101:001,01['  ]| On$4$ a brilliant day in$4$ May, in$4$ the year 1868, a gentleman
101:001,02['  ]| was reclining at his ease on$4$ the great circular divan which$6#1$
101:001,03['  ]| at that$6#2$ period occupied the centre of the Salon*Carre=, in$4$
101:001,04['  ]| the Museum of the Louvre. This commodious ottoman
101:001,05['  ]| has since been removed, to$4$ the extreme regret of all
101:001,06['  ]| weak-kneed lovers of the fine arts; but the gentleman in$4$
101:001,07['  ]| question had taken serene possession of its softest spot,
101:001,08['  ]| and, with his head thrown back and his legs outstretched,
101:001,09['  ]| was staring at Murillo's beautiful moon-borne Madonna
101:001,10['  ]| in$4$ profound enjoyment of his posture. He had removed
101:001,11['  ]| his hat, and flung down beside him a little red guide-book
101:001,12['  ]| and an opera-glass. The day was warm; he was
101:001,13['  ]| heated with walking, and he repeatedly passed his handkerchief
101:001,14['  ]| over his forehead, with a somewhat wearied
101:001,15['  ]| gesture. And yet he was evidently not a man to$4$ whom
101:001,16['  ]| fatigue was familiar; long, lean, and muscular, he suggested
101:001,17['  ]| the sort of vigour that$6#1$ is commonly known as
101:001,18['  ]| "toughness." But his exertions on$4$ this particular day
101:001,19['  ]| had been of an unwonted sort, and he had often performed
101:001,20['  ]| great physical feats which$6#1$ left him less jaded than his
101:001,21['  ]| tranquil stroll through the Louvre. He had looked out
101:001,22['  ]| all the pictures to$4$ which$6#1$ an asterisk was affixed in$4$ those
101:002,01['  ]| formidable pages of fine print in$4$ his Ba*deker; his attention
101:002,02['  ]| had been strained and his eyes dazzled, and he had
101:002,03['  ]| sat down with an aesthetic headache. He had looked,
101:002,04['  ]| moreover, not only at all the pictures, but at all the
101:002,05['  ]| copies that$6#1$ were going forward around them in$4$ the
101:002,06['  ]| hands of those innumerable young women in$4$ irreproachable
101:002,07['  ]| toilets who$6#1$ devote themselves, in$4$ France, to$4$ the
101:002,08['  ]| propagation of masterpieces; and if the truth must be
101:002,09['  ]| told, he had often admired the copy much more than
101:002,10['  ]| the original. His physiognomy would have sufficiently
101:002,11['  ]| indicated that$3$ he was a shrewd and capable fellow, and
101:002,12['  ]| in$4$ truth he had often sat up$5$ all night over a bristling
101:002,13['  ]| bundle of accounts, and heard the cock crow without a
101:002,14['  ]| yawn. But Raphael and Titian and Rubens were a new
101:002,15['  ]| kind of arithmetic, and they inspired our friend, for$4$ the
101:002,16['  ]| first time in$4$ his life, with a vague self-mistrust.
101:002,17['  ]| An observer, with anything of an eye for$4$ national
101:002,18['  ]| types, would have had no$2$ difficulty in$4$ determining the
101:002,19['  ]| local origin of this undeveloped connoisseur, and indeed
101:002,20['  ]| such an observer might have felt a certain humorous
101:002,21['  ]| relish of the almost ideal completeness with which$6#1$ he
101:002,22['  ]| filled out the national mould. The gentleman on$4$ the
101:002,23['  ]| divan was a powerful specimen of an American. But he
101:002,24['  ]| was not only a fine American; he was, in$4$ the first place,
101:002,25['  ]| physically, a fine man. He appeared to$9$ possess that$6#2$
101:002,26['  ]| kind of health and strength which$6#1$, when found in$4$ perfection,
101:002,27['  ]| are the most impressive ~~ the physical capital
101:002,28['  ]| which$6#1$ the owner does nothing to$9$ "keep up$5$." If he was
101:002,29['  ]| a muscular Christian, it was quite without knowing it.
101:002,30['  ]| If it was necessary to$9$ walk to$4$ a remote spot, he walked,
101:002,31['  ]| but he had never known himself to$9$ "exercise." He had
101:002,32['  ]| no$2$ theory with regard to$4$ cold bathing or the use of Indian
101:002,33['  ]| clubs; he was neither an oarsman, a rifleman, nor a 
101:002,34['  ]| fencer ~~ he had never had time for$4$ these amusements ~
101:002,35['  ]| and he was quite unaware that$3$ the saddle is recommended
101:002,36['  ]| for$4$ certain forms of indigestion. He was by$4$ inclination
101:002,37['  ]| a temperate man; but he had supped the night before
101:003,01['  ]| his visit to$4$ the Louvre at the Cafe=*Anglais ~~ some*one
101:003,02['  ]| had told him it was an experience not to$9$ be omitted ~
101:003,03['  ]| and he had slept none the less the sleep of the just. His
101:003,04['  ]| usual attitude and carriage were of a rather relaxed and
101:003,05['  ]| lounging kind, but when, under a special inspiration, he
101:003,06['  ]| straightened himself, he looked like$4$ a grenadier on$4$
101:003,07['  ]| parade. He never smoked. He had been assured ~
101:003,08['  ]| such things are said ~~ that$3$ cigars were excellent for$4$ the
101:003,09['  ]| health, and he was quite capable of believing it; but he
101:003,10['  ]| knew as little about tobacco as about homoeopathy. He
101:003,11['  ]| had a very well-formed head, with a shapely, symmetrical
101:003,12['  ]| balance of the frontal and the occipital development, and
101:003,13['  ]| a good deal of straight, rather dry brown hair. His
101:003,14['  ]| complexion was brown, and his nose had a bold, well-marked
101:003,15['  ]| arch. His eye was of a clear, cold gray, and,
101:003,16['  ]| save for$4$ a rather abundant moustache, he was clean-shaved.
101:003,17['  ]| He had the flat jaw and sinewy neck which$6#1$ are
101:003,18['  ]| frequent in$4$ the American type; but the traces of national
101:003,19['  ]| origin are a matter of expression even more than of
101:003,20['  ]| feature, and it was in$4$ this respect that$3$ our friend's
101:003,21['  ]| countenance was supremely eloquent. The discriminating
101:003,22['  ]| observer we have been supposing might, however,
101:003,23['  ]| perfectly have measured its expressiveness, and yet have
101:003,24['  ]| been at a loss to$9$ describe it. It had that$6#2$ typical vagueness
101:003,25['  ]| which$6#1$ is not vacuity, that$6#2$ blankness which$6#1$ is not
101:003,26['  ]| simplicity, that$6#2$ look of being committed to$4$ nothing in$4$
101:003,27['  ]| particular, of standing in$4$ an attitude of general hospitality
101:003,28['  ]| to$4$ the chances of life, of being very much at one's own
101:003,29['  ]| disposal, so$5#1$ characteristic of many American faces. It
101:003,30['  ]| was our friend's eye that$6#1$ chiefly told his story; an eye in$4$
101:003,31['  ]| which$6#1$ innocence and experience were singularly blended.
101:003,32['  ]| It was full of contradictory suggestions; and though it
101:003,33['  ]| was by$4$ no$2$ means the glowing orb of a hero of romance,
101:003,34['  ]| you could find in$4$ it almost anything you looked for$4$.
101:003,35['  ]| Frigid and yet friendly, frank yet cautious, shrewd yet
101:003,36['  ]| credulous, positive yet sceptical, confident yet shy, extremely
101:003,37['  ]| intelligent and extremely good-humoured, there
101:004,01['  ]| was something vaguely defiant in$4$ its concessions, and
101:004,02['  ]| something profoundly reassuring in$4$ its reserve. The cut
101:004,03['  ]| of this gentleman's moustache, with the two premature
101:004,04['  ]| wrinkles in$4$ the cheek above it, and the fashion of his
101:004,05['  ]| garments, in$4$ which$6#1$ an exposed shirt-front and a cerulean
101:004,06['  ]| cravat played perhaps an obtrusive part, completed the
101:004,07['  ]| conditions of his identity. We have approached him,
101:004,08['  ]| perhaps, at a not especially favourable moment; he is by$4$
101:004,09['  ]| no$2$ means sitting for$4$ his portrait. But listless as he
101:004,10['  ]| lounges there, rather baffled on$4$ the aesthetic question,
101:004,11['  ]| and guilty of the damning fault (as we have lately discovered
101:004,12['  ]| it to$9$ be) of confounding the merit of the artist
101:004,13['  ]| with that$6#2$ of his work (for$3$ he admires the squinting
101:004,14['  ]| Madonna of the young lady with the boyish coiffure,
101:004,15['  ]| because he thinks the young lady herself uncommonly
101:004,16['  ]| taking), he is a sufficiently promising acquaintance.
101:004,17['  ]| Decision, salubrity, jocosity, prosperity, seem to$9$ hover
101:004,18['  ]| within his call; he is evidently a practical man, but the
101:004,19['  ]| idea, in$4$ his case, has undefined and mysterious boundaries,
101:004,20['  ]| which$6#1$ invite the imagination to$9$ bestir itself on$4$ his
101:004,21['  ]| behalf.
101:004,22['  ]| As the little copyist proceeded with her work she sent
101:004,23['  ]| every now and then a responsive glance toward her
101:004,24['  ]| admirer. The cultivation of the fine arts appeared to$9$
101:004,25['  ]| necessitate, to$4$ her mind, a great deal of by-play, a great
101:004,26['  ]| standing off with folded arms and head drooping from
101:004,27['  ]| side to$4$ side, stroking of a dimpled chin with a dimpled
101:004,28['  ]| hand, sighing and frowning and patting of the foot,
101:004,29['  ]| fumbling in$4$ disordered tresses for$4$ wandering hair-pins.
