by Henry James
CHAPTER III
He performed this ceremony on the following day, when, by appointment,Christopher Newman went to dine with him. Mr. and Mrs. Tristram livedbehind one of those chalk-colored façades which decorate with theirpompous sameness the broad avenues manufactured by Baron Haussmann inthe neighborhood of the Arc de Triomphe. Their apartment was rich in themodern conveniences, and Tristram lost no time in calling his visitor’sattention to their principal household treasures, the gas-lamps and thefurnace-holes. “Whenever you feel homesick,” he said, “you must come uphere. We’ll stick you down before a register, under a good big burner,and--”
“And you will soon get over your homesickness,” said Mrs. Tristram.
Her husband stared; his wife often had a tone which he found inscrutablehe could not tell for his life whether she was in jest or in earnest.The truth is that circumstances had done much to cultivate in Mrs.Tristram a marked tendency to irony. Her taste on many points differedfrom that of her husband, and though she made frequent concessions itmust be confessed that her concessions were not always graceful. Theywere founded upon a vague project she had of some day doing somethingvery positive, something a trifle passionate. What she meant to do shecould by no means have told you; but meanwhile, nevertheless, she wasbuying a good conscience, by instalments.
It should be added, without delay, to anticipate misconception, that herlittle scheme of independence did not definitely involve the assistanceof another person, of the opposite sex; she was not saving up virtue tocover the expenses of a flirtation. For this there were various reasons.To begin with, she had a very plain face and she was entirely withoutillusions as to her appearance. She had taken its measure to a hair’sbreadth, she knew the worst and the best, she had accepted herself. Ithad not been, indeed, without a struggle. As a young girl she had spenthours with her back to her mirror, crying her eyes out; and latershe had from desperation and bravado adopted the habit of proclaimingherself the most ill-favored of women, in order that she might--as incommon politeness was inevitable--be contradicted and reassured. Itwas since she had come to live in Europe that she had begun to take thematter philosophically. Her observation, acutely exercised here, hadsuggested to her that a woman’s first duty is not to be beautiful, butto be pleasing, and she encountered so many women who pleased withoutbeauty that she began to feel that she had discovered her mission. Shehad once heard an enthusiastic musician, out of patience with a giftedbungler, declare that a fine voice is really an obstacle to singingproperly; and it occurred to her that it might perhaps be equally truethat a beautiful face is an obstacle to the acquisition of charmingmanners. Mrs. Tristram, then, undertook to be exquisitely agreeable, andshe brought to the task a really touching devotion. How well she wouldhave succeeded I am unable to say; unfortunately she broke off in themiddle. Her own excuse was the want of encouragement in her immediatecircle. But I am inclined to think that she had not a real genius forthe matter, or she would have pursued the charming art for itself. Thepoor lady was very incomplete. She fell back upon the harmonies of thetoilet, which she thoroughly understood, and contented herself withdressing in perfection. She lived in Paris, which she pretended todetest, because it was only in Paris that one could find things toexactly suit one’s complexion. Besides out of Paris it was always moreor less of a trouble to get ten-button gloves. When she railed at thisserviceable city and you asked her where she would prefer to reside, shereturned some very unexpected answer. She would say in Copenhagen, orin Barcelona; having, while making the tour of Europe, spent a coupleof days at each of these places. On the whole, with her poetic furbelowsand her misshapen, intelligent little face, she was, when you knew her,a decidedly interesting woman. She was naturally shy, and if she hadbeen born a beauty, she would (having no vanity) probably have remainedshy. Now, she was both diffident and importunate; extremely reservedsometimes with her friends, and strangely expansive with strangers. Shedespised her husband; despised him too much, for she had been perfectlyat liberty not to marry him. She had been in love with a clever manwho had slighted her, and she had married a fool in the hope thatthis thankless wit, reflecting on it, would conclude that she had noappreciation of merit, and that he had flattered himself in supposingthat she cared for his own. Restless, discontented, visionary, withoutpersonal ambitions, but with a certain avidity of imagination, she was,as I have said before, eminently incomplete. She was full--both forgood and for ill--of beginnings that came to nothing; but she hadnevertheless, morally, a spark of the sacred fire.
