by Henry James
CHAPTER XVI
The next ten days were the happiest that Newman had ever known. Hesaw Madame de Cintré every day, and never saw either old Madame deBellegarde or the elder of his prospective brothers-in-law. Madame deCintré at last seemed to think it becoming to apologize for their neverbeing present. “They are much taken up,” she said, “with doing thehonors of Paris to Lord Deepmere.” There was a smile in her gravityas she made this declaration, and it deepened as she added, “He is ourseventh cousin, you know, and blood is thicker than water. And then, heis so interesting!” And with this she laughed.
Newman met young Madame de Bellegarde two or three times, always roamingabout with graceful vagueness, as if in search of an unattainable idealof amusement. She always reminded him of a painted perfume-bottle with acrack in it; but he had grown to have a kindly feeling for her, basedon the fact of her owing conjugal allegiance to Urbain de Bellegarde.He pitied M. de Bellegarde’s wife, especially since she was a silly,thirstily-smiling little brunette, with a suggestion of an unregulatedheart. The small marquise sometimes looked at him with an intensitytoo marked not to be innocent, for coquetry is more finely shaded.She apparently wanted to ask him something or tell him something; hewondered what it was. But he was shy of giving her an opportunity,because, if her communication bore upon the aridity of her matrimoniallot, he was at a loss to see how he could help her. He had a fancy,however, of her coming up to him some day and saying (after lookingaround behind her) with a little passionate hiss, “I know you detest myhusband; let me have the pleasure of assuring you for once that youare right. Pity a poor woman who is married to a clock-image in_papier-mâché!_” Possessing, however, in default of a competentknowledge of the principles of etiquette, a very downright sense ofthe “meanness” of certain actions, it seemed to him to belong to hisposition to keep on his guard; he was not going to put it into thepower of these people to say that in their house he had done anythingunpleasant. As it was, Madame de Bellegarde used to give him news of thedress she meant to wear at his wedding, and which had not yet, in hercreative imagination, in spite of many interviews with the tailor,resolved itself into its composite totality. “I told you pale blue bowson the sleeves, at the elbows,” she said. “But to-day I don’t see myblue bows at all. I don’t know what has become of them. To-day I seepink--a tender pink. And then I pass through strange, dull phases inwhich neither blue nor pink says anything to me. And yet I must have thebows.”
“Have them green or yellow,” said Newman.
“_Malheureux!_” the little marquise would cry. “Green bows would breakyour marriage--your children would be illegitimate!”
Madame de Cintré was calmly happy before the world, and Newman had thefelicity of fancying that before him, when the world was absent, shewas almost agitatedly happy. She said very tender things. “I take nopleasure in you. You never give me a chance to scold you, to correctyou. I bargained for that, I expected to enjoy it. But you won’t doanything dreadful; you are dismally inoffensive. It is very stupid;there is no excitement for me; I might as well be marrying someoneelse.”
“I am afraid it’s the worst I can do,” Newman would say in answer tothis. “Kindly overlook the deficiency.” He assured her that he, atleast, would never scold her; she was perfectly satisfactory. “If youonly knew,” he said, “how exactly you are what I coveted! And I ambeginning to understand why I coveted it; the having it makes all thedifference that I expected. Never was a man so pleased with his goodfortune. You have been holding your head for a week past just as Iwanted my wife to hold hers. You say just the things I want her to say.You walk about the room just as I want her to walk. You have just thetaste in dress that I want her to have. In short, you come up to themark, and, I can tell you, my mark was high.”
These observations seemed to make Madame de Cintré rather grave. At lastshe said, “Depend upon it, I don’t come up to the mark; your mark is toohigh. I am not all that you suppose; I am a much smaller affair. Sheis a magnificent woman, your ideal. Pray, how did she come to suchperfection?”
“She was never anything else,” Newman said.
“I really believe,” Madame de Cintré went on, “that she is better thanmy own ideal. Do you know that is a very handsome compliment? Well, sir,I will make her my own!”
