by Henry James
CHAPTER XII
Three days after his introduction to the family of Madame de Cintré,Newman, coming in toward evening, found upon his table the card of theMarquis de Bellegarde. On the following day he received a note informinghim that the Marquise de Bellegarde would be grateful for the honor ofhis company at dinner.
He went, of course, though he had to break another engagement to do it.He was ushered into the room in which Madame de Bellegarde had receivedhim before, and here he found his venerable hostess, surrounded by herentire family. The room was lighted only by the crackling fire, whichilluminated the very small pink slippers of a lady who, seated in a lowchair, was stretching out her toes before it. This lady was the youngerMadame de Bellegarde. Madame de Cintré was seated at the other endof the room, holding a little girl against her knee, the child of herbrother Urbain, to whom she was apparently relating a wonderful story.Valentin was sitting on a puff, close to his sister-in-law, into whoseear he was certainly distilling the finest nonsense. The marquis wasstationed before the fire, with his head erect and his hands behind him,in an attitude of formal expectancy.
Old Madame de Bellegarde stood up to give Newman her greeting, and therewas that in the way she did so which seemed to measure narrowly theextent of her condescension. “We are all alone, you see, we have askedno one else,” she said austerely.
“I am very glad you didn’t; this is much more sociable,” said Newman.“Good evening, sir,” and he offered his hand to the marquis.
M. de Bellegarde was affable, but in spite of his dignity he wasrestless. He began to pace up and down the room, he looked out of thelong windows, he took up books and laid them down again. Young Madamede Bellegarde gave Newman her hand without moving and without looking athim.
“You may think that is coldness,” exclaimed Valentin; “but it is not, itis warmth. It shows she is treating you as an intimate. Now she detestsme, and yet she is always looking at me.”
“No wonder I detest you if I am always looking at you!” cried the lady.“If Mr. Newman does not like my way of shaking hands, I will do itagain.”
But this charming privilege was lost upon our hero, who was alreadymaking his way across the room to Madame de Cintré. She looked at himas she shook hands, but she went on with the story she was telling herlittle niece. She had only two or three phrases to add, but they wereapparently of great moment. She deepened her voice, smiling as she didso, and the little girl gazed at her with round eyes.
“But in the end the young prince married the beautiful Florabella,” saidMadame de Cintré, “and carried her off to live with him in the Land ofthe Pink Sky. There she was so happy that she forgot all her troubles,and went out to drive every day of her life in an ivory coach drawn byfive hundred white mice. Poor Florabella,” she exclaimed to Newman, “hadsuffered terribly.”
“She had had nothing to eat for six months,” said little Blanche.
“Yes, but when the six months were over, she had a plum-cake as big asthat ottoman,” said Madame de Cintré. “That quite set her up again.”
“What a checkered career!” said Newman. “Are you very fond of children?” He was certain that she was, but he wished to make her say it.
“I like to talk with them,” she answered; “we can talk with them so muchmore seriously than with grown persons. That is great nonsense that Ihave been telling Blanche, but it is a great deal more serious than mostof what we say in society.”
“I wish you would talk to me, then, as if I were Blanche’s age,” saidNewman, laughing. “Were you happy at your ball the other night?”
“Ecstatically!”
“Now you are talking the nonsense that we talk in society,” said Newman.“I don’t believe that.”
“It was my own fault if I was not happy. The ball was very pretty, andeveryone very amiable.”
“It was on your conscience,” said Newman, “that you had annoyed yourmother and your brother.”
Madame de Cintré looked at him a moment without answering. “That istrue,” she replied at last. “I had undertaken more than I could carryout. I have very little courage; I am not a heroine.” She said this witha certain soft emphasis; but then, changing her tone, “I could neverhave gone through the sufferings of the beautiful Florabella,” sheadded, not even for her prospective rewards.