Newman was fond, under all circumstances, of the society of women, andnow that he was out of his native element and deprived of his habitualinterests, he turned to it for compensation. He took a great fancy toMrs. Tristram; she frankly repaid it, and after their first meeting hepassed a great many hours in her drawing-room. After two or three talksthey were fast friends. Newman’s manner with women was peculiar, andit required some ingenuity on a lady’s part to discover that headmired her. He had no gallantry, in the usual sense of the term;no compliments, no graces, no speeches. Very fond of what is calledchaffing, in his dealings with men, he never found himself on a sofabeside a member of the softer sex without feeling extremely serious.He was not shy, and so far as awkwardness proceeds from a struggle withshyness, he was not awkward; grave, attentive, submissive, often silent,he was simply swimming in a sort of rapture of respect. This emotion wasnot at all theoretic, it was not even in a high degree sentimental; hehad thought very little about the “position” of women, and he wasnot familiar either sympathetically or otherwise, with the image ofa President in petticoats. His attitude was simply the flower ofhis general good-nature, and a part of his instinctive and genuinelydemocratic assumption of everyone’s right to lead an easy life. If ashaggy pauper had a right to bed and board and wages and a vote, women,of course, who were weaker than paupers, and whose physical tissue wasin itself an appeal, should be maintained, sentimentally, at the publicexpense. Newman was willing to be taxed for this purpose, largely, inproportion to his means. Moreover, many of the common traditions withregard to women were with him fresh personal impressions; he had neverread a novel! He had been struck with their acuteness, their subtlety,their tact, their felicity of judgment. They seemed to him exquisitelyorganized. If it is true that one must always have in one’s work herebelow a religion, or at least an ideal, of some sort, Newman found hismetaphysical inspiration in a vague acceptance of final responsibilityto some illumined feminine brow.
He spent a great deal of time in listening to advice from Mrs. Tristram;advice, it must be added, for which he had never asked. He wouldhave been incapable of asking for it, for he had no perception ofdifficulties, and consequently no curiosity about remedies. The complexParisian world about him seemed a very simple affair; it was an immense,amazing spectacle, but it neither inflamed his imagination norirritated his curiosity. He kept his hands in his pockets, looked ongood-humoredly, desired to miss nothing important, observed a great manythings narrowly, and never reverted to himself. Mrs. Tristram’s “advice” was a part of the show, and a more entertaining element, in her abundantgossip, than the others. He enjoyed her talking about himself; it seemeda part of her beautiful ingenuity; but he never made an applicationof anything she said, or remembered it when he was away from her. Forherself, she appropriated him; he was the most interesting thing shehad had to think about in many a month. She wished to do something withhim--she hardly knew what. There was so much of him; he was so richand robust, so easy, friendly, well-disposed, that he kept her fancyconstantly on the alert. For the present, the only thing she could dowas to like him. She told him that he was “horribly Western,” but inthis compliment the adverb was tinged with insincerity. She led himabout with her, introduced him to fifty people, and took extremesatisfaction in her conquest. Newman accepted every proposal, shookhands universally and promiscuously, and seemed equally unfamiliarwith trepidation or with elation. Tom Tristram complained of his wife’savidity, and declared that he could never ha
ve a clear five minutes withhis friend. If he had known how things were going to turn out, he neverwould have brought him to the Avenue d’Iéna. The two men, formerly, hadnot been intimate, but Newman remembered his earlier impression of hishost, and did Mrs. Tristram, who had by no means taken him into herconfidence, but whose secret he presently discovered, the justice toadmit that her husband was a rather degenerate mortal. At twenty-five hehad been a good fellow, and in this respect he was unchanged; but of aman of his age one expected something more. People said he was sociable,but this was as much a matter of course as for a dipped sponge toexpand; and it was not a high order of sociability. He was a greatgossip and tattler, and to produce a laugh would hardly have spared thereputation of his aged mother. Newman had a kindness for old memories,but he found it impossible not to perceive that Tristram was nowadaysa very light weight. His only aspirations were to hold out at poker, athis club, to know the names of all the _cocottes_, to shake hands allround, to ply his rosy gullet with truffles and champagne, and to createuncomfortable eddies and obstructions among the constituent atoms of theAmerican colony. He was shamefully idle, spiritless, sensual, snobbish.He irritated our friend by the tone of his allusions to their nativecountry, and Newman was at a loss to understand why the United Stateswere not good enough for Mr. Tristram. He had never been a veryconscious patriot, but it vexed him to see them treated as little betterthan a vulgar smell in his friend’s nostrils, and he finally broke outand swore that they were the greatest country in the world, that theycould put all Europe into their breeches’ pockets, and that an Americanwho spoke ill of them ought to be carried home in irons and compelledto live in Boston. (This, for Newman was putting it very vindictively.)Tristram was a comfortable man to snub, he bore no malice, and hecontinued to insist on Newman’s finishing his evening at the OccidentalClub.