Mrs. Tristram came to see her dear Claire after Newman had announced hisengagement, and she told our hero the next day that his good fortune wassimply absurd. “For the ridiculous part of it is,” she said, “that youare evidently going to be as happy as if you were marrying Miss Smithor Miss Thompson. I call it a brilliant match for you, but you getbrilliancy without paying any tax upon it. Those things are usually acompromise, but here you have everything, and nothing crowds anythingelse out. You will be brilliantly happy as well.” Newman thanked her forher pleasant, encouraging way of saying things; no woman could encourageor discourage better. Tristram’s way of saying things was different; hehad been taken by his wife to call upon Madame de Cintré, and he gave anaccount of the expedition.
“You don’t catch me giving an opinion on your countess this time,” hesaid; “I put my foot in it once. That’s a d--d underhand thing to do, bythe way--coming round to sound a fellow upon the woman you are going tomarry. You deserve anything you get. Then of course you rush and tellher, and she takes care to make it pleasant for the poor spiteful wretchthe first time he calls. I will do you the justice to say, however,that you don’t seem to have told Madame de Cintré; or if you have, she’suncommonly magnanimous. She was very nice; she was tremendously polite.She and Lizzie sat on the sofa, pressing each other’s hands and callingeach other _chère belle_, and Madame de Cintré sent me with every thirdword a magnificent smile, as if to give me to understand that I too wasa handsome dear. She quite made up for past neglect, I assure you; shewas very pleasant and sociable. Only in an evil hour it came into herhead to say that she must present us to her mother--her mother wishedto know your friends. I didn’t want to know her mother, and I was on thepoint of telling Lizzie to go in alone and let me wait for her outside.But Lizzie, with her usual infernal ingenuity, guessed my purpose andreduced me by a glance of her eye. So they marched off arm in arm, andI followed as I could. We found the old lady in her armchair, twiddlingher aristocratic thumbs. She looked at Lizzie from head to foot; but atthat game Lizzie, to do her justice, was a match for her. My wife toldher we were great friends of Mr. Newman. The marquise started a moment,and then said, ‘Oh, Mr. Newman! My daughter has made up her mind tomarry a Mr. Newman.’ Then Madame de Cintré began to fondle Lizzie again,and said it was this dear lady that had planned the match andbrought them together. ‘Oh, ‘tis you I have to thank for my Americanson-in-law,’ the old lady said to Mrs. Tristram. ‘It was a very cleverthought of yours. Be sure of my gratitude.’ And then she began to lookat me and presently said, ‘Pray, are you engaged in some species ofmanufacture?’ I wanted to say that I manufactured broom-sticks for oldwitches to ride on, but Lizzie got in ahead of me. ‘My husband, Madamela Marquise,’ she said, ‘belongs to that unfortunate class of personswho have no profession and no business, and do very little good inthe world.’ To get her poke at the old woman she didn’t care where sheshoved me. ‘Dear me,’ said the marquise, ‘we all have our duties.’ ‘I amsorry mine compel me to take leave of you,’ said Lizzie. And we bundledout again. But you have a mother-in-law, in all the force of the term.”
“Oh,” said Newman, “my mother-in-law desires nothing better than to letme alone.”