Dinner was announced, and Newman betook himself to the side of the oldMadame de Bellegarde. The dining-room, at the end of a cold corridor,was vast and sombre; the dinner was simple and delicately excellent.Newman wondered whether Madame de Cintré had had something to do withordering the repast and greatly hoped she had. Once seated at table,with the various members of the ancient house of Bellegarde aroundhim, he asked himself the meaning of his position. Was the old ladyresponding to his advances? Did the fact that he was a solitary guestaugment his credit or diminish it? Were they ashamed to show him toother people, or did they wish to give him a sign of sudden adoptioninto their last reserve of favor? Newman was on his guard; he waswatchful and conjectural; and yet at the same time he was vaguelyindifferent. Whether they gave him a long rope or a short one he wasthere now, and Madame de Cintré was opposite to him. She had a tallcandlestick on each side of her; she would sit there for the next hour,and that was enough. The dinner was extremely solemn and measured; hewondered whether this was always the state of things in “old families.” Madame de Bellegarde held her head very high, and fixed her eyes, whichlooked peculiarly sharp in her little, finely-wrinkled white face, veryintently upon the table-service. The marquis appeared to have decidedthat the fine arts offered a safe subject of conversation, as notleading to startling personal revelations. Every now and then, havinglearned from Newman that he had been through the museums of Europe, heuttered some polished aphorism upon the flesh-tints of Rubens and thegood taste of Sansovino. His manners seemed to indicate a fine, nervousdread that something disagreeable might happen if the atmosphere werenot purified by allusions of a thoroughly superior cast. “What underthe sun is the man afraid of?” Newman asked himself. “Does he think I amgoing to offer to swap jack-knives with him?” It was useless to shut hiseyes to the fact that the marquis was profoundly disagreeable to him.He had never been a man of strong personal aversions; his nerves had notbeen at the mercy of the mystical qualities of his neighbors. But herewas a man towards whom he was irresistibly in opposition a man offorms and phrases and postures; a man full of possible impertinencesand treacheries. M. de Bellegarde made him feel as if he were standingbare-footed on a marble floor; and yet, to gain his desire, Newman feltperfectly able to stand. He wondered what Madame de Cintré thought ofhis being accepted, if accepted it was. There was no judging from herface, which expressed simply the desire to be gracious in a manner whichshould require as little explicit recognition as possible. Young Madamede Bellegarde had always the same manners; she was always preoccupied,distracted, listening to everything and hearing nothing, looking ather dress, her rings, her finger-nails, seeming rather bored, and yetpuzzling you to decide what was her ideal of social diversion. Newmanwas enlightened on this point later. Even Valentin did not quite seemmaster of his wits; his vivacity was fitful and forced, yet Newmanobserved that in the lapses of his talk he appeared excited. His eyeshad an intenser spark than usual. The effect of all this was thatNewman, for the first time in his life, was not himself; that hemeasured his movements, and counted his words, and resolved that if theoccasion demanded that he should appear to have swallowed a ramrod, hewould meet the emergency.
After dinner M. de Bellegarde proposed to his guest that they should gointo the smoking-room, and he led the way toward a small, somewhatmusty apartment, the walls of which were ornamented with old hangings ofstamped leather and trophies of rusty arms. Newman refused a cigar, buthe established himself upon one of the divans, while the marquis puffedhis own weed before the fire-place, and Valentin sat looking through thelight fumes of a cigarette from one to the other.
“I can’t keep quiet any longer,” said Valentin, at last. “I
must tellyou the news and congratulate you. My brother seems unable to come tothe point; he revolves around his announcement like the priest aroundthe altar. You are accepted as a candidate for the hand of our sister.”
“Valentin, be a little proper!” murmured the marquis, with a look of themost delicate irritation contracting the bridge of his high nose.