Christopher Newman dined several times in the Avenue d’Iéna, and hishost always proposed an early adjournment to this institution. Mrs.Tristram protested, and declared that her husband exhausted hisingenuity in trying to displease her.
“Oh no, I never try, my love,” he answered. “I know you loathe me quiteenough when I take my chance.”
Newman hated to see a husband and wife on these terms, and he was sureone or other of them must be very unhappy. He knew it was not Tristram.Mrs. Tristram had a balcony before her windows, upon which, during theJune evenings, she was fond of sitting, and Newman used frankly to saythat he preferred the balcony to the club. It had a fringe of perfumedplants in tubs, and enabled you to look up the broad street and seethe Arch of Triumph vaguely massing its heroic sculptures in the summerstarlight. Sometimes Newman kept his promise of following Mr. Tristram,in half an hour, to the Occidental, and sometimes he forgot it. Hishostess asked him a great many questions about himself, but on thissubject he was an indifferent talker. He was not what is calledsubjective, though when he felt that her interest was sincere, he madean almost heroic attempt to be. He told her a great many things hehad done, and regaled her with anecdotes of Western life; she was fromPhiladelphia, and with her eight years in Paris, talked of herself as alanguid Oriental. But some other person was always the hero of the tale,by no means always to his advantage; and Newman’s own emotions were butscantily chronicled. She had an especial wish to know whether he hadever been in love--seriously, passionately--and, failing to gatherany satisfaction from his allusions, she at last directly inquired. Hehesitated a while, and at last he said, “No!” She declared that she wasdelighted to hear it, as it confirmed her private conviction that he wasa man of no feeling.
“Really?” he asked, very gravely. “Do you think so? How do you recognizea man of feeling?”
“I can’t make out,” said Mrs. Tristram, “whether you are very simple orvery deep.”
“I’m very deep. That’s a fact.”
“I believe that if I were to tell you with a certain air that you haveno feeling, you would implicitly believe me.”
“A certain air?” said Newman. “Try it and see.”
“You would believe me, but you would not care,” said Mrs. Tristram.
“You have got it all wrong. I should care immensely, but I shouldn’tbelieve you. The fact is I have never had time to feel things. I havehad to _do_ them, to make myself felt.”
“I can imagine that you may have done that tremendously, sometimes.”
“Yes, there’s no mistake about that.”
“When you are in a fury it can’t be pleasant.”
“I am never in a fury.”
“Angry, then, or displeased.”
“I am never angry, and it is so long since I have been displeased that Ihave quite forgotten it.”
“I don’t believe,” said Mrs. Tristram, “that you are never angry. A manought to be angry sometimes, and you are neither good enough nor badenough always to keep your temper.”
“I lose it perhaps once in five years.”
“The time is coming round, then,” said his hostess. “Before I have knownyou six months I shall see you in a fine fury.”
“Do you mean to put me into one?”
“I should not be sorry. You take things too coolly. It exasperates me.And then you are too happy. You have what must be the most agreeablething in the world, the consciousness of having bought your pleasurebeforehand and paid for it. You have not a day of reckoning staring youin the face. Your reckonings are over.”
“Well, I suppose I am happy,” said Newman, meditatively.
“You have been odiously successful.”
“Successful in copper,” said Newman, “only so-so in railroads, and ahopeless fizzle in oil.”
“It is very disagreeable to know how Americans have made their money.Now you have the world before you. You have only to enjoy.”