Betimes, on the evening of the 27th, he went to Madame de Bellegarde’sball. The old house in the Rue de l’Université looked strangelybrilliant. In the circle of light projected from the outer gate adetachment of the populace stood watching the carriages roll in; thecourt was illumined with flaring torches and the portico carpeted withcrimson. When Newman arrived there were but a few people present. Themarquise and her two daughters were at the top of the staircase, wherethe sallow old nymph in the angle peeped out from a bower of plants.Mada
me de Bellegarde, in purple and fine laces, looked like an old ladypainted by Vandyke; Madame de Cintré was dressed in white. The old ladygreeted Newman with majestic formality, and looking round her, calledseveral of the persons who were standing near. They were elderlygentlemen, of what Valentin de Bellegarde had designated as thehigh-nosed category; two or three of them wore cordons and stars. Theyapproached with measured alertness, and the marquise said that shewished to present them to Mr. Newman, who was going to marry herdaughter. Then she introduced successively three dukes, three counts,and a baron. These gentlemen bowed and smiled most agreeably, and Newmanindulged in a series of impartial hand-shakes, accompanied by a “Happyto make your acquaintance, sir.” He looked at Madame de Cintré, but shewas not looking at him. If his personal self-consciousness had been ofa nature to make him constantly refer to her, as the critic before whom,in company, he played his part, he might have found it a flatteringproof of her confidence that he never caught her eyes resting upon him.It is a reflection Newman did not make, but we nevertheless risk it,that in spite of this circumstance she probably saw every movementof his little finger. Young Madame de Bellegarde was dressed in anaudacious toilet of crimson crape, bestrewn with huge silver moons--thincrescent and full disks.
“You don’t say anything about my dress,” she said to Newman.
“I feel,” he answered, “as if I were looking at you through a telescope.It is very strange.”
“If it is strange it matches the occasion. But I am not a heavenlybody.”
“I never saw the sky at midnight that particular shade of crimson,” saidNewman.
“That is my originality; anyone could have chosen blue. My sister-in-lawwould have chosen a lovely shade of blue, with a dozen little delicatemoons. But I think crimson is much more amusing. And I give my idea,which is moonshine.”
“Moonshine and bloodshed,” said Newman.
“A murder by moonlight,” laughed Madame de Bellegarde. “What a deliciousidea for a toilet! To make it complete, there is the silver dagger, yousee, stuck into my hair. But here comes Lord Deepmere,” she added in amoment. “I must find out what he thinks of it.” Lord Deepmere came up,looking very red in the face, and laughing. “Lord Deepmere can’t decidewhich he prefers, my sister-in-law or me,” said Madame de Bellegarde.“He likes Claire because she is his cousin, and me because I am not.But he has no right to make love to Claire, whereas I am perfectly_disponible_. It is very wrong to make love to a woman who is engaged,but it is very wrong not to make love to a woman who is married.”
“Oh, it’s very jolly making love to married women,” said Lord Deepmere,“because they can’t ask you to marry them.”
“Is that what the others do, the spinsters?” Newman inquired.
“Oh dear, yes,” said Lord Deepmere; “in England all the girls ask afellow to marry them.”
“And a fellow brutally refuses,” said Madame de Bellegarde.
“Why, really, you know, a fellow can’t marry any girl that asks him,” said his lordship.
“Your cousin won’t ask you. She is going to marry Mr. Newman.”
“Oh, that’s a very different thing!” laughed Lord Deepmere.
“You would have accepted _her_, I suppose. That makes me hope that afterall you prefer me.”
“Oh, when things are nice I never prefer one to the other,” said theyoung Englishman. “I take them all.”
“Ah, what a horror! I won’t be taken in that way; I must be kept apart,” cried Madame de Bellegarde. “Mr. Newman is much better; he knows howto choose. Oh, he chooses as if he were threading a needle. He prefersMadame de Cintré to any conceivable creature or thing.”
“Well, you can’t help my being her cousin,” said Lord Deepmere toNewman, with candid hilarity.
“Oh, no, I can’t help that,” said Newman, laughing back; “neither canshe!”
“And you can’t help my dancing with her,” said Lord Deepmere, withsturdy simplicity.
“I could prevent that only by dancing with her myself,” said Newman.“But unfortunately I don’t know how to dance.”
“Oh, you may dance without knowing how; may you not, milord?” saidMadame de Bellegarde. But to this Lord Deepmere replied that a fellowought to know how to dance if he didn’t want to make an ass of himself;and at this moment Urbain de Bellegarde joined the group, slow-steppingand with his hands behind him.
“This is a very splendid entertainment,” said Newman, cheerfully. “Theold house looks very bright.”