101:004,30['  ]| These performances were accompanied by$4$ a restless
101:004,31['  ]| glance, which$6#1$ lingered longer than elsewhere upon$4$ the
101:004,32['  ]| gentleman we have described. At last he rose abruptly,
101:004,33['  ]| put on$4$ his hat, and approached the young lady. He
101:004,34['  ]| placed himself before her picture, and looked at it for$4$
101:004,35['  ]| some moments, during which$6#1$ she pretended to$9$ be quite
101:004,36['  ]| unconscious of his inspection. Then, addressing her
101:004,37['  ]| with the single word which$6#1$ constituted the strength of
101:005,01['  ]| his French vocabulary, and holding up$5$ one finger in$4$ a
101:005,02['  ]| manner which$6#1$ appeared to$4$ him to$9$ illuminate his meaning,
101:005,03[B  ]| "\9Combien\?" 
101:005,03['  ]| he abruptly demanded.
101:005,04['  ]| The artist stared a moment, gave a little pout, shrugged
101:005,05['  ]| her shoulders, put down her palette and brushes, and stood
101:005,06['  ]| rubbing her hands.
101:005,07[B  ]| "How much?" 
101:005,07['  ]| said our friend, in$4$ English. 
101:005,08[B  ]| "\9Combien\?"
101:005,09[G  ]| "Monsieur wishes to$9$ buy it?" 
101:005,09['  ]| asked the young lady,
101:005,10['  ]| in$4$ French.
101:005,11[B  ]| "Very pretty, \9splendide\. \9Combien\?" 
101:005,11['  ]| repeated the
101:005,12['  ]| American.
101:005,13[G  ]| "It pleases Monsieur, my little picture? It is a very
101:005,14[G  ]| beautiful subject," 
101:005,14['  ]| said the young lady.
101:005,15[B  ]| "The Madonna, yes; I am not a Catholic, but I
101:005,16[B  ]| want to$9$ buy it. \9Combien\? Write it here." 
101:005,16['  ]| And he
101:005,17['  ]| took a pencil from his pocket, and showed her the fly-leaf
101:005,18['  ]| of his guide-book. She stood looking at him and
101:005,19['  ]| scratching her chin with the pencil. 
101:005,19[B  ]| "Is it not for$4$ sale?"
101:005,20['  ]| he asked. And as she still stood reflecting, and looking
101:005,21['  ]| at him with an eye which$6#1$, in$4$ spite of her desire to$9$ treat
101:005,22['  ]| this avidity of patronage as a very old story, betrayed an
101:005,23['  ]| almost touching incredulity, he was afraid he had offended
101:005,24['  ]| her. She was simply trying to$9$ look indifferent, and
101:005,25['  ]| wondering how far she might go. 
101:005,25[B  ]| "I have not made a
101:005,26[B  ]| mistake ~~ \9pas 9insulte=\, no$7$?" 
101:005,26['  ]| her interlocutor continued.
101:005,27[B  ]| "Do not you understand a little English?"
101:005,28['  ]| The young lady's aptitude for$4$ playing a part at short
101:005,29['  ]| notice was remarkable. She fixed him with her conscious,
101:005,30['  ]| perceptive eye, and asked him if he spoke no$2$
101:005,31['  ]| French. Then, 
101:005,31[G  ]| "\9Donnez\!" 
101:005,31['  ]| she said briefly, and took
101:005,32['  ]| the open guide-book. In$4$ the upper corner of the fly-leaf
101:005,33['  ]| she traced a number, in$4$ a minute and extremely neat
101:005,34['  ]| hand. Then she handed back the book, and took up$5$
101:005,35['  ]| her palette again.
101:005,36['  ]| Our friend read the number: 
101:005,36@g   | "2000 francs." 
101:005,36['  ]| He
101:005,37['  ]| said nothing for$4$ a time, but stood looking at the picture,
101:006,01['  ]| while the copyist began actively to$9$ dabble with her paint.
101:006,02[B  ]| "For$4$ a copy, is not that$6#2$ a good deal?" 
101:006,02['  ]| he asked at last.
101:006,03[B  ]| "\9Pas 9beaucoup\?"
101:006,04['  ]| The young lady raised her eyes from her palette,
101:006,05['  ]| scanned him from head to$4$ foot, and alighted with admirable
101:006,06['  ]| sagacity upon$4$ exactly the right answer. 
101:006,06[G  ]| "Yes, it is
101:006,07[G  ]| a good deal. But my copy has remarkable qualities; it
101:006,08[G  ]| is worth nothing less."
101:006,09['  ]| The gentleman in$4$ whom we are interested understood
101:006,10['  ]| no$2$ French, but I have said he was intelligent, and here
101:006,11['  ]| is a good chance to$9$ prove it. He apprehended, by$4$ a 
101:006,12['  ]| natural instinct, the meaning of the young woman's
101:006,13['  ]| phrase, and it gratified him to$9$ think that$3$ she was so$5#1$
101:006,14['  ]| honest. 
101:006,14@b   | Beauty, talent, virtue; she combined everything!
101:006,15[B  ]| "But you must finish it," 
101:006,15['  ]| he said. 
101:006,15[B  ]| "\Finish\,
101:006,16[B  ]| you know," 
101:006,16['  ]| and he pointed to$4$ the unpainted hand of the
101:006,17['  ]| figure.
101:006,18[G  ]| "Oh, it shall be finished in$4$ perfection ~~ in$4$ the perfection
101:006,19[G  ]| of perfections!" 
101:006,19['  ]| cried Mademoiselle: and to$9$ confirm
101:006,20['  ]| her promise, she deposited a rosy blotch in$4$ the middle of
101:006,21['  ]| the Madonna's cheek.
101:006,22['  ]| But the American frowned. 
101:006,22[B  ]| "Ah, too red, too red!"
101:006,23['  ]| he rejoined. 
101:006,23[B  ]| "Her complexion," 
101:006,23['  ]| pointing to$4$ the Murillo,
101:006,24[B  ]| "is more delicate."
101:006,25[G  ]| "Delicate? Oh, it shall be delicate, Monsieur;
101:006,26[G  ]| delicate as Se`vres \9biscuit\. I am going to$9$ tone that$6#2$
101:006,27[G  ]| down; I know all the secrets of my art. And where
101:006,28[G  ]| will$1$ you allow us to$9$ send it to$4$ you? Your address?"
101:006,29[B  ]| "My address? Oh yes!" 
101:006,29['  ]| And the gentleman drew
101:006,30['  ]| a card from his pocket-book and wrote something upon$4$
101:006,31['  ]| it. Then hesitating a moment he said: 
101:006,31[B  ]| "If I do not like$1$
101:006,32[B  ]| it when it is finished, you know, I shall not be obliged
101:006,33[B  ]| to$9$ take it."
101:006,34['  ]| The young lady seemed as good a guesser as himself.
101:006,35[G  ]| "Oh, I am very sure that$3$ Monsieur is not capricious,"
101:006,36['  ]| she said, with a roguish smile.
101:006,37[B  ]| "Capricious?" 
101:006,37['  ]| And at this Monsieur began to$9$ laugh.
101:007,01[B  ]| "Oh no$7$, I am not capricious. I am very faithful. I am
101:007,02[B  ]| very constant. \9Comprenez\?"
101:007,03[G  ]| "Monsieur is constant; I understand perfectly. It is
101:007,04[G  ]| a rare virtue. To$9$ recompense you, you shall have your
101:007,05[G  ]| picture on$4$ the first possible day; next week ~~ as soon as
101:007,06[G  ]| it is dry. I will$1$ take the card of Monsieur." 
101:007,06['  ]| And she
101:007,07['  ]| took it and read his name: 
101:007,07[G  ]| "Christopher*Newman."
101:007,08['  ]| Then she tried to$9$ repeat it aloud, and laughed at her bad
101:007,09['  ]| accent. 
101:007,09[G  ]| "Your English names are so$5#1$ droll!"
101:007,10[B  ]| "Droll?" 
101:007,10['  ]| said Mr%*Newman, laughing too. 
101:007,10[B  ]| "Did
101:007,11[B  ]| you ever hear of Christopher*Columbus?"
101:007,12[G  ]| "\9Bien 9su^r\! He invented America; a very great
101:007,13[G  ]| man. And is he your patron?"
101:007,14[B  ]| "My patron?"
101:007,15[G  ]| "Your patron saint, in$4$ the calendar."
101:007,16[B  ]| "Oh, exactly; my parents named me for$4$ him."
101:007,17[G  ]| "Monsieur is American?"
101:007,18[B  ]| "Do not you see it?" 
101:007,18['  ]| Monsieur inquired.
101:007,19[G  ]| "And you mean to$9$ carry my little picture away over
101:007,20[G  ]| there?" 
101:007,20['  ]| and she explained her phrase with a gesture.
101:007,21[B  ]| "Oh, I mean to$9$ buy a great many pictures ~~ \9beaucoup,
101:007,22[B  ]| 9beaucoup\," 
101:007,22['  ]| said Christopher*Newman.
101:007,23[G  ]| "The honour is not less for$4$ me," 
101:007,23['  ]| the young lady
101:007,24['  ]| answered, 
101:007,24[G  ]| "for$3$ I am sure Monsieur has a great deal of
101:007,25[G  ]| taste."
101:007,26[B  ]| "But you must give me your card," 
101:007,26['  ]| Newman said;
101:007,27[B  ]| "Your card, you know."
101:007,28['  ]| The young lady looked severe for$4$ an instant, and then
101:007,29['  ]| said: 
101:007,29[G  ]| "My father will$1$ wait upon$4$ you."
101:007,30['  ]| But this time Mr%*Newman's powers of divination were
101:007,31['  ]| at fault. 
101:007,31[B  ]| "Your card, your address," 
101:007,31['  ]| he simply repeated.
101:007,32[G  ]| "My address?" 
101:007,32['  ]| said Mademoiselle. Then, with a little
101:007,33['  ]| shrug: 
101:007,33[G  ]| "Happily for$4$ you, you are an American! It is
101:007,34[G  ]| the first time I ever gave my card to$4$ a gentleman."