“Oh, I suppose I am very well off,” said Newman. “Only I am tired ofhaving it thrown up at me. Besides, there are several drawbacks. I amnot intellectual.”
“One doesn’t expect it of you,” Mrs. Tristram answered. Then in amoment, “Besides, you are!”
“Well, I mean to have a good time, whether or no,” said Newman. “I amnot cultivated, I am not even educated; I know nothing about history,or art, or foreign tongues, or any other learned matters. But I am nota fool, either, and I shall undertake to know something about Europe bythe time I have done with it. I feel something under my ribs here,” headded in a moment, “that I can’t explain--a sort of a mighty hankering,a desire to stretch out and haul in.”
“Bravo!” said Mrs. Tristram, “that is very fine. You are the greatWestern Barbarian, stepping forth in his innocence and might, gazing awhile at this poor effete Old World and then swooping down on it.”
“Oh, come,” said Newman. “I am not a barbarian, by a good deal. I amvery much the reverse. I have seen barbarians; I know what they are.”
“I don’t mean that you are a Comanche chief, or that you wear a blanketand feathers. There are different shades.”
“I am a highly civilized man,” said Newman. “I stick to that. If youdon’t believe it, I should like to prove it to you.”
Mrs. Tristram was silent a while. “I should like to make you prove it,” she said, at last. “I should like to put you in a difficult place.”
“Pray do,” said Newman.
“That has a little conceited sound!” his companion rejoined.
“Oh,” said Newman, “I have a very good opinion of myself.”
“I wish I could put it to the test. Give me time and I will.” And Mrs.Tristram remained silent for some time afterwards, as if she was tryingto keep her pledge. It did not appear that evening that she succeeded;but as he was rising to take his leave she passed suddenly, as she wasvery apt to do, from the tone of unsparing persiflage to that of almosttremulous sympathy. “Speaking seriously,” she said, “I believe in you,Mr. Newman. You flatter my patriotism.”
“Your patriotism?” Christopher demanded.
“Even so. It would take too long to explain, and you probably would notunder
stand. Besides, you might take it--really, you might take it for adeclaration. But it has nothing to do with you personally; it’s what yourepresent. Fortunately you don’t know all that, or your conceit wouldincrease insufferably.”
Newman stood staring and wondering what under the sun he “represented.”
“Forgive all my meddlesome chatter and forget my advice. It isvery silly in me to undertake to tell you what to do. When you areembarrassed, do as you think best, and you will do very well. When youare in a difficulty, judge for yourself.”
“I shall remember everything you have told me,” said Newman. “There areso many forms and ceremonies over here--”
“Forms and ceremonies are what I mean, of course.”
“Ah, but I want to observe them,” said Newman. “Haven’t I as good aright as another? They don’t scare me, and you needn’t give me leave toviolate them. I won’t take it.”
“That is not what I mean. I mean, observe them in your own way. Settlenice questions for yourself. Cut the knot or untie it, as you choose.”
“Oh, I am sure I shall never fumble over it!” said Newman.
The next time that he dined in the Avenue d’Iéna was a Sunday, a day onwhich Mr. Tristram left the cards unshuffled, so that there was a trioin the evening on the balcony. The talk was of many things, and at lastMrs. Tristram suddenly observed to Christopher Newman that it was hightime he should take a wife.
“Listen to her; she has the audacity!” said Tristram, who on Sundayevenings was always rather acrimonious.
“I don’t suppose you have made up your mind not to marry?” Mrs. Tristramcontinued.
“Heaven forbid!” cried Newman. “I am sternly resolved on it.”
“It’s very easy,” said Tristram; “fatally easy!”
“Well, then, I suppose you do not mean to wait till you are fifty.”
“On the contrary, I am in a great hurry.”
“One would never suppose it. Do you expect a lady to come and propose toyou?”
“No; I am willing to propose. I think a great deal about it.”
“Tell me some of your thoughts.”
“Well,” said Newman, slowly, “I want to marry very well.”
“Marry a woman of sixty, then,” said Tristram.
“‘Well’ in what sense?”
“In every sense. I shall be hard to please.”