“There has been a family council,” the young man continued; “my motherand Urbain have put their heads together, and even my testimony hasnot been altogether excluded. My mother and the marquis sat at a tablecovered with green cloth; my sister-in-law and I were on a bench againstthe wall. It was like a committee at the Corps Législatif. We werecalled up, one after the other, to testify. We spoke of you veryhandsomely. Madame de Bellegarde said that if she had not been told whoyou were, she would have taken you for a duke--an American duke, theDuke of California. I said that I could warrant you grateful for thesmallest favors--modest, humble, unassuming. I was sure that you wouldknow your own place, always, and never give us occasion to remind you ofcertain differences. After all, you couldn’t help it if you were nota duke. There were none in your country; but if there had been, it wascertain that, smart and active as you are, you would have got the pickof the titles. At this point I was ordered to sit down, but I think Imade an impression in your favor.”
M. de Bellegarde looked at his brother with dangerous coldness, andgave a smile as thin as the edge of a knife. Then he removed a spark ofcigar-ash from the sleeve of his coat; he fixed his eyes for a while onthe cornice of the room, and at last he inserted one of his white handsinto the breast of his waistcoat. “I must apologize to you for thedeplorable levity of my brother,” he said, “and I must notify you thatthis is probably not the last time that his want of tact will cause youserious embarrassment.”
“No, I confess I have no tact,” said Valentin. “Is your embarrassmentreally painful, Newman? The marquis will put you right again; his owntouch is deliciously delicate.”
“Valentin, I am sorry to say,” the marquis continued, “has neverpossessed the tone, the manner, that belongs to a young man in hisposition. It has been a great affliction to his mother, who is very fondof the old traditions. But you must remember that he speaks for no onebut himself.”
“Oh, I don’t mind him, sir,” said Newman, good-humoredly. “I know whathe amounts to.”
“In the good old times,” said Valentin, “marquises and counts usedto have their appointed fools and jesters, to crack jokes for them.Nowadays we see a great strapping democrat keeping a count about himto play the fool. It’s a good situation, but I certainly am verydegenerate.”
M. de Bellegarde fixed his eyes for some time on the floor. “My motherinformed me,” he said presently, “of the announcement that you made toher the other evening.”
“That I desired to marry your sister?” said Newman.
“That you wished to arrange a marriage,” said the marquis, slowly,“with my sister, the Comtesse de Cintré. The proposal was serious, andrequired, on my mother’s part, a great deal of reflection. She naturallytook me into her counsels, and I gave my most zealous attention to thesubject. There was a great deal to be considered; more than you appearto imagine. We have viewed the question on all its faces, we haveweighed one thing against another. Our conclusion has been that we favoryour suit. My mother has desired me to inform you of our decision. Shewill have the honor of saying a few words to you on the subject herself.Meanwhile, by us, the heads of the family, you are accepted.”
Newman got up and came nearer to the marquis. “You will do nothing tohinder me, and all you can to help me, eh?”
“I will recommend my sister to accept you.”
Newman passed his hand over his face, and pressed it for a moment uponhis eyes. This promise had a great sound, and yet the pleasure he tookin it was embittered by his having to stand there so and receive hispassport from M. de Bellegarde. The idea of having this gentleman mixedup with his wooing and wedding was more and more disagreeable to him.But Newman had resolved to go through the mill, as he imagined it, andhe would not cry out at the first turn of the wheel. He was silent awhile, and then he said, with a certain dryness which Valentin told himafterwards had a very grand air, “I am much obliged to you.”
“I take note of the promise,” said Valentin, “I register the vow.”
M. de Bellegarde began to gaze at the cornice again; he apparently hadsomething more to say. “I must do my mother the justice,” he resumed, “Imust do myself the justice, to say that our decision was not easy. Suchan arrangement was not what we had expected. The idea that my sistershould marry a gentleman--ah--in business was something of a novelty.”
“So I told you, you know,” said Valentin raising his finger at Newman.
“The novelty has not quite worn away, I confess,” the marquis went on“perhaps it never will, entirely. But possibly that is not altogetherto be regretted,” and he gave his thin smile again. “It may be that thetime has come when we should make some concession to novelty. Therehad been no novelties in our house for a great many years. I made theobservation to my mother, and she did me the honor to admit that it wasworthy of attention.”