101:007,35['  ]| And, taking from her pocket a rather greasy 9portemonnaie,
101:007,36['  ]| she extracted from it a small glazed visiting
101:007,37['  ]| card, and presented the latter to$4$ her patron. It was
101:008,01['  ]| neatly inscribed in$4$ pencil, with a great many flourishes:
101:008,02['  ]| "Mlle%*Noe=mie*Nioche." But Mr%*Newman, unlike
101:008,03['  ]| his companion, read the name with perfect gravity; all
101:008,04['  ]| French names to$4$ him were equally droll.
101:008,05[G  ]| "And precisely, here is my father, who$6#1$ has come to$9$
101:008,06[G  ]| escort me home," 
101:008,06['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie. 
101:008,06[G  ]| "He
101:008,07[G  ]| speaks English. He will$1$ arrange with you." 
101:008,07['  ]| And she
101:008,08['  ]| turned to$9$ welcome a little old gentleman who$6#1$ came
101:008,09['  ]| shuffling up$5$, peering over his spectacles at Newman.
101:008,10['  ]| M%*Nioche wore a glossy wig, of an unnatural colour,
101:008,11['  ]| which$6#1$ overhung his little meek, white, vacant face, and
101:008,12['  ]| left it hardly more expressive than the unfeatured block
101:008,13['  ]| upon$4$ which$6#1$ these articles are displayed in$4$ the barber's
101:008,14['  ]| window. He was an exquisite image of shabby gentility.
101:008,15['  ]| His little ill-made coat, desperately brushed, his darned
101:008,16['  ]| gloves, his highly-polished boots, his rusty, shapely hat,
101:008,17['  ]| told the story of a person who$6#1$ had "had losses," and
101:008,18['  ]| who$6#1$ clung to$4$ the spirit of nice habits, though the letter
101:008,19['  ]| had been hopelessly effaced. Among other things M%*Nioche
101:008,20['  ]| had lost courage. Adversity had not only ruined
101:008,21['  ]| him, it had frightened him, and he was evidently going
101:008,22['  ]| through his remnant of life on$4$ tiptoe, for$4$ fear of waking
101:008,23['  ]| up$5$ the hostile fates. If this strange gentleman was saying
101:008,24['  ]| anything improper to$4$ his daughter, M%*Nioche would
101:008,25['  ]| entreat him huskily, as a particular favour, to$9$ forbear;
101:008,26['  ]| but he would admit at the same time that$3$ he was very
101:008,27['  ]| presumptuous to$9$ ask for$4$ particular favours.
101:008,28[G  ]| "Monsieur has bought my picture," 
101:008,28['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
101:008,29[G  ]| "When it is finished you will$1$ carry it to$4$ him
101:008,30[G  ]| in$4$ a cab."
101:008,31[F  ]| "In$4$ a cab!" 
101:008,31['  ]| cried M%*Nioche; and he stared, in$4$ a 
101:008,32['  ]| bewildered way, as if he had seen the sun rising at midnight.
101:008,33['  ]| 
101:008,34[B  ]| "Are you the young lady's father?" 
101:008,34['  ]| said Newman.
101:008,35[B  ]| "I think she said you speak English."
101:008,36[F  ]| "Speak English ~~ yes," 
101:008,36['  ]| said the old man, slowly
101:008,37['  ]| rubbing his hands. 
101:008,37[F  ]| "I will$1$ bring it in$4$ a cab."
101:009,01[G  ]| "Say something, then," 
101:009,01['  ]| cried his daughter. 
101:009,01[G  ]| "Thank
101:009,02[G  ]| him a little ~~ not too much."
101:009,03[F  ]| "A little, my daughter, a little," 
101:009,03['  ]| said M%*Nioche,
101:009,04['  ]| perplexed. 
101:009,04[F  ]| "How much?"
101:009,05[G  ]| "Two thousand!" 
101:009,05['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
101:009,06[G  ]| "Do not make a fuss, or he will$1$ take back his word."
101:009,07[F  ]| "Two thousand!" 
101:009,07['  ]| cried the old man; and he began
101:009,08['  ]| to$9$ fumble for$4$ his snuff-box. He looked at Newman,
101:009,09['  ]| from head to$4$ foot, at his daughter, and then at the
101:009,10['  ]| picture. 
101:009,10[F  ]| "Take care you do not spoil it!" 
101:009,10['  ]| he cried,
101:009,11['  ]| almost sublimely.
101:009,12[G  ]| "We must go home," 
101:009,12['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
101:009,13[G  ]| "This is a good day's work. Take care how you carry
101:009,14[G  ]| it!" 
101:009,14['  ]| And she began to$9$ put up$5$ her utensils.
101:009,15[F  ]| "How can I thank you?" 
101:009,15['  ]| said M%*Nioche. 
101:009,15[F  ]| "My
101:009,16[F  ]| English does not suffice."
101:009,17[B  ]| "I wish I spoke French as well," 
101:009,17['  ]| said Newman,
101:009,18['  ]| good-naturedly. 
101:009,18[B  ]| "Your daughter is very clever."
101:009,19[F  ]| "Oh sir!" 
101:009,19['  ]| and M%*Nioche looked over his spectacles
101:009,20['  ]| with tearful eyes, and nodded several times with a world
101:009,21['  ]| of sadness. 
101:009,21[F  ]| "She has had an education ~~ \9tre`s-supe=rieure\!
101:009,22[F  ]| Nothing was spared. Lessons in$4$ pastel at ten francs the
101:009,23[F  ]| lesson, lessons in$4$ oil at twelve francs. I did not look at
101:009,24[F  ]| the francs then. She is an \9artiste\, eh?"
101:009,25[B  ]| "Do I understand you to$9$ say that$3$ you have had
101:009,26[B  ]| reverses?" 
101:009,26['  ]| asked Newman.
101:009,27[F  ]| "Reverses? Oh sir, misfortunes ~~ terrible!"
101:009,28[B  ]| "Unsuccessful in$4$ business, eh?"
101:009,29[F  ]| "Very unsuccessful, sir."
101:009,30[B  ]| "Oh, never fear, you will$1$ get on$4$ your legs again," 
101:009,30['  ]| said
101:009,31['  ]| Newman, cheerily.
101:009,32['  ]| The old man drooped his head on$4$ one side and looked
101:009,33['  ]| at him with an expression of pain, as if this were an
101:009,34['  ]| unfeeling jest.
101:009,35[F  ]| "What does he say?" 
101:009,35['  ]| demanded Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
101:009,36['  ]| M%*Nioche took a pinch of snuff. 
101:009,36[F  ]| "He says I will$1$
101:009,37[F  ]| make my fortune again."
101:010,01[G  ]| "Perhaps he will$1$ help you. And what else?"
101:010,02[F  ]| "He says thou art very clever."
101:010,03[G  ]| "It is very possible. You believe it yourself, my
101:010,04[G  ]| father?"
101:010,05[F  ]| "Believe it, my daughter? With this evidence!"
101:010,06['  ]| and the old man turned afresh, with a staring, wondering
101:010,07['  ]| homage, to$4$ the audacious daub on$4$ the easel.
101:010,08[G  ]| "Ask him, then, if he would not like$1$ to$9$ learn French."
101:010,09[F  ]| "To$9$ learn French?"
101:010,10[G  ]| "To$9$ take lessons."
101:010,11[F  ]| "To$9$ take lessons, my daughter? From thee?"
101:010,12[G  ]| "From you!"
101:010,13[F  ]| "From me, my child? How should I give lessons?"
101:010,14[G  ]| "\9Pas 9de 9raisons\! Ask him immediately!" 
101:010,14['  ]| said
101:010,15['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie, with soft brevity.
101:010,16['  ]| M%*Nioche stood aghast, but under his daughter's eye
101:010,17['  ]| he collected his wits, and, doing his best to$9$ assume an
101:010,18['  ]| agreeable smile, he executed her commands. 
101:010,18[F  ]| "Would
101:010,19[F  ]| it please you to$9$ receive instruction in$4$ our beautiful
101:010,20[F  ]| language?" 
101:010,20['  ]| he inquired, with an appealing quaver.
101:010,21[B  ]| "To$9$ study French?" 
101:010,21['  ]| asked Newman, staring.
101:010,22['  ]| M%*Nioche pressed his finger-tips together and slowly
101:010,23['  ]| raised his shoulders. 
101:010,23[F  ]| "A little conversation!"
101:010,24[G  ]| "Conversation ~~ that$6#2$ is it!" 
101:010,24['  ]| murmured Mademoiselle*Noe=mie,
101:010,25['  ]| who$6#1$ had caught the word. 
101:010,25[G  ]| "The conversation
101:010,26[G  ]| of the best society."
101:010,27[F  ]| "Our French conversation is famous, you know," 
101:010,27['  ]| M%*Nioche
101:010,28['  ]| ventured to$9$ continue. 
101:010,28[F  ]| "It is a great talent."
101:010,29[B  ]| "But is not it awfully difficult?" 
101:010,29['  ]| asked Newman, very
101:010,30['  ]| simply.
101:010,31[F  ]| "Not to$4$ a man of \9esprit\ like$4$ Monsieur, an admirer
101:010,32[F  ]| of beauty in$4$ every form!" 
101:010,32['  ]| and M%*Nioche cast a
101:010,33['  ]| significant glance at his daughter's Madonna.
101:010,34[B  ]| "I can not fancy myself chattering French!" 
101:010,34['  ]| said
101:010,35['  ]| Newman, with a laugh. 
101:010,35[B  ]| "And yet, I suppose that$3$ the
101:010,36[B  ]| more a man knows the better."
101:010,37[F  ]| "Monsieur expresses that$6#2$ very happily. \9He=las, 9oui\!"
101:011,01[B  ]| "I suppose it would help me a great deal, knocking
101:011,02[B  ]| about Paris, to$9$ know the language."
101:011,03[F  ]| "Ah, there are so$5#1$ many things Monsieur must want
101:011,04[F  ]| to$9$ say: difficult things!"
