“No, mamma; certainly not.  I have told you so before.”

“And this is true?”

“As true as Heaven, mamma.”

“Then it is easy to fix upon the cause of his bad conduct.  That girl.  It is a good thing she is dead,” hissed the elder lady between her teeth.

She spoke in a tone too low to reach the ears of Berenice, who sat with her weeping face buried in her handkerchief.

There was silence for a little while between the ladies.  Berenice was the first to break it, by asking: 

“Mamma, can you imagine where he is?”

“No, my love!  And if I do not feel so anxious about him as you feel, it is because I know him better than you do.  And I know that it is some unjustifiable caprice that is keeping him from his home.  When he comes to his senses he will return.  In the meanwhile, we must not, by any show of anxiety, give the servants or the neighbors any cause to gossip of his disappearance.  And I must not have my plans upset by his whims.  I have already delayed my departure for Washington longer than I like; and my daughters have missed the great ball of the season.  I am not willing to remain here any longer at all.  And I think, also, that we shall be more likely to meet Herman by going to town than by staying here.  Washington is the great center of attraction at this season of the year.  Everyone goes there.  I have a pleasant furnished house on Lafayette Square.  It has been quite ready for our reception for the last fortnight.  Some of our servants have already gone up.  So, my love, I have fixed our departure for Saturday morning, if you think you can be ready by that time.  If not, I can wait a day or two.”

“I thank you, mamma; I thank you very much; but pray do not inconvenience yourself on my account.  I cannot go to town.  I must stay here and wait my husband’s return—­if he ever returns,” murmured Berenice to herself.

“But suppose he is in Washington?”

“Still, mamma, as he has not invited me to follow him, I prefer to stay here.”

“But surely, child, you need no invitation to follow your husband, wherever he may be.”

“Indeed I do, mamma.  I came to him from Europe here, and my doing so displeased him and drove him away from his home.  And I myself would return to my native country, only, now that I am in my husband’s house, I feel that to leave it would be to abandon my post of duty and expose myself to just censure.  But I cannot follow him farther, mamma.  I cannot!  I must not obtrude myself upon his presence.  I must remain here and pray and hope for his return,” sighed the poor young wife.

“Berenice, this is all wrong; you are morbid; not fit, in your present state of mind, to guide yourself.  Be guided by me.  Come with me to Washington.  You will really enjoy yourself there—­you cannot help it.  Your beauty will make you the reigning belle; your taste will make you the leader of fashion; and your title will constitute you the lioness of the season; for, mark you, Berenice, there is nothing, not even the ‘almighty dollar,’ that our consistent republicans fall down and worship with a sincerer homage than a title!  All your combined attractions will make you whatever you please to be.”