“My dear brother,” interrupted Valentin, “is not your memory justhere leading you the least bit astray? Our mother is, I may say,distinguished for her small respect of abstract reasoning. Are youvery sure that she replied to your striking proposition in the graciousmanner you describe? You know how terribly incisive she is sometimes.Didn’t she, rather, do you the honor to say, ‘A fiddlestick for yourphrases! There are better reasons than that?’”
“Other reasons were discussed,” said the marquis, without lookingat Valentin, but with an audible tremor in his voice; “some of thempossibly were better. We are conservative, Mr. Newman, but we are notalso bigots. We judged the matter liberally. We have no doubt thateverything will be comfortable.”
Newman had stood listening to these remarks with his arms folded and hiseyes fastened upon M. de Bellegarde, “Comfortable?” he said, with a sortof grim flatness of intonation. “Why shouldn’t we be comfortable? If youare not, it will be your own fault; I have everything to make _me_ so.”
“My brother means that with the lapse of time you may get used to thechange”--and Valentin paused, to light another cigarette.
“What change?” asked Newman in the same tone.
“Urbain,” said Valentin, very gravely, “I am afraid that Mr. Newman doesnot quite realize the change. We ought to insist upon that.”
“My brother goes too far,” said M. de Bellegarde. “It is his fatal wantof tact again. It is my mother’s wish, and mine, that no such allusionsshould be made. Pray never make them yourself. We prefer to assumethat the person accepted as the possible husband of my sister is oneof ourselves, and that he should have no explanations to make. With alittle discretion on both sides, everything, I think, will be easy. Thatis exactly what I wished to say--that we quite understand what wehave undertaken, and that you may depend upon our adhering to ourresolution.”
Valentin shook his hands in the air and then buried his face in them. “Ihave less tact than I might have, no doubt; but oh, my brother, if youknew what you yourself were saying!” And he went off into a long laugh.
M. de Bellegarde’s face flushed a little, but he held his head higher,as if to repudiate this concession to vulgar perturbability. “I am sureyou understand me,” he said to Newman.
“Oh no, I don’t understand you at all,” said Newman. “But you needn’tmind that. I don’t care. In fact, I think I had better not understandyou. I might not like it. That wouldn’t suit me at all, you know. I wantto marry your sister, that’s all; to do it as quickly as possible, andto find fault with nothing. I don’t care how I do it. I am not marryingyou, you know, sir. I have got my leave, and that is all I want.”
“You had better receive the last word from my mother,” said the marquis.
“Very good; I will go and get it,” said Newman; and he prepared toretu
rn to the drawing-room.
M. de Bellegarde made a motion for him to pass first, and when Newmanhad gone out he shut himself into the room with Valentin. Newman hadbeen a trifle bewildered by the audacious irony of the younger brother,and he had not needed its aid to point the moral of M. de Bellegarde’stranscendent patronage. He had wit enough to appreciate the forceof that civility which consists in calling your attention to theimpertinences it spares you. But he had felt warmly the delicatesympathy with himself that underlay Valentin’s fraternal irreverence,and he was most unwilling that his friend should pay a tax upon it.He paused a moment in the corridor, after he had gone a few steps,expecting to hear the resonance of M. de Bellegarde’s displeasure; buthe detected only a perfect stillness. The stillness itself seemed atrifle portentous; he reflected however that he had no right to standlistening, and he made his way back to the salon. In his absence severalpersons had come in. They were scattered about the room in groups,two or three of them having passed into a small boudoir, next to thedrawing-room, which had now been lighted and opened. Old Madame deBellegarde was in her place by the fire, talking to a very old gentlemanin a wig and a profuse white neck cloth of the fashion of 1820. Madamede Cintré was bending a listening head to the historic confidences ofan old lady who was presumably the wife of the old gentleman in theneckcloth, an old lady in a red satin dress and an ermine cape, whowore across her forehead a band with a topaz set in it. Young Madamede Bellegarde, when Newman came in, left some people among whom she wassitting, and took the place that she had occupied before dinner. Thenshe gave a little push to the puff that stood near her, and by a glanceat Newman seemed to indicate that she had placed it in position for him.He went and took possession of it; the marquis’s wife amused and puzzledhim.