101:011,05[B  ]| "Everything I want to$9$ say is difficult. But you give
101:011,06[B  ]| lessons?"
101:011,07['  ]| Poor M%*Nioche was embarrassed; he smiled more
101:011,08['  ]| appealingly. 
101:011,08[F  ]| "I am not a regular professor," 
101:011,08['  ]| he
101:011,09['  ]| admitted. 
101:011,09[F  ]| "I can not nevertheless tell him that$3$ I am a
101:011,10[F  ]| professor," 
101:011,10['  ]| he said to$4$ his daughter.
101:011,11[G  ]| "Tell him it is a very exceptional chance," 
101:011,11['  ]| answered
101:011,12['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie; 
101:011,12[G  ]| "an \9homme 9du 9monde\ ~~ one
101:011,13[G  ]| gentleman conversing with another! Remember what
101:011,14[G  ]| you are ~~ what you have been!"
101:011,15[F  ]| "A teacher of languages in$4$ neither case! Much more
101:011,16[F  ]| formerly and much less to-day! And if he asks the price
101:011,17[F  ]| of the lessons?"
101:011,18[G  ]| "He will$1$ not ask it," 
101:011,18['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
101:011,19[F  ]| "What he pleases, I may say?"
101:011,20[G  ]| "Never! That$6#2$ is bad style."
101:011,21[F  ]| "If he asks, then?"
101:011,22['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie had put on$4$ her bonnet and was
101:011,23['  ]| tying the ribbons. She smoothed them out, with her soft
101:011,24['  ]| little chin thrust forward. 
101:011,24[G  ]| "Ten francs," 
101:011,24['  ]| she said
101:011,25['  ]| quickly.
101:011,26[F  ]| "Oh, my daughter! I shall never dare."
101:011,27[G  ]| "Do not dare, then! He will$1$ not ask till the end of the
101:011,28[G  ]| lessons, then I will$1$ make out the bill."
101:011,29['  ]| M%*Nioche turned to$4$ the confiding foreigner again, and
101:011,30['  ]| stood rubbing his hands, with an air of seeming to$9$ plead
101:011,31['  ]| guilty which$6#1$ was not intenser only because it was
101:011,32['  ]| habitually so$5#1$ striking. It never occurred to$4$ Newman to$9$
101:011,33['  ]| ask him for$4$ a guarantee of his skill in$4$ imparting instruction;
101:011,34['  ]| he supposed, of course, M%*Nioche knew his own
101:011,35['  ]| language, and his appealing forlornness was quite the
101:011,36['  ]| perfection of what the American, for$4$ vague reasons, had
101:011,37['  ]| always associated with all elderly foreigners of the lesson-giving
101:012,01['  ]| class. Newman had never reflected upon$4$ philological
101:012,02['  ]| processes. His chief impression with regard to$4$
101:012,03['  ]| ascertaining those mysterious correlatives of his familiar
101:012,04['  ]| English vocables which$6#1$ were current in$4$ this extraordinary
101:012,05['  ]| city of Paris was, that$3$ it was simply a matter of a good
101:012,06['  ]| deal of unwonted and rather ridiculous muscular effort
101:012,07['  ]| on$4$ his own part. 
101:012,07[B  ]| "How did you learn English?" 
101:012,07['  ]| he
101:012,08['  ]| asked of the old man.
101:012,09[F  ]| "When I was young, before my miseries. Oh, I was
101:012,10[F  ]| wide awake, then. My father was a great \9commercant\;
101:012,11[F  ]| he placed me for$4$ a year in$4$ a counting-house in$4$ England.
101:012,12[F  ]| Some of it stuck to$4$ me; but I have forgotten!"
101:012,13[B  ]| "How much French can I learn in$4$ a month?"
101:012,14[G  ]| "What does he say?" 
101:012,14['  ]| asked Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
101:012,15['  ]| M%*Nioche explained.
101:012,16[G  ]| "He will$1$ speak like$4$ an angel!" 
101:012,16['  ]| said his daughter.
101:012,17['  ]| But the native integrity which$6#1$ had been vainly exerted
101:012,18['  ]| to$9$ secure M%*Nioche's commercial prosperity flickered up$5$
101:012,19['  ]| again. 
101:012,19[F  ]| "\9Dame\, Monsieur!" 
101:012,19['  ]| he answered. 
101:012,19[F  ]| "All I can
101:012,20[F  ]| teach you!" 
101:012,20['  ]| And then, recovering himself at a sign
101:012,21['  ]| from his daughter, 
101:012,21[F  ]| "I will$1$ wait upon$4$ you at your hotel."
101:012,22[B  ]| "Oh yes, I should like$1$ to$9$ learn French," 
101:012,22['  ]| Newman
101:012,23['  ]| went on$5$, with democratic confidingness. 
101:012,23[B  ]| "Hang me if
101:012,24[B  ]| I should ever have thought of it! I took for$4$ granted it
101:012,25[B  ]| was impossible. But if you learned my language, why
101:012,26[B  ]| should not I learn yours?" 
101:012,26['  ]| and his frank, friendly laugh
101:012,27['  ]| drew the sting from the jest. 
101:012,27[B  ]| "Only, if we are going
101:012,28[B  ]| to$9$ converse, you know, you must think of something
101:012,29[B  ]| cheerful to$9$ converse about."
101:012,30[F  ]| "You are very good, sir; I am overcome!" 
101:012,30['  ]| said M%*Nioche
101:012,31['  ]| throwing out his hands. 
101:012,31[F  ]| "But you have
101:012,32[F  ]| cheerfulness and happiness for$4$ two!"
101:012,33[B  ]| "Oh no$7$," 
101:012,33['  ]| said Newman, more seriously. 
101:012,33[B  ]| "You must
101:012,34[B  ]| be bright and lively; that$6#2$ is part of the bargain."
101:012,35['  ]| M%*Nioche bowed, with his hand on$4$ his heart.
101:012,36[F  ]| "Very well, sir; you have already made me lively."
101:012,37[B  ]| "Come and bring me my picture, then; I will$1$ pay you
101:013,01[B  ]| for$4$ it, and we will$1$ talk about that$6#2$. That$6#2$ will$1$ be a
101:013,02[B  ]| cheerful subject!"
101:013,03['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie had collected her accessories, and
101:013,04['  ]| she gave the precious Madonna in$4$ charge to$4$ her father,
101:013,05['  ]| who$6#1$ retreated backwards out of sight, holding it at arm's-length
101:013,06['  ]| and reiterating his obeisances. The young lady
101:013,07['  ]| gathered her shawl about her like$4$ a perfect Parisienne, and
101:013,08['  ]| it was with the smile of a Parisienne that$3$ she took leave
101:013,09['  ]| of her patron.
102:013,01['  ]| He wandered back to$4$ the divan and seated himself on$4$
102:013,02['  ]| the other side, in$4$ view of the great canvas on$4$ which$6#1$ Paul*Veronese
102:013,03['  ]| has depicted the marriage feast of Cana.
102:013,04['  ]| Wearied as he was he found the picture entertaining; it
102:013,05['  ]| had an illusion for$4$ him; it satisfied his conception, which$6#1$
102:013,06['  ]| was ambitious, of what a splendid banquet should be.
102:013,07['  ]| In$4$ the left-hand corner of the picture is a young woman
102:013,08['  ]| with yellow tresses confined in$4$ a golden head-dress; she
102:013,09['  ]| is bending forward and listening, with the smile of a
102:013,10['  ]| charming woman at a dinner-party, to$4$ her neighbour.
102:013,11['  ]| Newman detected her in$4$ the crowd, admired her, and
102:013,12['  ]| perceived that$3$ she too had her votive copyist ~~ a young
102:013,13['  ]| man with his hair standing on$4$ end. Suddenly he became
102:013,14['  ]| conscious of the germ of the mania of the "collector;"
102:013,15@b   | he had taken the first step; why should he not go on$5$?
102:013,16['  ]| It was only twenty minutes before that$6#2$ he had bought
102:013,17['  ]| the first picture of his life, and now he was already
102:013,18['  ]| thinking of art-patronage as a fascinating pursuit. His
102:013,19['  ]| reflections quickened his good-humour, and he was on$4$
102:013,20['  ]| the point of approaching the young man with another
102:013,21[B  ]| "\9Combien\?" 
102:013,21['  ]| Two or three facts in$4$ this relation are
102:013,22['  ]| noticeable, although the logical chain which$6#1$ connects
102:013,23['  ]| them may seem imperfect. He knew Mademoiselle*Nioche
102:014,01['  ]| had asked too much; he bore her no$2$ grudge for$4$
102:014,02['  ]| doing so$5#2$, and he was determined to$9$ pay the young man
102:014,03['  ]| exactly the proper sum. At this moment, however, his
102:014,04['  ]| attention was attracted by$4$ a gentleman who$6#1$ had come
102:014,05['  ]| from another part of the room, and whose manner was
102:014,06['  ]| that$6#2$ of a stranger to$4$ the gallery, although he was equipped
102:014,07['  ]| with neither guide-book nor opera-glass. He carried a
102:014,08['  ]| white sun-umbrella, lined with blue silk, and he strolled
102:014,09['  ]| in$4$ front of the Paul*Veronese, vaguely looking at it, but
102:014,10['  ]| much too near to$9$ see anything but the grain of the
102:014,11['  ]| canvas. Opposite to$4$ Christopher*Newman he paused
102:014,12['  ]| and turned, and then our friend, who$6#1$ had been observing
102:014,13['  ]| him, had a chance to$9$ verify a suspicion aroused by$4$ an
102:014,14['  ]| imperfect view of his face. The result of this larger
102:014,15['  ]| scrutiny was that$3$ he presently sprang to$4$ his feet, strode
102:014,16['  ]| across the room, and, with an outstretched hand,
102:014,17['  ]| arrested the gentleman with the blue-lined umbrella.
102:014,18['  ]| The latter stared, but put out his hand at a venture.