“You must remember that, as the French proverb says, the most beautifulgirl in the world can give but what she has.”
“Since you ask me,” said Newman, “I will say frankly that I wantextremely to marry. It is time, to begin with: before I know it I shallbe forty. And then I’m lonely and helpless and dull. But if I marry now,so long as I didn’t do it in hot haste when I was twenty, I must do itwith my eyes open. I want to do the thing in handsome style. I do notonly want to make no mistakes, but I want to make a great hit. I want totake my pick. My wife must be a magnificent woman.”
“_Voilà ce qui s’appelle parler!_” cried Mrs. Tristram.
“Oh, I have thought an immense deal about it.”
“Perhaps you think too much. The best thing is simply to fall in love.”
“When I find the woman who pleases me, I shall love her enough. My wifeshall be very comfortable.”
“You are superb! There’s a chance for the magnificent women.”
“You are not fair.” Newman rejoined. “You draw a fellow out and put himoff guard, and then you laugh at him.”
“I assure you,” said Mrs. Tristram, “that I am very serious. To proveit, I will make you a proposal. Should you like me, as they say here, tomarry you?”
“To hunt up a wife for me?”
“She is already found. I will bring you together.”
“Oh, come,” said Tristram, “we don’t keep a matrimonial bureau. He willthink you want your commission.”
“Present me to a woman who comes up to my notions,” said Newman, “and Iwill marry her tomorrow.”
“You have a strange tone about it, and I don’t quite understand you. Ididn’t suppose you would be so coldblooded and calculating.”
Newman was silent a while. “Well,” he said, at last, “I want a greatwoman. I stick to that. That’s one thing I _can_ treat myself to, and ifit is to be had I mean to have it. What else have I toiled and struggledfor, all these years? I have succeeded, and now what am I to do withmy success? To make it perfect, as I see it, there must be a beautifulwoman perched on the pile, like a statue on a monument. She must be asgood as she is beautiful, and as clever as she is good. I can give mywife a good deal, so I am not afraid to ask a good deal myself. Sheshall have everything a woman can desire; I shall not even object toher being too good for me; she may be cleverer and wiser than I canunderstand, and I shall only be the better pleased. I want to possess,in a word, the best article in the market.”
“Why didn’t you tell a fellow all this at the outset?” Tristramdemanded. “I have been trying so to make you fond of _me!_”
“This is very interesting,” said Mrs. Tristram. “I like to see a manknow his own mind.”
“I have known mine for a long time,” Newman went on. “I made up my mindtolerably early in life that a beautiful wife was the thing best worthhaving, here below. It is the greatest victory over circumstances. WhenI say beautiful, I mean beautiful in mind and in manners, as well as inperson. It is a thing every man has an equal right to; he may get it ifhe can. He doesn’t have to be born with certain faculties, on purpose;he needs only to be a man. Then he needs only to use his will, and suchwits as he has, and to try.”
“It strikes me that your marriage is to be rather a matter of vanity.”
“Well, it is certain,” said Newman, “that if people notice my wife andadmire her, I shall be mightily tickled.”
“After this,” cried Mrs. Tristram, “call any man modest!”
“But none of them will admire her so much as I.”
“I see you have a taste for splendor.”
Newman hesitated a little; and then, “I honestly believe I have!” hesaid.
“And I suppose you have already looked about you a good deal.”
“A good deal, according to opportunity.”
“And you have seen nothing that satisfied you?”
“No,” said Newman, half reluctantly, “I am bound to say in honesty thatI have seen nothing that really satisfied me.”
“You remind me of the heroes of the French romantic poets, Rolla andFortunio and all those other insatiable gentlemen for whom nothing inthis world was handsome enough. But I see you are in earnest, and Ishould like to help you.”
“Who the deuce is it, darling, that you are going to put upon him?” Tristram cried. “We know a good many pretty girls, thank Heaven, butmagnificent women are not so common.”
“Have you any objections to a foreigner?” his wife continued, addressingNewman, who had tilted back his chair and, with his feet on a bar of thebalcony railing and his hands in his pockets, was looking at the stars.
“No Irish need apply,” said Tristram.
Newman meditated a while. “As a foreigner, no,” he said at last; “I haveno prejudices.”