“If _you_ are pleased, we are content,” said the marquis, lifting hisshoulders and bending them forward.
“Oh, I suspect everyone is pleased,” said Newman. “How can they helpbeing pleased when the first thing they see as they come in is yoursister, standing there as beautiful as an angel?”
“Yes, she is very beautiful,” rejoined the marquis, solemnly. “But thatis not so great a source of satisfaction to other people, naturally, asto you.”
“Yes, I am satisfied, marquis, I am satisfied,” said Newman, with hisprotracted enunciation. “And now tell me,” he added, looking round, “whosome of your friends are.”
M. de Bellegarde looked about him in silence, with his head bent and hishand raised to his lower lip, which he slowly rubbed. A stream of peoplehad been pouring into the salon in which Newman stood with his host,the rooms were filling up and the spectacle had become brilliant. Itborrowed its splendor chiefly from the shining shoulders and profusejewels of the women, and from the voluminous elegance of their dresses.There were no uniforms, as Madame de Bellegarde’s door was inexorablyclosed against the myrmidons of the upstart power which then ruled thefortunes of France, and the great company of smiling and chatteringfaces was not graced by any very frequent suggestions of harmoniousbeauty. It is a pity, nevertheless, that Newman had not been aphysiognomist, for a great many of the faces were irregularly agreeable,expressive, and suggestive. If the occasion had been different theywould hardly have pleased him; he would have thought the women notpretty enough and the men too smirking; but he was now in a humor toreceive none but agreeable impressions, and he looked no more narrowlythan to perceive that everyone was brilliant, and to feel that the sunof their brilliancy was a part of his credit. “I will present you tosome people,” said M. de Bellegarde after a while. “I will make a pointof it, in fact. You will allow me?”
“Oh, I will shake hands with anyone you want,” said Newman. “Your motherjust introduced me to half a dozen old gentlemen. Take care you don’tpick up the same parties again.”
“Who are the gentlemen to whom my mother presented you?”
“Upon my word, I forgot them,” said Newman, laughing. “The people herelook very much alike.”
“I suspect they have not forgotten you,” said the marquis. And he beganto walk through the rooms. Newman, to keep near him in the crowd, tookhis arm; after which for some time, the marquis walked straightalong, in silence. At last, reaching the farther end of the suite ofreception-rooms, Newman found himself in the presence of a lady ofmonstrous proportions, seated in a very capacious armchair, with severalpersons standing in a semicircle round her. This little group haddivided as the marquis came up, and M. de Bellegarde stepped forward andstood for an instant silent and obsequious, with his hat raised to hislips, as Newman had seen some gentlemen stand in churches as soon asthey entered their pews. The lady, indeed, bore a very fair likeness toa reverend effigy in some idolatrous shrine. She was monumentally stoutand imperturbably serene. Her aspect was to Newman almost formidable; hehad a troubled consciousness of a triple chin, a small piercing eye, avast expanse of uncovered bosom, a nodding and twinkling tiara of plumesand gems, and an immense circumference of satin petticoat. With herlittle circle of beholders this remarkable woman reminded him of the FatLady at a fair. She fixed her small, unwinking eyes at the new-comers.
“Dear duchess,” said the marquis, “let me present you our good friendMr. Newman, of whom you have heard us speak. Wishing to make Mr. Newmanknown to those
who are dear to us, I could not possibly fail to beginwith you.”
“Charmed, dear friend; charmed, monsieur,” said the duchess in a voicewhich, though small and shrill, was not disagreeable, while Newmanexecuted his obeisance. “I came on purpose to see monsieur. I hope heappreciates the compliment. You have only to look at me to do so, sir,” she continued, sweeping her person with a much-encompassing glance.Newman hardly knew what to say, though it seemed that to a duchess whojoked about her corpulence one might say almost anything. On hearingthat the duchess had come on purpose to see Newman, the gentlemenwho surrounded her turned a little and looked at him with sympatheticcuriosity. The marquis with supernatural gravity mentioned to him thename of each, while the gentleman who bore it bowed; they were all whatare called in France _beaux noms_. “I wanted extremely to see you,” theduchess went on. “_C’est positif_. In the first place, I am very fond ofthe person you are going to marry; she is the most charming creature inFrance. Mind you treat her well, or you shall hear some news of me. Butyou look as if you were good. I am told you are very remarkable. I haveheard all sorts of extraordinary things about you. _Voyons_, are theytrue?”