102:014,19['  ]| He was corpulent and rosy; and though his countenance,
102:014,20['  ]| which$6#1$ was ornamented with a beautiful flaxen beard,
102:014,21['  ]| carefully divided in$4$ the middle and brushed outward at
102:014,22['  ]| the sides, was not remarkable for$4$ intensity of expression,
102:014,23['  ]| he looked like$4$ a person who$6#1$ would willingly shake hands
102:014,24['  ]| with any*one. I know not what Newman thought of his
102:014,25['  ]| face, but he found a want of response in$4$ his grasp.
102:014,26[B  ]| "Oh, come, come," 
102:014,26['  ]| he said, laughing; 
102:014,26[B  ]| "do not say,
102:014,27[B  ]| now, you do not know me ~~ if I have not got a white
102:014,28[B  ]| parasol!"
102:014,29['  ]| The sound of his voice quickened the other's memory,
102:014,30['  ]| his face expanded to$4$ its fullest capacity, and he also
102:014,31['  ]| broke into a laugh.
102:014,32[H  ]| "Why, Newman ~~ I will$1$ be blowed! Where in$4$ the
102:014,33[H  ]| world ~~ I declare ~~ who$6#2$ would have thought? You know
102:014,34[H  ]| you have changed."
102:014,35[B  ]| "You have not," 
102:014,35['  ]| said Newman.
102:014,36[H  ]| "Not for$4$ the better, no$2$ doubt. When did you get
102:014,37[H  ]| here?"
102:015,01[B  ]| "Three days ago."
102:015,02[H  ]| "Why did not you let me know?"
102:015,03[B  ]| "I had no$2$ idea \you\ were here."
102:015,04[H  ]| "I have been here these six years."
102:015,05[B  ]| "It must be eight or nine since we met."
102:015,06[H  ]| "Something of that$6#2$ sort. We were very young."
102:015,07[B  ]| "It was in$4$ St%*Louis, during the war. You were in$4$
102:015,08[B  ]| the army."
102:015,09[H  ]| "Oh no$7$, not I. But you were."
102:015,10[B  ]| "I believe I was."
102:015,11[H  ]| "You came out all right?"
102:015,12[B  ]| "I came out with my legs and arms ~~ and with satisfaction.
102:015,13[B  ]| All that$6#2$ seems very far away."
102:015,14[H  ]| "And how long have you been in$4$ Europe?"
102:015,15[B  ]| "Seventeen days."
102:015,16[H  ]| "First time?"
102:015,17[B  ]| "Yes, very much so$5#2$."
102:015,18[H  ]| "Made your everlasting fortune?"
102:015,19['  ]| Christopher*Newman was silent a moment, and then,
102:015,20['  ]| with a tranquil smile, he answered: 
102;015,20[B  ]| "Yes."
102:015,21[H  ]| "And come to$4$ Paris to$9$ spend it, eh?"
102:015,22[B  ]| "Well, we shall see. So$3$ they carry those parasols
102:015,23[B  ]| here ~~ the men-folk?"
102:015,24[H  ]| "Of course they do. They are great things. They
102:015,25[H  ]| understand comfort out here."
102:015,26[B  ]| "Where do you buy them?"
102:015,27[H  ]| "Anywhere, everywhere."
102:015,28[B  ]| "Well, Tristram, I am glad to$9$ get hold of you. You
102:015,29[B  ]| can show me the ropes. I suppose you know Paris
102:015,30[B  ]| inside out."
102:015,31['  ]| Mr%*Tristram gave a mellow smile of self-gratulation.
102:015,32[H  ]| "Well, I guess there are not many men that$6#1$ can show
102:015,33[H  ]| me much. I will$1$ take care of you."
102:015,34[B  ]| "It is a pity you were not here a few minutes ago. I
102:015,35[B  ]| have just bought a picture. You might have put the
102:015,36[B  ]| thing through for$4$ me."
102:015,37[H  ]| "Bought a picture?" 
102:016,37['  ]| said Mr%*Tristram, looking
102:016,01['  ]| vaguely round at the walls. 
102:016,01[H  ]| "Why, do they sell
102:016,02[H  ]| them?"
102:016,03[B  ]| "I mean a copy."
102:016,04[H  ]| "Oh, I see. These," 
102:016,04['  ]| said Mr%*Tristram, nodding
102:016,05['  ]| at the Titians and Vandykes, 
102:016,05[H  ]| "these, I suppose, are
102:016,06[H  ]| originals?"
102:016,07[B  ]| "I hope so$5#2$," 
102:016,07['  ]| cried Newman. 
102:106,07[B  ]| "I do not want a copy
102:016,08[B  ]| of a copy."
102:016,09[H  ]| "Ah," 
102:016,09['  ]| said Mr%*Tristram, mysteriously, 
102:016,09[H  ]| "you can
102:016,10[H  ]| never tell. They imitate, you know, so$5#1$ deucedly well.
102:016,11[H  ]| It is like$4$ the jewellers, with their false stones. Go into
102:016,12[H  ]| the Palais*Royal, there; you see ""Imitation"" on$4$ half the
102:016,13[H  ]| windows. The law obliges them to$9$ stick it on$5$, you
102:016,14[H  ]| know; but you can not tell the things apart. To$9$ tell the
102:016,15[H  ]| truth," 
102:016,15['  ]| Mr%*Tristram continued, with a wry face, 
102:016,15[H  ]| "I
102:016,16[H  ]| do not do much in$4$ pictures. I leave that$6#2$ to$4$ my wife."
102:016,17[B  ]| "Ah, you have got a wife?"
102:016,18[H  ]| "Did not I mention it? She is a very nice woman;
102:016,19[H  ]| you must know her. She is up$4$ there in$4$ the Avenue*d'Ie=na."
102:016,20[H  ]|
102:016,21[B  ]| "So$3$ you are regularly fixed ~~ house and children and
102:016,22[B  ]| all?"
102:016,23[H  ]| "Yes; a tip-top house, and a couple of youngsters."
102:016,24[B  ]| "Well," 
102:016,24['  ]| said Christopher*Newman, stretching his
102:016,25['  ]| arms a little, with a sigh, 
102:016,25[B  ]| "I envy you."
102:016,26[H  ]| "Oh no$7$, you do not," 
102:016,26['  ]| answered Mr%*Tristram, giving
102:016,27['  ]| him a little poke with his parasol.
102:016,28[B  ]| "I beg your pardon; I do."
102:016,29[H  ]| "Well, you will$1$ not, then, when ~~ when ~"
102:016,30[B  ]| "You do not certainly mean when I have seen your
102:016,31[B  ]| establishment?"
102:016,32[H  ]| "When you have seen Paris, my boy. You want to$9$
102:016,33[H  ]| be your own master here."
102:016,34[B  ]| "Oh, I have been my own master all my life, and
102:016,35[B  ]| I am tired of it."
102:016,36[H  ]| "Well, try Paris. How old are you?"
102:016,37[B  ]| "Thirty-six."
102:017,01[H  ]| "\9C'est 9le 9bel 9a^ge\, as they say here."
102:017,02[B  ]| "What does that$6#2$ mean?"
102:017,03[H  ]| "It means that$3$ a man should not send away his plate
102:017,04[H  ]| till he has eaten his fill."
102:017,05[B  ]| "All that$6#2$? I have just made arrangements to$9$ take
102:017,06[B  ]| French lessons."
102:017,07[H  ]| "Oh, you do not want any lessons. You will$1$ pick it up$5$.
102:017,08[H  ]| I never took any."
102:017,09[B  ]| "I suppose you speak French as well as English?"
102:017,10[H  ]| "Better!" 
102:017,10['  ]| said Mr%*Tristram, roundly. 
102:017,10[H  ]| "It is a
102:017,11[H  ]| splendid language. You can say all sorts of bright
102:017,12[H  ]| things in$4$ it."
102:017,13[B  ]| "But I suppose," 
102:017,13['  ]| said Christopher*Newman, with an
102:017,14['  ]| earnest desire for$4$ information, 
102:017,14[B  ]| "that$3$ you must be bright
102:017,15[B  ]| to$9$ begin with."
102:017,16[H  ]| "Not a bit; that$6#2$ is just the beauty of it."
102:017,17['  ]| The two friends, as they exchanged these remarks, had
102:017,18['  ]| remained standing where they met, and leaning against
102:017,19['  ]| the rail which$6#1$ protected the pictures. Mr%*Tristram at
102:017,20['  ]| last declared that$3$ 
102:017,20@h   | he was overcome with fatigue, and
102:017,21@h   | should be happy to$9$ sit down. 
102:017,21['  ]| Newman recommended
102:017,22['  ]| in$4$ the highest terms the great divan on$4$ which$6#1$ he had
102:017,23['  ]| been lounging, and they prepared to$9$ seat themselves.
102:017,24[B  ]| "This is a great place; is not it?" 
102:017,24['  ]| said Newman, with
102:017,25['  ]| ardour.
102:017,26[H  ]| "Great place, great place. Finest thing in$4$ the world."
102:017,27['  ]| And then, suddenly, Mr%*Tristram hesitated and looked
102:017,28['  ]| about him. 
102:017,28[H  ]| "I suppose they will$1$ not let you smoke
102:017,29[H  ]| here?"
102:017,30['  ]| Newman stared. 
102:017,30[B  ]| "Smoke? I am sure I do not know.
102:017,31[B  ]| You know the regulations better than I!"
102:017,32[H  ]| "I? I never was here before!"
102:017,33[B  ]| "Never! in$4$ six years?"
102:017,34[H  ]| "I believe my wife dragged me here once when we
102:017,35[H  ]| first came to$4$ Paris, but I never found my way back."
102:017,36[B  ]| "But you say you know Paris so$5#1$ well!"
102:017,37[H  ]| "I do not call this Paris!" 
102:017,37['  ]| cried Mr%*Tristram, with
102:017,01['  ]| assurance. 
102:017,01[H  ]| "Come; let us go over to$4$ the Palais*Royal
102:018,02[H  ]| and have a smoke."