“My dear fellow, you have no suspicions!” cried Tristram. “You don’tknow what terrible customers these foreign women are; especially the‘magnificent’ ones. How should you like a fair Circassian, with a daggerin her belt?”
Newman administered a vigorous slap to his knee. “I would marry aJapanese, if she pleased me,” he affirmed.
“We had better confine ourselves to Europe,” said Mrs. Tristram. “Theonly thing is, then, that the person be in herself to your taste?”
“She is going to offer you an unappreciated governess!” Tristramgroaned.
“Assuredly. I won’t deny that, other things being equal, I should preferone of my own countrywomen. We should speak the same language, andthat would be a comfort. But I am not afraid of a foreigner. Besides, Irather like the idea of taking in Europe, too. It enlarges the
fieldof selection. When you choose from a greater number, you can bring yourchoice to a finer point!”
“You talk like Sardanapalus!” exclaimed Tristram.
“You say all this to the right person,” said Newman’s hostess. “I happento number among my friends the loveliest woman in the world. Neithermore nor less. I don’t say a very charming person or a very estimablewoman or a very great beauty; I say simply the loveliest woman in theworld.”
“The deuce!” cried Tristram, “you have kept very quiet about her. Wereyou afraid of me?”
“You have seen her,” said his wife, “but you have no perception of suchmerit as Claire’s.”
“Ah, her name is Claire? I give it up.”
“Does your friend wish to marry?” asked Newman.
“Not in the least. It is for you to make her change her mind. It willnot be easy; she has had one husband, and he gave her a low opinion ofthe species.”
“Oh, she is a widow, then?” said Newman.
“Are you already afraid? She was married at eighteen, by her parents, inthe French fashion, to a disagreeable old man. But he had the good tasteto die a couple of years afterward, and she is now twenty-five.”
“So she is French?”
“French by her father, English by her mother. She is really more Englishthan French, and she speaks English as well as you or I--or rather muchbetter. She belongs to the very top of the basket, as they say here.Her family, on each side, is of fabulous antiquity; her mother is thedaughter of an English Catholic earl. Her father is dead, and since herwidowhood she has lived with her mother and a married brother. There isanother brother, younger, who I believe is wild. They have an old hotelin the Rue de l’Université, but their fortune is small, and they make acommon household, for economy’s sake. When I was a girl I was put into aconvent here for my education, while my father made the tour of Europe.It was a silly thing to do with me, but it had the advantage that itmade me acquainted with Claire de Bellegarde. She was younger than Ibut we became fast friends. I took a tremendous fancy to her, and shereturned my passion as far as she could. They kept such a tight rein onher that she could do very little, and when I left the convent she hadto give me up. I was not of her _monde_; I am not now, either, but wesometimes meet. They are terrible people--her _monde_; all mounted uponstilts a mile high, and with pedigrees long in proportion. It is theskim of the milk of the old _noblesse_. Do you know what a Legitimistis, or an Ultramontane? Go into Madame de Cintré’s drawing-roomsome afternoon, at five o’clock, and you will see the best preservedspecimens. I say go, but no one is admitted who can’t show his fiftyquarterings.”
“And this is the lady you propose to me to marry?” asked Newman. “A ladyI can’t even approach?”
“But you said just now that you recognized no obstacles.”
Newman looked at Mrs. Tristram a while, stroking his moustache. “Is shea beauty?” he demanded.
“No.”
“Oh, then it’s no use--”
“She is not a beauty, but she is beautiful, two very different things. Abeauty has no faults in her face, the face of a beautiful woman may havefaults that only deepen its charm.”
“I remember Madame de Cintré, now,” said Tristram. “She is as plain as apike-staff. A man wouldn’t look at her twice.”
“In saying that _he_ would not look at her twice, my husbandsufficiently describes her,” Mrs. Tristram rejoined.
“Is she good; is she clever?” Newman asked.
“She is perfect! I won’t say more than that. When you are praisinga person to another who is to know her, it is bad policy to go intodetails. I won’t exaggerate. I simply recommend her. Among all women Ihave known she stands alone; she is of a different clay.”
“I should like to see her,” said Newman, simply.