“I know your secret,” she said, in her bad but charming English; “youneed make no mystery of it. You wish to marry my sister-in-law. _C’estun beau choix_. A man like you ought to marry a tall, thin woman. Youmust know that I have spoken in your favor; you owe me a famous taper!”
“You have spoken to Madame de Cintré?” said Newman.
“Oh no, not that. You may think it strange, but my sister-in-law andI are not so intimate as that. No; I spoke to my husband and mymother-in-law; I said I was sure we could do what we chose with you.”
“I am much obliged to you,” said Newman, laughing; “but you can’t.”
“I know that very well; I didn’t believe a word of it. But I wanted youto come into the house; I thought we should be friends.”
“I am very sure of it,” said Newman.
“Don’t be too sure. If you like Madame de Cintré so much, perhaps youwill not like me. We are as different as blue and pink. But you and Ihave something in common. I have come into this family by marriage; youwant to come into it in the same way.”
“Oh no, I don’t!” interrupted Newman. “I only want to take Madame deCintré out of it.”
“Well, to cast your nets you have to go into the water. Our positionsare alike; we shall be able to compare notes. What do you think of myhusband? It’s a strange question, isn’t it? But I shall ask you somestranger ones yet.”
“Perhaps a stranger one will be easier to answer,” said Newman. “Youmight try me.”
“Oh, you get off very well; the old Comte de la Rochefidèle, yonder,couldn’t do it better. I told them that if we only gave you a chance youwould be a perfect _talon rouge_. I know something about men. Besides,you and I belong to the same camp. I am a ferocious democrat. By birthI am _vieille roche_; a good little bit of the history of France isthe history of my family. Oh, you never heard of us, of course! _Ce quec’est que la gloire!_ We are much better than the Bellegardes, at anyrate. But I don’t care a pin for my pedigree; I want to belong to mytime. I’m a revolutionist, a radical, a child of the age! I am sure I gobeyond you. I like clever people, wherever they come from, and I take myamusement wherever I find it. I don’t pout at the Empire; here all theworld pouts at the Empire. Of course I have to mind what I say; but Iexpect to take my revenge with you.” Madame de Bellegarde discoursedfor some time longer in this sympathetic strain, with an eager abundancewhich seemed to indicate that her opportunities for revealing heresoteric philosophy were indeed rare. She hoped that Newman would neverbe afraid of her, however he might be with the others, for, really,she went very far indeed. “Strong people”--_le gens forts_--were inher opinion equal, all the world over. Newman listened to her with anattention at once beguiled and irritated. He wondered what the deuceshe, too, was driving at, with her hope that he would not be afraid ofher and her protestations of equality. In so far as he could understandher, she was wrong; a silly, rattling woman was certainly not the equalof a sensible man, preoccupied with an ambitious passion. Madame deBellegarde stopped suddenly, and looked at him sharply, shaking her fan.“I see you don’t believe me,” she said, “you are too much on your guard.You will not form an alliance, offensive or defensive? You are verywrong; I could help you.”
Newman answered that he was very grateful and that he would certainlyask for help; she should see. “But first of all,” he said, “I must helpmyself.” And he went to join Madame de Cintré.
“I have been telling Madame de la Rochefidèle that you are an American,” she said, as he came up. “It interests her greatly. Her father went overwith the French troops to help you in your battles in the last century,and she has always, in consequence, wanted greatly to see an American.But she has never succeeded till to-night. You are the first--to herknowledge--that she has ever looked at.”