102:018,03[B  ]| "I do not smoke," 
102:018,03['  ]| said Newman.
102:018,04[H  ]| "A drink, then."
102:018,05['  ]| And Mr%*Tristram led his companion away. They
102:018,06['  ]| passed through the glorious halls of the Louvre, down
102:018,07['  ]| the staircases, along the cool, dim galleries of sculpture,
102:018,08['  ]| and out into the enormous court. Newman looked
102:018,09['  ]| about him as he went, but he made no$2$ comments; and
102:018,10['  ]| it was only when they at last emerged into the open air
102:018,11['  ]| that$3$ he said to$4$ his friend, 
102:018,11[B  ]| "It seems to$4$ me that$3$ in$4$ your
102:018,12[B  ]| place I should have come here once a week."
102:018,13[H  ]| "Oh no$7$, you would not!" 
102:018,13['  ]| said Mr%*Tristram. 
102:018,13[H  ]| "You
102:018,14[H  ]| think so$5#2$, but you would not. You would not have had
102:018,15[H  ]| time. You would always mean to$9$ go, but you never
102:018,16[H  ]| would go. There is better fun than that$6#2$, here in$4$ Paris.
102:018,17[H  ]| Italy is the place to$9$ see pictures; wait till you get there.
102:018,18[H  ]| There you have to$9$ go; you can not do anything else. It is
102:018,19[H  ]| an awful country; you can not get a decent cigar. I do not
102:018,20[H  ]| know why I went in$4$ there to-day. I was strolling
102:018,21[H  ]| along, rather hard up$5$ for$4$ amusement. I sort of noticed
102:018,22[H  ]| the Louvre as I passed, and I thought I would go in$5$ and
102:018,23[H  ]| see what was going on$5$. But if I had not found you there
102:018,24[H  ]| I should have felt rather sold. Hang it, I do not care for$4$
102:018,25[H  ]| pictures; I prefer the reality!" 
102:018,25['  ]| And Mr%*Tristram
102:018,26['  ]| tossed off this happy formula with an assurance which$6#1$ the
102:018,27['  ]| numerous class of persons suffering from an overdose of
102:018,28['  ]| "culture" might have envied him.
102:018,29['  ]| The two gentlemen proceeded along the Rue*de*Rivoli
102:018,30['  ]| and into the Palais*Royal, where they seated themselves
102:018,31['  ]| at one of the little tables stationed at the door of the
102:018,32['  ]| cafe= which$6#1$ projects into the great open quadrangle. The
102:018,33['  ]| place was filled with people, the fountains were spouting,
102:018,34['  ]| a band was playing, clusters of chairs were gathered
102:018,35['  ]| beneath all the lime-trees, and buxom, white-capped
102:018,36['  ]| nurses, seated along the benches, were offering to$4$ their
102:018,37['  ]| infant charges the amplest facilities for$4$ nutrition. There
102:019,01['  ]| was an easy, homely gaiety in$4$ the whole scene, and
102:019,02['  ]| Christopher*Newman felt that$3$ it was most characteristically
102:019,03['  ]| Parisian.
102:019,04[H  ]| "And now," 
102:019,04['  ]| began Mr%*Tristram, when they had
102:019,05['  ]| tasted the decoction which$6#1$ he had caused to$9$ be served to$4$
102:019,06['  ]| them, 
102:019,06[H  ]| "now just give an account of yourself. What are
102:019,07[H  ]| your ideas, what are your plans, where have you come
102:019,08[H  ]| from, and where are you going? In$4$ the first place,
102:019,09[H  ]| where are you staying?"
102:019,10[B  ]| "At the Grand*Hotel," 
102;019,10['  ]| said Newman.
102:019,11['  ]| Mr%*Tristram puckered his plump visage. 
102:019,11[H  ]| "That$6#2$
102:019,12[H  ]| will$1$ not do! You must change."
102:019,13[B  ]| "Change?" 
102:019,13['  ]| demanded Newman. 
102:019,13[B  ]| "Why, it is the
102:019,14[B  ]| finest hotel I ever was in$4$."
102:019,15[H  ]| "You do not want a ""fine"" hotel; you want something
102:019,16[H  ]| small and quiet and elegant, where your bell is answered
102:019,17[H  ]| and your ~~ your person is recognised."
102:019,18[B  ]| "They keep running to$9$ see if I have rung before
102:019,19[B  ]| I have touched the bell," 
102:019,19['  ]| said Newman, 
102:019,19[B  ]| "and as
102:019,20[B  ]| for$4$ my person, they are always bowing and scraping
102:019,21[B  ]| to$4$ it."
102:019,22[H  ]| "I suppose you are always tipping them. That$6#2$ is
102:019,23[H  ]| very bad style."
102:019,24[B  ]| "Always? By$4$ no$2$ means. A man brought me something
102:019,25[B  ]| yesterday, and then stood loafing about in$4$ a beggarly
102:019,26[B  ]| manner. I offered him a chair, and asked him if he
102:019,27[B  ]| would not sit down. Was that$6#2$ bad style?"
102:019,28[H  ]| "Very!"
102:019,29[B  ]| "But he bolted, instantly. At any rate the place
102:019,30[B  ]| amuses me. Hang your elegance, if it bores me. I sat
102:019,31[B  ]| in$4$ the court of the Grand*Hotel last night until two
102:019,32[B  ]| o'clock in$4$ the morning, watching the coming and going,
102:019,33[B  ]| and the people knocking about."
102:019,34[H  ]| "You are easily pleased. But you can do as you
102:019,35[H  ]| choose ~~ a man in$4$ your shoes. You have made a pile of
102:019,36[H  ]| money, eh?"
102:019,37[B  ]| "I have made enough."
102:020,01[H  ]| "Happy the man who$6#1$ can say that$6#2$! Enough for$4$
102:020,02[H  ]| what?"
102:020,03[B  ]| "Enough to$9$ rest a while, to$9$ forget the confounded
102:020,04[B  ]| thing, to$9$ look about me, to$9$ see the world, to$9$ have a good
102:020,05[B  ]| time, to$9$ improve my mind, and, if the fancy takes me,
102:020,06[B  ]| to$9$ marry a wife." 
102:020,06['  ]| Newman spoke slowly, with a certain
102:020,07['  ]| dryness of accent, and with frequent pauses. This was
102:020,08['  ]| his habitual mode of utterance, but it was especially
102:020,09['  ]| marked in$4$ the words I have just quoted.
102:020,10[H  ]| "Jupiter! There is a programme!" 
102:020,10['  ]| cried Mr%*Tristram.
102:020,11[H  ]| "Certainly, all that$6#1$ takes money, especially the
102:020,12[H  ]| wife; unless indeed she gives it, as mine did. And
102:020,13[H  ]| what is the story? How have you done it?"
102:020,14['  ]| Newman had pushed his hat back from his forehead,
102:020,15['  ]| folded his arms, and stretched his legs. He listened to$4$
102:020,16['  ]| the music, he looked about him at the bustling crowd, at
102:020,17['  ]| the plashing fountains, at the nurses and the babies. 
102:020,17[B  ]| "I
102:020,18[B  ]| have worked!" 
102:020,18['  ]| he answered at last. 
102:020,19['  ]| Tristram looked at him for$4$ some moments, and allowed
102:020,20['  ]| his placid eyes to$9$ measure his friend's generous longitude
102:020,21['  ]| and rest upon$4$ his comfortably contemplative face.
102:020,22[H  ]| "What have you worked at?" 
102:020,22['  ]| he asked.
102:020,23[B  ]| "Oh, at several things."
102:020,24[H  ]| "I suppose you are a smart fellow, eh?"
102:020,25['  ]| Newman continued to$9$ look at the nurses and babies;
102:020,26['  ]| they imparted to$4$ the scene a kind of primordial, pastoral
102:020,27['  ]| simplicity. 
102:020,27[B  ]| "Yes," 
102:020,27['  ]| he said at last, 
102:020,27[B  ]| "I suppose I am."