“I will try to manage it. The only way will be to invite her to dinner.I have never invited her before, and I don’t know that she will come.Her old feudal countess of a mother rules the family with an iron hand,and allows her to have no friends but of her own choosing, and to visitonly in a certain sacred circle. But I can at least ask her.”
At this moment Mrs. Tristram was interrupted; a servant stepped out uponthe balcony and announced that there were visitors in the drawing-room.When Newman’s hostess had gone in to receive her friends, Tom Tristramapproached his guest.
“Don’t put your foot into _this_, my boy,” he said, puffing the lastwhiffs of his cigar. “There’s nothing in it!”
Newman looked askance at him, inquisitive. “You tell another story, eh?”
“I say simply that Madame de Cintré is a great white doll of a woman,who cultivates quiet haughtiness.”
“Ah, she’s haughty, eh?”
“She looks at you as if you were so much thin air, and cares for youabout as much.”
“She is very proud, eh?”
“Proud? As proud as I’m humble.”
“And not good-looking?”
Tristram shrugged his shoulders: “It’s a kind of beauty you must be_intellectual_ to understand. But I must go in and amuse the company.”
Some time elapsed before Newman followed his friends into thedrawing-room. When he at last made his appearance there he remained buta short time, and during this period sat perfectly silent, listeningto a lady to whom Mrs. Tristram had straightway introduced him and whochattered, without a pause, with the full force of an extraordinarilyhigh-pitched voice. Newman gazed and attended. Presently he came to bidgood-night to Mrs. Tristram.
“Who is that lady?” he asked.
“Miss Dora Finch. How do you like her?”
“She’s too noisy.”
“She is thought so bright! Certainly, you are fastidious,” said Mrs.Tristram.
Newman stood a moment, hesitating. Then at last, “Don’t forget aboutyour friend,” he said, “Madame What’s-her-name? the proud beauty. Askher to dinner, and give me a good notice.” And with this he departed.
Some days later he came back; it was in the afternoon. He found Mrs.Tristram in her drawing-room; with her was a visitor, a woman young andpretty, dressed in white. The two ladies had risen and the visitor wasapparently taking her leave. As Newman approached, he received fromMrs. Tristram a glance of the most vivid significance, which he was notimmediately able to interpret.
“This is a good friend of ours,” she said, turning to her companion,“Mr. Christopher Newman. I have spoken of you to him and he has anextreme desire to make your acquaintance. If you had consented to comeand dine, I should have offered him an opportunity.”
The stranger turned her face toward Newman, with a smile. He was notembarrassed, for his unconscious _sang-froid_ was boundless; but as hebecame aware that this was the proud and beautiful Madame de Cintré,the loveliest woman in the world, the promised perfection, the proposedideal, he made an instinctive movement to gather his wits together.Through the slight preoccupation that it produced he had a sense of along, fair face, and of two eyes that were both brilliant and mild.
“I should have been most happy,” said Madame de Cintré. “Unfortunately,as I have been telling Mrs. Tristram, I go on Monday to the country.”
Newman had made a solemn bow. “I am very sorry,” he said.
“Paris is getting too warm,” Madame de Cintré added, taking her friend’shand again in farewell.
Mrs. Tristram seemed to have formed a sudden and somewhat venturesomeresolution, and she smiled more intensely, as women do when they takesuch resolution. “I want Mr. Newman to know you,” she said, dropping herhead on one side and looking at Madame de Cintré’s bonnet ribbons.
Christopher Newman stood gravely silent, while his native penetrationadmonished him. Mrs. Tristram was determined to force her friend toaddress him a word of encouragement which should be more than one of thecommon formulas of politeness; and if she was prompted by charity, itwas by the charity that begins at home. Madame de Cintré was her dearestClaire, and her especial admiration but Madame de Cintré had found itimpo
ssible to dine with her and Madame de Cintré should for once beforced gently to render tribute to Mrs. Tristram.
“It would give me great pleasure,” she said, looking at Mrs. Tristram.
“That’s a great deal,” cried the latter, “for Madame de Cintré to say!”
“I am very much obliged to you,” said Newman. “Mrs. Tristram can speakbetter for me than I can speak for myself.”