Madame de la Rochefidèle had an aged, cadaverous face, with a falling ofthe lower jaw which prevented her from bringing her lips together, andreduced her conversations to a series of impressive but inarticulategutturals. She raised an antique eyeglass, elaborately mounted in chasedsilver, and looked at Newman from head to foot. Then she said somethingto which he listened deferentially, but which he completely failed tounderstand.
“Madame de la Rochefidèle says that she is convinced that she must haveseen Americans without knowing it,” Madame de Cintré explained. Newmanthought it probable she had seen a great many things without knowing it;and the old lady, again addressing herself to utterance, declared--asinterpreted by Madame de Cintré--that she wished she had known it.
At this moment the old gentleman who had been talking to the elderMadame de Bellegarde drew near, leading the marquise on his arm. Hiswife pointed out Newman to him, apparently explaining his remarkableorigin. M. de la Rochefidèle, whose old age was rosy and rotund, spokevery neatly and clearly, almost as prettily, Newman thought, as M.Nioche. When he had been enlightened, he turned to Newman with aninimitable elderly grace.
“Monsieur is by no means the first American that I have seen,” he said.“Almost the first person I ever saw--to notice him--was an American.”
“Ah?” said Newman, sympathetically.
“The great Dr. Franklin,” said M. de la Rochefidèle. “Of course I wasvery young. He was received very well in our _monde._”
“Not better than Mr. Newman,” said Madame de Bellegarde. “I beg hewill offer his arm into the other room. I could have offered no higherprivilege to Dr. Franklin.”
Newman, complying with Madame de Bellegarde’s request, perceived thather two sons had returned to the drawing-room. He scanned their facesan instant for traces of the scene that had followed his separation fromthem, but the marquis seemed neither more nor less frigidly grand thanusual, and Valentin was kissing ladies’ hands with at least his habitualair of self-abandonment to the act. Madame de Bellegarde gave a glanceat her eldest son, and by the time she had crossed the threshold ofher boudoir he was at her side. The room was now empty and offereda sufficient degree of privacy. The old lady disengaged herself fromNewman’s arm and rested her hand on the arm of the marquis; and in thisposition she stood a moment, holding her head high and biting her smallunder-lip. I am afraid the picture was lost upon Newman, but Madame deBellegarde was, in fact, at this moment a striking image
of the dignitywhich--even in the case of a little time-shrunken old lady--may residein the habit of unquestioned authority and the absoluteness of a socialtheory favorable to yourself.
“My son has spoken to you as I desired,” she said, “and you understandthat we shall not interfere. The rest will lie with yourself.”
“M. de Bellegarde told me several things I didn’t understand,” saidNewman, “but I made out that. You will leave me open field. I am muchobliged.”
“I wish to add a word that my son probably did not feel at liberty tosay,” the marquise rejoined. “I must say it for my own peace of mind. Weare stretching a point; we are doing you a great favor.”
“Oh, your son said it very well; didn’t you?” said Newman.
“Not so well as my mother,” declared the marquis.
“I can only repeat--I am much obliged.”
“It is proper I should tell you,” Madame de Bellegarde went on, “that Iam very proud, and that I hold my head very high. I may be wrong, butI am too old to change. At least I know it, and I don’t pretend toanything else. Don’t flatter yourself that my daughter is not proud. Sheis proud in her own way--a somewhat different way from mine. You willhave to make your terms with that. Even Valentin is proud, if you touchthe right spot--or the wrong one. Urbain is proud; that you see foryourself. Sometimes I think he is a little too proud; but I wouldn’tchange him. He is the best of my children; he cleaves to his old mother.But I have said enough to show you that we are all proud together. It iswell that you should know the sort of people you have come among.”
“Well,” said Newman, “I can only say, in return, that I am _not_proud; I shan’t mind you! But you speak as if you intended to be verydisagreeable.”
