I swan, you haven't been near him this blessed day." "Woman!" cried the countess, lashed into fury. "How dare you address such language to me?" "Law sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Gratacap, lifting up her hands and eyes. "What did I say? You are his mother, an't you? There's no shame about it, I suppose. I hadn't a notion of putting you into a passion.
He took little or no notice of what passed around him, but ever seemed brooding over his own misfortunes, that is, if his mind retained any activity, of which it was not easy to judge. In another week the month for which Mrs. Gratacap considered herself engaged would expire.
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