102:020,28['  ]| And then, in$4$ answer to$4$ his companion's inquiries, he
102:020,29['  ]| related briefly his history since their last meeting. It
102:020,30['  ]| was an intensely Western story, and it dealt with enterprises
102:020,31['  ]| which$6#1$ it will$1$ be needless to$9$ introduce to$4$ the reader
102:020,32['  ]| in$4$ detail. Newman had come out of the war with a
102:020,33['  ]| brevet of brigadier-general, an honour which$6#1$ in$4$ this case
102:020,34['  ]| ~~ without invidious comparisons ~~ had lighted upon$4$
102:020,35['  ]| shoulders amply competent to$9$ bear it. But though he
102:020,36['  ]| could manage a fight when need was, Newman heartily
102:020,37['  ]| disliked the business; his four years in$4$ the army had left
102:021,01['  ]| him with an angry, bitter sense of the waste of precious
102:021,02['  ]| things ~~ life and time and money and "smartness" and
102:021,03['  ]| the early freshness of purpose; and he had addressed
102:021,04['  ]| himself to$4$ the pursuits of peace with passionate zest and
102:021,05['  ]| energy. He was, of course, as penniless when he plucked
102:021,06['  ]| off his shoulder-straps as when he put them on$5$, and the
102:021,07['  ]| only capital at his disposal was his dogged resolution and
102:021,08['  ]| his lively perception of ends and means. Exertion and
102:021,09['  ]| action were as natural to$4$ him as respiration; a more
102:021,10['  ]| completely healthy mortal had never trod the elastic soil
102:021,11['  ]| of the West. His experience, moreover, was as wide as
102:021,12['  ]| his capacity; when he was fourteen years old, necessity
102:021,13['  ]| had taken him by$4$ his slim young shoulders and pushed
102:021,14['  ]| him into the street to$9$ earn that$6#2$ night's supper. He had
102:021,15['  ]| not earned it; but he had earned the next night's, and
102:021,16['  ]| afterwards, whenever he had had none, it was because
102:021,17['  ]| he had gone without it to$9$ use the money for$4$ something
102:021,18['  ]| else, a keener pleasure or a finer profit. He had turned
102:021,19['  ]| his hand, with his brain in$4$ it, to$4$ many things; he had
102:021,20['  ]| been enterprising, in$4$ an eminent sense of the term; he
102:021,21['  ]| had been adventurous and even reckless, and he had
102:021,22['  ]| known bitter failure as well as brilliant success; but he
102:021,23['  ]| was a born experimentalist, and he had always found
102:021,24['  ]| something to$9$ enjoy in$4$ the pressure of necessity, even
102:021,25['  ]| when it was as irritating as the haircloth shirt of the
102:021,26['  ]| mediaeval monk. At one time failure seemed inexorably
102:021,27['  ]| his portion; ill-luck became his bed-fellow, and whatever
102:021,28['  ]| he touched he turned, not to$4$ gold, but to$4$ ashes. His
102:021,29['  ]| most vivid conception of a supernatural element in$4$ the
102:021,30['  ]| world's affairs had come to$4$ him once when this pertinacity
102:021,31['  ]| of misfortune was at its climax; there seemed to$4$
102:021,32['  ]| him something stronger in$4$ life than his own will$0$. But
102:021,33['  ]| the mysterious something could only be the devil, and
102:021,34['  ]| he was accordingly seized with an intense personal enmity
102:021,35['  ]| to$4$ this impertinent force. He had known what it was
102:021,36['  ]| to$9$ have utterly exhausted his credit, to$9$ be unable to$9$ raise
102:021,37['  ]| a dollar, and to$9$ find himself at nightfall in$4$ a strange city,
102:022,01['  ]| without a penny to$9$ mitigate its strangeness. It was
102:022,02['  ]| under these circumstances that$3$ he made his entrance into
102:022,03['  ]| San*Francisco, the scene, subsequently, of his happiest
102:022,04['  ]| strokes of fortune. If he did not, like$4$ Dr%*Franklin in$4$
102:022,05['  ]| Philadelphia, march along the street munching a penny
102:022,06['  ]| loaf, it was only because he had not the penny loaf
102:022,07['  ]| necessary to$4$ the performance. In$4$ his darkest days he
102:022,08['  ]| had had but one simple, practical impulse ~~ the desire,
102:022,09['  ]| as he would have phrased it, to$9$ see the thing through.
102:022,10['  ]| He did so$5#2$ at last, buffeted his way into smooth waters,
102:022,11['  ]| and made money largely. It must be admitted, rather
102:022,12['  ]| nakedly, that$3$ Christopher*Newman's sole aim in$4$ life had
102:022,13['  ]| been to$9$ make money; 
102:022,13@b   | what he had been placed in$4$ the
102:022,14@b   | world for$4$ was, 
102:022,14['  ]| to$4$ his own perception, 
102:022,14@b   | simply to$9$ wrest a
102:022,15@b   | fortune, the bigger the better, from defiant opportunity.
102:022,16['  ]| This idea completely filled his horizon and satisfied his
102:022,17['  ]| imagination. Upon$4$ the uses of money, upon$4$ what one
102:022,18['  ]| might do with a life into which$6#1$ one had succeeded in$4$
102:022,19['  ]| injecting the golden stream, he had up$5$ to$4$ his thirty-fifth
102:022,20['  ]| year very scantily reflected. Life had been for$4$ him an
102:022,21['  ]| open game, and he had played for$4$ high stakes. He had
102:022,22['  ]| won at last, and carried off his winnings; and now what
102:022,23['  ]| was he to$9$ do with them? He was a man to$4$ whom,
102:022,24['  ]| sooner or later, the question was sure to$9$ present itself,
102:022,25['  ]| and the answer to$4$ it belongs to$4$ our story. A vague
102:022,26['  ]| sense that$3$ more answers were possible than his philosophy
102:022,27['  ]| had hitherto dreamt of had already taken possession
102:022,28['  ]| of him, and it seemed softly and agreeably to$9$ deepen
102:022,29['  ]| as he lounged in$4$ this brilliant corner of Paris with his
102:022,30['  ]| friend.
102:022,31[B  ]| "I must confess," 
102:022,31['  ]| he presently went on$5$, 
102:022,31[B  ]| "that$3$ here I
102:022,32[B  ]| do not feel at all smart. My remarkable talents seem of
102:022,33[B  ]| no$2$ use. I feel as simple as a little child, and a little
102:022,34[B  ]| child might take me by$4$ the hand and lead me about."
102:022,35[H  ]| "Oh, I will$1$ be your little child," 
102:022,35['  ]| said Tristram, jovially;
102:022,36[H  ]| "I will$1$ take you by$4$ the hand. Trust yourself to$4$ me."
102:022,37[B  ]| "I am a good worker," 
102:022,37['  ]| Newman continued, 
102:022,37[B  ]| "but I
102:023,01[B  ]| rather think I am a poor loafer. I have come abroad to$9$
102:023,02[B  ]| amuse myself, but I doubt whether I know how."
102:023,03[H  ]| "Oh, that$6#2$ is easily learned."
102:023,04[B  ]| "Well, I may perhaps learn it, but I am afraid I shall
102:023,05[B  ]| never do it by$4$ rote. I have the best will$0$ in$4$ the world
102:023,06[B  ]| about it, but my genius does not lie in$4$ that$6#2$ direction. As
102:023,07[B  ]| a loafer I shall never be original, as I take it that$3$ you
102:023,08[B  ]| are."
102:023,09[H  ]| "Yes," 
102:023,09['  ]| said Tristram, 
102:023,09[H  ]| "I suppose I am original; like$4$
102:023,10[H  ]| all those immoral pictures in$4$ the Louvre."
102:023,11[B  ]| "Besides," 
102:023,11['  ]| Newman continued, 
102:023,11[B  ]| "I do not want to$9$
102:023,12[B  ]| work at pleasure, any more than I played at work. I
102:023,13[B  ]| want to$9$ take it easily. I feel deliciously lazy, and I
102:023,14[B  ]| should like$1$ to$9$ spend six months as I am now, sitting
102:023,15[B  ]| under a tree and listening to$4$ a band. There is only one
102:023,16[B  ]| thing; I want to$9$ hear some good music."
102:023,17[H  ]| "Music and pictures! Lord, what refined tastes! 
102:023,18[H  ]| You are what my wife calls intellectual. I ai not a bit.
102:023,19[H  ]| But we can find something better for$4$ you to$9$ do than to$9$
102:023,20[H  ]| sit under a tree. To$9$ begin with, you must come to$4$ the
102:023,21[H  ]| club."
102:023,22[B  ]| "What club?"
102:023,23[H  ]| "The Occidental. You will$1$ see all the Americans
102:023,24[H  ]| there; all the best of them, at least. Of course you
102:023,25[H  ]| play poker?"
102:023,26[B  ]| "Oh, I say," 
102:023,26['  ]| cried Newman, with energy, 
102:023,26[B  ]| "you are
102:023,27[B  ]| not going to$9$ lock me up$5$ in$4$ a club and stick me down at
102:023,28[B  ]| a card-table! I have not come all this way for$4$ that$6#2$."
102:023,29[H  ]| "What the deuce \have\ you come for$4$? You were 
102:023,30[H  ]| glad enough to$9$ play poker in$4$ St%*Louis, I recollect, when
102:023,31[H  ]| you cleaned me out."
102:023,32[B  ]| "I have come to$9$ see Europe, to$9$ get the best out of it
102:023,33[B  ]| I can. I want to$9$ see all the great things, and do what
102:023,34[B  ]| the clever people do."
102:023,35[H  ]| "The clever people? Much obliged. You set me
102:023,36[H  ]| down as a blockhead, then?"
102:023,37['  ]| Newman was sitting sidewise in$4$ his chair, with his
102:024,01['  ]| elbow on$4$ the back and his head leaning on$4$ his hand.
102:024,02['  ]| Without moving he looked a while at his companion,
102:024,03['  ]| with his dry, guarded, half-inscrutable, and yet altogether
102:024,04['  ]| good-natured smile. 
102:024,04[B  ]| "Introduce me to$4$ your wife!" 
102:024,04['  ]| he
102:024,05['  ]| said at last.
102:024,06['  ]| Tristram bounced about in$4$ his chair. 
102:024,06[H  ]| "Upon$4$ my
102:024,07[H  ]| word, I will$1$ not. She does not want any help to$9$ turn up$5$
102:024,08[H  ]| her nose at me, nor do you either!"
102:024,09[B  ]| "I do not turn up$5$ my nose at you, my dear fellow; nor
102:024,10[B  ]| at any*one, or anything. I am not proud, I assure you
102:024,11[B  ]| I am not proud. That$6#2$ is why I am willing to$9$ take example
102:024,12[B  ]| by$4$ the clever people."
102:024,13[H  ]| "Well, if I am not the rose, as they say here, I have
102:024,14[H  ]| lived near it. I can show you some clever people, too.
102:024,15[H  ]| Do you know General*Packard? Do you know C%*P%*Hatch?
102:024,16[H  ]| Do you know Miss*Kitty*Upjohn?"
102:024,17[B  ]| "I shall be happy to$9$ make their acquaintance; I
102:024,18[B  ]| want to$9$ cultivate society."
102:024,19['  ]| Tristram seemed restless and suspicious; he eyed his
102:024,20['  ]| friend askance, and then: 
102:024,20[H  ]| "What are you up$5$ to$4$, any
102:024,21[H  ]| way?" 
102:024,21['  ]| he demanded. 
102:024,21[H  ]| "Are you going to$9$ write a book?"
102:024,22['  ]| Christopher*Newman twisted one end of his moustache
102:024,23['  ]| a while in$4$ silence, and at last he made answer. 