Madame de Cintré looked at him again, with the same soft brightness.“Are you to be long in Paris?” she asked.
“We shall keep him,” said Mrs. Tristram.
“But you are keeping _me!_” and Madame de Cintré shook her friend’shand.
“A moment longer,” said Mrs. Tristram.
Madame de Cintré looked at Newman again; this time without her smile.Her eyes lingered a moment. “Will you come and see me?” she asked.
Mrs. Tristram kissed her. Newman expressed his thanks, and she took herleave. Her hostess went with her to the door, and left Newman alone amoment. Presently she returned, rubbing her hands. “It was a fortunatechance,” she said. “She had come to decline my invitation. You triumphedon the spot, making her ask you, at the end of three minutes, to herhouse.”
“It was you who triumphed,” said Newman. “You must not be too hard uponher.”
Mrs. Tristram stared. “What do you mean?”
“She did not strike me as so proud. I should say she was shy.”
“You are very discriminating. And what do you think of her face?”
“It’s handsome!” said Newman.
“I should think it was! Of course you will go and see her.”
“To-morrow!” cried Newman.
“No, not to-morrow; the next day. That will be Sunday; she leaves Parison Monday. If you don’t see her; it will at least be a beginning.” Andshe gave him Madame de Cintré’s address.
He walked across the Seine, late in the summer afternoon, and made hisway through those gray and silent streets of the Faubourg St. Germainwhose houses present to the outer world a face as impassive and assuggestive of the concentration of privacy within as the blank wallsof Eastern seraglios. Newman thought it a queer way for rich peopleto live; his ideal of grandeur was a splendid façade diffusing itsbrilliancy outward too, irradiating hospitality. The house to which hehad been directed had a dark, dusty, painted portal, which swung openin answer to his ring. It admitted him into a wide, gravelled court,surrounded on three sides with closed windows, and with a doorway facingthe street, approached by three steps and surmounted by a tin canopy.The place was all in the shade; it answered to Newman’s conception ofa convent. The portress could not tell him whether Madame de Cintré wasvisible; he would please to apply at the farther door. He crossed thecourt; a gentleman was sitting, bareheaded, on the steps of the portico,playing with a beautiful pointer. He rose as Newman approached, and, ashe laid his hand upon the bell, said with a smile, in English, that hewas afraid Newman would be kept waiting; the servants were scattered, hehimself had been ringing, he didn’t know what the deuce was in them. Hewas a young man, his English was excellent, and his smile very frank.Newman pronounced the name of Madame de Cintré.
“I think,” said the young man, “that my sister is visible. Come in, andif you will give me your card I will carry it to her myself.”
Newman had been accompanied on his present errand by a slight sentiment,I will not say of defiance--a readiness for aggression or defence, asthey might prove needful--but of reflection, good-humored suspicion. Hetook from his pocket, while he stood on the portico, a card upon which,under his name, he had written the words “San Francisco,” and whilehe presented it he looked warily at his interlocutor. His glance wassingularly reassuring; he liked the young man’s face; it stronglyresembled that of Madame de Cintré. He was evidently her brother. Theyoung man, on his side, had made a rapid inspection of Newman’s person.He had taken the card and was about to enter the house with it whenanother figure appeared on the threshold--an older man, of a finepresence, wearing evening dress. He looked hard at Newman, and Newmanlooked at him. “Madame de Cintré,” the younger man repeated, as anintroduction of the visitor. The other took the card from his hand,read it in a rapid glance, looked again at Newman from head to foot,hesitated a moment, and then said, gravely but urbanely, “Madame deCintré is not at home.”
The younger man made a gesture, and then, turning to Newman, “I am verysorry, sir,” he said.
Newman gave him a friendly nod, to show that he bore him no malice, andretraced his steps. At the porter’s lodge he stopped; the two men werestill standing on the portico.
“Who is the gentleman with the dog?” he asked of the old woman whoreappeared. He had begun to learn French.
“That is Monsieur le Comte.”
“And the other?”
“That is Monsieur le Marquis.”
“A marquis?” said Christopher in English, which the old womanfortunately did not understand. “Oh, then he’s not the butler!”