“I don’t know what you can have heard,” said Newman.
“Oh, you have your _légende_. We have heard that you have had a careerthe most checkered, the most _bizarre_. What is that about your havingfounded a city some ten years ago in the great West, a city whichcontains to-day half a million of inhabitants? Isn’t it half a million,messieurs? You are exclusive proprietor of this flourishing settlement,and are consequently fabulously rich, and you would be richer still ifyou didn’t grant lands and houses free of rent to all new-comers whowill pledge themselves never to smoke cigars. At this game, in threeyears, we are told, you are going to be made president of America.”
The duchess recited this amazing “legend” with a smooth self-possessionwhich gave the speech to Newman’s mind, the air of being a bit ofamusing dialogue in a play, delivered by a veteran comic actress. Beforeshe had ceased speaking he had burst into loud, irrepressible laughter.“Dear duchess, dear duchess,” the marquis began to murmur, soothingly.Two or three persons came to the door of the room to see who waslaughing at the duchess. But the lady continued with the soft, sereneassurance of a person who, as a duchess, was certain of being listenedto, and, as a garrulous woman, was independent of the pulse of herauditors. “But I know you are very remarkable. You must be, to haveendeared yourself to this good marquis and to his admirable world. Theyare very exacting. I myself am not very sure at this hour of reallypossessing it. Eh, Bellegarde? To please you, I see, one must be anAmerican millionaire. But your real triumph, my dear sir, is pleasingthe countess; she is as difficult as a princess in a fairy tale. Yoursuccess is a miracle. What is your secret? I don’t ask you to reveal itbefore all these gentlemen, but come and see me some day and give me aspecimen of your talents.”
“The secret is with Madame de Cintré,” said Newman. “You must ask herfor it. It consists in her having a great deal of charity.”
“Very pretty!” said the duchess. “That’s a very nice specimen, to beginwith. What, Bellegarde, are you already taking monsieur away?”
“I have a duty to perform, dear friend,” said the marquis, pointing tothe other groups.
“Ah, for you I know what that means. Well, I have seen monsieur; thatis what I wanted. He can’t persuade me that he isn’t very clever.Farewell.”
As Newman passed on with his host, he asked who the duchess was. “Thegreatest lady in France,” said the marquis. M. de Bellegarde thenpresented his prospective brother-in-law to some twenty other persons ofboth sexes, selected apparently for their typically august character.In some cases this character was written in good round hand upon thecountenance of the wearer; in others Newman was thankful for such helpas his companion’s impressively brief intimation contributed to thediscovery of it. There were large, majestic men, and small demonstrativemen; there were ugly ladies in yellow lace and quaint jewels, and prettyladies with white shoulders from which jewels and everything elsewere absent. Everyone gave Newman extreme attention, everyone smiled,everyone was charmed to make his acquaintance, everyone looked at himwith that soft hardness of good society which puts out its hand butkeeps its fingers closed over the coin. If the marquis was going aboutas a bear-leader, if the fiction of Beauty and the Beast was supposedto have found its companion-piece, the general impression appeared tobe that the bear was a very fair imitation of humanity. Newman found hisreception among the marquis’s friends very “pleasant;” he could not havesaid more for it. It was pleasant to be treated with so much explicitpoliteness; it was pleasant to hear neatly turned civilities, with aflavor of wit, uttered from beneath carefully-shaped moustaches; it waspleasant to see clever Frenchwomen--they all seemed clever--turn theirbacks to their partners to get a good look at the strange American whomClaire de Cintré was to marry, and reward the object of the exhibitionwith a charming smile. At last, as he turned away from a battery ofsmiles and other amenities, Newman caught the eye of the marquis lookingat him heavily; and thereupon, for a single instant, he checked himself.“Am I behaving like a d--d fool?” he asked himself. “Am I steppingabout like a terrier on his hind legs?” At this moment he perceivedMrs. Tristram at the other side of the room, and he waved his hand infarewell to M. de Bellegarde and made his way toward her.