“I shall not enjoy having my daughter marry you, and I shall not pretendto enjoy it. If you don’t mind that, so much the better.”
“If you stick to your own side of the contract we shall not quarrel;that is all I ask of you,” said Newman. “Keep your hands off, andgive me an open field. I am very much in earnest, and there is not theslightest danger of my getting discouraged or backing out. You will haveme constantly before your eyes; if you don’t like it, I am sorry foryou. I will do for your daughter, if she will accept me, everything thata man can do for a woman. I am happy to tell you that, as a promise--apledge. I consider that on your side you make me an equal pledge. Youwill not back out, eh?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘backing out,’” said the marquise.“It suggests a movement of which I think no Bellegarde has ever beenguilty.”
“Our word is our word,” said Urbain. “We have given it.”
“Well, now,” said Newman, “I am very glad you are so proud. It makes mebelieve that you will keep it.”
The marquise was silent a moment, and then, suddenly, “I shall always bepolite to you, Mr. Newman,” she declared, “but, decidedly, I shall neverlike you.”
“Don’t be too sure,” said Newman, laughing.
“I am so sure that I will ask you to take me back to my armchair withoutthe least fear of having my sentiments modified by the service yourender me.” And Madame de Bellegarde took his arm, and returned to thesalon and to her customary place.
M. de la Rochefidèle and his wife were preparing to take their leave,and Madame de Cintré’s interview with the mumbling old lady was at anend. She stood looking about her, asking herself, apparently to whom sheshould next speak, when Newman came up to her.
“Your mother has given me leave--very solemnly--to come here often,” hesaid. “I mean to come often.”
“I shall be glad to see you,” she answered simply. And then, in amoment: “You probably think it very strange that there should be such asolemnity--as you say--about your coming.”
“Well, yes; I do, rather.”
“Do you remember what my brother Valentin said, the first time you cameto see me--that we were a strange, strange family?”
“It was not the first time I came, but the second,” said Newman.
“Very true. Valentin annoyed me at the time, but now I know you better,I may tell you he was right. If you come often, you will see!” andMadame de Cintré turned away.
Newman watched her a while, talking with other people, and then he tookhis leave. He shook hands last with Valentin de Bellegarde, who came outwith him to the top of the staircase. “Well, you have got your permit,” said Valentin. “I hope you liked the process.”
“I like your sister, more than ever. But don’t worry your brother anymore for my sake,” Newman added. “I don’t mind him. I am afraid he camedown on you in the smoking-room, after I went out.”
“When my brother comes down on me,” said Valentin, “he falls hard. Ihave a peculiar way of receiving him. I must say,” he continued, “thatthey came up to the mark much sooner than I expected. I don’t understandit, they must have had to turn the screw pretty tight. It’s a tribute toyour millions.”
“Well, it’s the most precious one they have ever received,” said Newman.
He was turning away when Valentin stopped him, looking at him with abrilliant, softly-cynical glance. “I should like to know whether, withina few days, you have seen your venerable friend M. Nioche.”
“He was yesterday at my rooms,” Newman answered.
“What did he tell you?”
“Nothing particular.”
“You didn’t see the muzzle of a pistol sticking out of his pocket?”
“What are you driving at?” Newman demanded. “I thought he seemed rathercheerful for him.”
Valentin broke into a laugh. “I am delighted to hear it! I win my bet.Mademoiselle Noémie has thrown her cap over the mill, as we say. Shehas left the paternal domicile. She is launched! And M. Nioche is rathercheerful--_for him!_ Don’t brandish your tomahawk at that rate; I havenot seen her nor communicated with her since that day at the Louvre.Andromeda has found another Perseus than I. My information is exact;on such matters it always is. I suppose that now you will raise yourprotest.”
“My protest be hanged!” murmured Newman, disgustedly.
But his tone found no echo in that in which Valentin, with his hand onthe door, to return to his mother’s apartment, exclaimed, “But I shallsee her now! She is very remarkable--she is very remarkable!”