“Am I holding my head too high?” he asked. “Do I look as if I had thelower end of a pulley fastened to my chin?”
“You look like all happy men, very ridiculous,” said Mrs. Tristram.“It’s the usual thing, neither better nor worse. I have been watchingyou for the last ten minutes, and I have been watching M. de Bellegarde.He doesn’t like it.”
“The more credit to him for putting it through,” replied Newman. “But Ishall be generous. I shan’t trouble him any more. But I am very happy.I can’t stand still here. Please to take my arm and we will go for awalk.”
He led Mrs. Tristram through all the rooms. There were a great many ofthem, and, decorated for the occasion and filled with a stately crowd,their somewhat tarnished nobleness recovered its lustre. Mrs. Tristram,looking about her, dropped a series of softly-incisive comments upon herfellow-guests. But Newman made vague answers; he hardly heard her, histhoughts were elsewhere. They were lost in a cheerful sense of success,of attainment and victory. His momentary care as to whether he lookedlike a fool passed away, leaving him simply with a rich contentment.He had got what he wanted. The savor of success had always been highlyagreeable to him, and it had been his fortune to know it often. But ithad never before been so sweet, been associated with so much that wasbrilliant and suggestive and entertaining. The lights, the flowers, themusic, the crowd, the splendid women, the jewels, the strangeness evenof the universal murmur of a clever foreign tongue were all a vividsymbol and assurance of his having grasped his purpose and forced alonghis groove. If Newman’s smile was larger than usual, it was not tickledvanity that pulled the strings; he had no wish to be shown with thefinger or to achieve a personal success. If he could have looked down atthe scene, invisible, from a hole in the roof, he would have enjoyed itquite as much. It would have spoken to him about his own prosperity anddeepened that easy feeling about life to which, sooner or later, he madeall experience contribute. Just now the cup seemed full.
“It is a very pretty party,” said Mrs. Tristram, after they had walkeda while. “I have seen nothing objectionable except my husband leaningagainst the wall and talking to an individual whom I suppose he takesfor a duke, but whom I more than suspect to be the functionary whoattends to the lamps. Do you think you could separate them? Knock over alamp!”
I doubt whether Newman, who saw no harm in Tristram’s conversing with aningenious mechanic, would have complied with this request; but at thismoment Valentin de Bellegarde drew near. Newman, some weeks previously,had presented Madame de Cintré’s youngest brother to Mrs. Tristram, forwhose merits Valentin professed a discriminating relish and to whom hehad paid severa
l visits.
“Did you ever read Keats’s Belle Dame sans Merci?” asked Mrs. Tristram.“You remind me of the hero of the ballad:--
‘Oh, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?’”
“If I am alone, it is because I have been deprived of your society,” said Valentin. “Besides it is good manners for no man except Newman tolook happy. This is all to his address. It is not for you and me to gobefore the curtain.”
“You promised me last spring,” said Newman to Mrs. Tristram, “that sixmonths from that time I should get into a monstrous rage. It seems tome the time’s up, and yet the nearest I can come to doing anything roughnow is to offer you a _café glacé_.”
“I told you we should do things grandly,” said Valentin. “I don’t alludeto the _cafés glacés_. But everyone is here, and my sister told me justnow that Urbain had been adorable.”
“He’s a good fellow, he’s a good fellow,” said Newman. “I love him as abrother. That reminds me that I ought to go and say something polite toyour mother.”
“Let it be something very polite indeed,” said Valentin. “It may be thelast time you will feel so much like it!”
Newman walked away, almost disposed to clasp old Madame de Bellegarderound the waist. He passed through several rooms and at last foundthe old marquise in the first saloon, seated on a sofa, with her youngkinsman, Lord Deepmere, beside her. The young man looked somewhat bored;his hands were thrust into his pockets and his eyes were fixed upon thetoes of his shoes, his feet being thrust out in front of him. Madame deBellegarde appeared to have been talking to him with some intensity andto be waiting for an answer to what she had said, or for some sign ofthe effect of her words. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she waslooking at his lordship’s simple physiognomy with an air of politelysuppressed irritation.
Lord Deepmere looked up as Newman approached, met his eyes, and changedcolor.
“I am afraid I disturb an interesting interview,” said Newman.
Madame de Bellegarde rose, and her companion rising at the same time,she put her hand into his arm. She answered nothing for an instant, andthen, as he remained silent, she said with a smile, “It would be politefor Lord Deepmere to say it was very interesting.”
“Oh, I’m not polite!” cried his lordship. “But it _was_ interesting.”
“Madame de Bellegarde was giving you some good advice, eh?” said Newman;“toning you down a little?”
“I was giving him some excellent advice,” said the marquise, fixing herfresh, cold eyes upon our hero. “It’s for him to take it.”
“Take it, sir--take it,” Newman exclaimed. “Any advice the marquisegives you to-night must be good. For to-night, marquise, you must speakfrom a cheerful, comfortable spirit, and that makes good advice. You seeeverything going on so brightly and successfully round you. Your partyis magnificent; it was a very happy thought. It is much better than thatthing of mine would have been.”
“If you are pleased I am satisfied,” said Madame de Bellegarde. “Mydesire was to please you.”
“Do you want to please me a little more?” said Newman. “Just dropour lordly friend; I am sure he wants to be off and shake his heels alittle. Then take my arm and walk through the rooms.”
“My desire was to please you,” the old lady repeated. And she liberatedLord Deepmere, Newman rather wondering at her docility. “If this youngman is wise,” she added, “he will go and find my daughter and ask her todance.”
“I have been endorsing your advice,” said Newman, bending over her andlaughing, “I suppose I must swallow that!”
Lord Deepmere wiped his forehead and departed, and Madame de Bellegardetook Newman’s arm. “Yes, it’s a very pleasant, sociable entertainment,” the latter declared, as they proceeded on their circuit. “Everyone seemsto know everyone and to be glad to see everyone. The marquis has mademe acquainted with ever so many people, and I feel quite like one of thefamily. It’s an occasion,” Newman continued, wanting to say somethingthoroughly kind and comfortable, “that I shall always remember, andremember very pleasantly.”
“I think it is an occasion that we shall none of us forget,” said themarquise, with her pure, neat enunciation.
People made way for her as she passed, others turned round and looked ather, and she received a great many greetings and pressings of the hand,all of which she accepted with the most delicate dignity. But though shesmiled upon everyone, she said nothing until she reached the last of therooms, where she found her elder son. Then, “This is enough, sir,” shedeclared with measured softness to Newman, and turned to the marquis. Heput out both his hands and took both hers, drawing her to a seat with anair of the tenderest veneration. It was a most harmonious family group,and Newman discreetly retired. He moved through the rooms for some timelonger, circulating freely, overtopping most people by his greatheight, renewing acquaintance with some of the groups to which Urbain deBellegarde had presented him, and expending generally the surplus ofhis equanimity. He continued to find it all extremely agreeable; butthe most agreeable things have an end, and the revelry on this occasionbegan to deepen to a close. The music was sounding its ultimate strainsand people were looking for the marquise, to make their farewells. Thereseemed to be some difficulty in finding her, and Newman heard a reportthat she had left the ball, feeling faint. “She has succumbed to theemotions of the evening,” he heard a lady say. “Poor, dear marquise;I can imagine all that they may have been for her!” But he learnedimmediately afterwards that she had recovered herself and was seated inan armchair near the doorway, receiving parting compliments from greatladies who insisted upon her not rising. He himself set out in quest ofMadame de Cintré. He had seen her move past him many times in the rapidcircles of a waltz, but in accordance with her explicit instructions hehad exchanged no words with her since the beginning of the evening.The whole house having been thrown open, the apartments of the_rez-de-chaussée_ were also accessible, though a smaller number ofpersons had gathered there. Newman wandered through them, observinga few scattered couples to whom this comparative seclusion appearedgrateful and reached a small conservatory which opened into the garden.The end of the conservatory was formed by a clear sheet of glass,unmasked by plants, and admitting the winter starlight so directly thata person standing there would seem to have passed into the open air. Twopersons stood there now, a lady and a gentleman; the lady Newman, fromwithin the room and although she had turned her back to it, immediatelyrecognized as Madame de Cintré. He hesitated as to whether he wouldadvance, but as he did so she looked round, feeling apparently that hewas there. She rested her eyes on him a moment and then turned again toher companion.
“It is almost a pity not to tell Mr. Newman,” she said softly, but in atone that Newman could hear.
“Tell him if you like!” the gentleman answered, in the voice of LordDeepmere.
“Oh, tell me by all means!” said Newman advancing.
Lord Deepmere, he observed, was very red in the face, and he had twistedhis gloves into a tight cord as if he had been squeezing them dry.These, presumably, were tokens of violent emotion, and it seemed toNewman that the traces of corresponding agitation were visible in Madamede Cintré’s face. The two had been talking with much vivacity. “WhatI should tell you is only to my lord’s credit,” said Madame de Cintré,smiling frankly enough.
“He wouldn’t like it any better for that!” said my lord, with hisawkward laugh.
“Come; what’s the mystery?” Newman demanded. “Clear it up. I don’t likemysteries.”
“We must have some things we don’t like, and go without some we do,” said the ruddy young nobleman, laughing still.
“It’s to Lord Deepmere’s credit, but it is not to everyone’s,” saidMadam de Cintré. “So I shall say nothing about it. You may be sure,” she added; and she put out her hand to the Englishman, who took it halfshyly, half impetuously. “And now go and dance!” she said.
“Oh yes, I feel awfully like dancin
g!” he answered. “I shall go and gettipsy.” And he walked away with a gloomy guffaw.
“What has happened between you?” Newman asked.
“I can’t tell you--now,” said Madame de Cintré. “Nothing that need makeyou unhappy.”
“Has the little Englishman been trying to make love to you?”
She hesitated, and then she uttered a grave “No! he’s a very honestlittle fellow.”
“But you are agitated. Something is the matter.”
“Nothing, I repeat, that need make you unhappy. My agitation is over.Some day I will tell you what it was; not now. I can’t now!”
“Well, I confess,” remarked Newman, “I don’t want to hear anythingunpleasant. I am satisfied with everything--most of all with you. Ihave seen all the ladies and talked with a great many of them; but I amsatisfied with you.” Madame de Cintré covered him for a moment with herlarge, soft glance, and then turned her eyes away into the starry night.So they stood silent a moment, side by side. “Say you are satisfied withme,” said Newman.
He had to wait a moment for the answer; but it came at last, low yetdistinct: “I am very happy.”
It was presently followed by a few words from another source, which madethem both turn round. “I am sadly afraid Madame de Cintré will take achill. I have ventured to bring a shawl.” Mrs. Bread stood there softlysolicitous, holding a white drapery in her hand.
“Thank you,” said Madame de Cintré, “the sight of those cold stars givesone a sense of frost. I won’t take your shawl, but we will go back intothe house.”
She passed back and Newman followed her, Mrs. Bread standingrespectfully aside to make way for them. Newman paused an instant beforethe old woman, and she glanced up at him with a silent greeting. “Oh,yes,” he said, “you must come and live with us.”
“Well then, sir, if you will,” she answered, “you have not seen the lastof me!”