102:024,23[B  ]| "One
102:024,24[B  ]| day, a couple of months ago, something very curious
102:024,25[B  ]| happened to$4$ me. I had come on$5$ to$4$ New*York on$4$ some
102:024,26[B  ]| important business; it was rather a long story ~~ a
102:024,27[B  ]| question of getting ahead of another party, in$4$ a certain
102:024,28[B  ]| particular way, in$4$ the stock-market. This other party
102:024,29[B  ]| had once played me a very mean trick. I owed him a
102:024,30[B  ]| grudge, I felt awfully savage at the time, and I vowed
102:024,31[B  ]| that$3$, when I got a chance, I would, figuratively speaking,
102:024,32[B  ]| put his nose out of joint. There was a matter of
102:024,33[B  ]| some sixty thousand dollars at stake. If I put it out of
102:024,34[B  ]| his way, it was a blow the fellow would feel, and he
102:024,35[B  ]| really deserved no$2$ quarter. I jumped into a hack and
102:024,36[B  ]| went about my business, and it was in$4$ this hack ~~ this
102:024,37[B  ]| immortal, historical hack ~~ that$6#2$ the curious thing I speak
102:025,01[B  ]| of occurred. It was a hack like$4$ any other, only a trifle
102:025,02[B  ]| dirtier, with a greasy line along the top of the drab
102:025,03[B  ]| cushions, as if it had been used for$4$ a great many Irish
102:025,04[B  ]| funerals. It is possible I took a nap; I had been
102:025,05[B  ]| travelling all night, and though I was excited with my
102:025,06[B  ]| errand, I felt the want of sleep. At all events I woke
102:025,07[B  ]| up$5$ suddenly, from a sleep or from a kind of a reverie,
102:025,08[B  ]| with the most extraordinary feeling in$4$ the world ~~ a mortal
102:025,09[B  ]| disgust for$4$ the thing I was going to$9$ do. It came upon$4$
102:025,10[B  ]| me like$4$ \that$6#2$\!" 
102:025,10['  ]| ~~ and he snapped his fingers ~~ 
102:025,10[B  ]| "as
102:025,11[B  ]| abruptly as an old wound that$6#1$ begins to$9$ ache. I
102:025,12[B  ]| could not tell the meaning of it; I only felt that$3$ I loathed
102:025,13[B  ]| the whole business and wanted to$9$ wash my hands of it.
102:025,14[B  ]| The idea of losing that$6#2$ sixty thousand dollars, of letting
102:025,15[B  ]| it utterly slide and scuttle and never hearing of it again,
102:025,16[B  ]| seemed the sweetest thing in$4$ the world. And all this
102:025,17[B  ]| took place quite independently of my will$0$, and I sat
102:025,18[B  ]| watching it as if it were a play at the theatre. I could
102:025,19[B  ]| feel it going on$4$ inside of me. You may depend upon$4$ it
102:025,20[B  ]| that$3$ there are things going on$4$ inside of us that$6#1$ we
102:025,21[B  ]| understand mighty little about."
102:025,22[H  ]| "Jupiter! you make my flesh creep!" 
102:025,22['  ]| cried Tristram.
102:025,23[H  ]| "And while you sat in$4$ your hack, watching the play, as
102:025,24[H  ]| you call it, the other man marched in$5$ and bagged your
102:025,25[H  ]| sixty thousand dollars?"
102:025,26[B  ]| "I have not the least idea. I hope so$5#2$, poor devil!
102:025,27[B  ]| but I never found out. We pulled up$5$ in$4$ front of the
102:025,28[B  ]| place I was going to$4$ in$4$ Wall*Street, but I sat still in$4$ the
102:025,29[B  ]| carriage, and at last the driver scrambled down off his
102:025,30[B  ]| seat to$9$ see whether his carriage had not turned into a
102:025,31[B  ]| hearse. I could not have got out, any more than if I
102:025,32[B  ]| had been a corpse. What was the matter with me?
102:025,33[B  ]| Momentary idiocy, you will$1$ say. What I wanted to$9$ get
102:025,34[B  ]| out of was Wall*Street. I told the man to$9$ drive down to$4$ the
102:025,35[B  ]| Brooklyn ferry and to$9$ cross over. When we were
102:025,36[B  ]| over I told him to$9$ drive me out into the country. As
102:025,37[B  ]| I had told him originally to$9$ drive for$4$ dear life down
102:026,01[B  ]| town, I suppose he thought me insane. Perhaps I was,
102:026,02[B  ]| but in$4$ that$6#2$ case I am insane still. I spent the morning
102:026,03[B  ]| looking at the first green leaves on$4$ Long*Island. I was
102:026,04[B  ]| sick of business; I wanted to$9$ throw it all up$5$ and break
102:026,05[B  ]| off short; I had money enough, or if I had not I ought to$9$
102:026,06[B  ]| have. I seemed to$9$ feel a new man inside my old skin,
102:026,07[B  ]| and I longed for$4$ a new world. When you want a thing
102:026,08[B  ]| so$5#1$ very badly you had better treat yourself to$4$ it. I
102:026,09[B  ]| did not understand the matter, not in$4$ the least; but I
102:026,10[B  ]| gave the old horse the bridle and let him find his way.
102:026,11[B  ]| As soon as I could get out of the game I sailed for$4$
102:026,12[B  ]| Europe. That$6#2$ is how I come to$9$ be sitting here."
102:026,13[H  ]| "You ought to$9$ have bought up$5$ that$6#2$ hack," 
102:026,13['  ]| said
102:026,14['  ]| Tristram; 
102:026,14[H  ]| "it is not a safe vehicle to$9$ have about. And
102:026,15[H  ]| you have really sold out, then; you have retired from
102:026,16[H  ]| business?"
102:026,17[B  ]| "I have made over my hand to$4$ a friend; when I feel
102:026,18[B  ]| disposed, I can take up$5$ the cards again. I daresay that$3$
102:026,19[B  ]| a twelvemonth hence the operation will$1$ be reversed.
102:026,20[B  ]| The pendulum will$1$ swing back again. I shall be sitting
102:026,21[B  ]| in$4$ the gondola or on$4$ a dromedary, and all of a sudden
102:026,22[B  ]| I shall want to$9$ clear out. But for$4$ the present I am
102:026,23[B  ]| perfectly free. I have even bargained that$3$ I am to$9$
102:026,24[B  ]| receive no$2$ business letters."
102:026,25[H  ]| "Oh, it is a real \9caprice 9de 9prince\," 
102:026,25['  ]| said Tristram.
102:026,26[H  ]| "I back out; a poor devil like$4$ me can not help you to$9$
102:026,27[H  ]| spend such very magnificent leisure as that$6#2$. You should
102:026,28[H  ]| get introduced to$4$ the crowned heads."
102:026,29['  ]| Newman looked at him a moment, and then, with his
102:026,30['  ]| easy smile: 
102:026,30[B  ]| "How does one do it?" 
102:026,30['  ]| he asked.
102:026,31[H  ]| "Come, I like$1$ that$6#2$!" 
102:026,31['  ]| cried Tristram. 
102:026,31[H  ]| "It shows
102:026,32[H  ]| you are in$4$ earnest."
102:026,33[B  ]| "Of course I am in$4$ earnest. Did not I say I wanted
102:026,34[B  ]| the best? I know the best can not be had for$4$ mere money,
102:026,35[B  ]| but I rather think money will$1$ do a good deal. In$4$
102:026,36[B  ]| addition, I am willing to$9$ take a good deal of trouble."
102:026,37[H  ]| "You are not bashful, eh?"
102:027,01[B  ]| "I have not the least idea. I want the biggest kind of
102:027,02[B  ]| entertainment a man can get. People, places, art,
102:027,03[B  ]| nature, everything! I want to$9$ see the tallest mountains,
102:027,04[B  ]| and the bluest lakes, and the finest pictures, and the
102:027,05[B  ]| handsomest churches, and the most celebrated men, and
102:027,06[B  ]| the most beautiful women."
102:027,07[H  ]| "Settle down in$4$ Paris, then. There are no$2$ mountains
102:027,08[H  ]| that$6#1$ I know of, and the only lake is in$4$ the Bois*de*Boulogne,
102:027,09[H  ]| and not particularly blue. But there is everything
102:027,10[H  ]| else: plenty of pictures and churches, no$2$ end of
102:027,11[H  ]| celebrated men, and several beautiful women."
102:027,12[B  ]| "But I can not settle down in$4$ Paris at this season, just
102:027,13[B  ]| as summer is coming on$5$."
102:027,14[H  ]| "Oh, for$4$ the summer go up$5$ to$4$ Trouville."
102:027,15[B  ]| "What is Trouville?"
102:027,16[H  ]| "The French Newport. Half the Americans go."
102:027,17[B  ]| "Is it anywhere near the Alps?"
102:027,18[H  ]| "About as near as Newport is to$4$ the Rocky*Mountains."
102:027,19[H  ]| 
102:027,20[B  ]| "Oh, I want to$9$ see Mont*Blanc," 
102:027,20['  ]| said Newman, 
102:027,20[B  ]| "and
102:027,21[B  ]| Amsterdam, and the Rhine, and a lot of places. Venice
102:027,22[B  ]| in$4$ particular. I have great ideas about Venice."
102:027,23[H  ]| "Ah," 
102:027,23['  ]| said Mr%*Tristram, rising, 
102:027,23[H  ]| "I see I shall have
102:027,24[H  ]| to$9$ introduce you to$4$ my wife!"
103:027,01['  ]| He performed this ceremony on$4$ the following day, when,
103:027,02['  ]| by$4$ appointment, Christopher*Newman went to$9$ dine with
103:027,03['  ]| him. Mr% and Mrs%*Tristram lived behind one of those
103:027,04['  ]| chalk-coloured facades which$6#1$ decorate with their pompous
103:027,05['  ]| sameness the broad avenues manufactured by$4$ Baron*Haussmann
103:027,06['  ]| in$4$ the neighbourhood of the Arc*de*Triomphe.
103:027,07['  ]| Their apartment was rich in$4$ the modern conveniences
103:028,01['  ]| and Tristram lost no$2$ time in$4$ calling his visitor's attention
103:028,02['  ]| to$4$ their principal household treasures, the gas-lamps and
103:028,03['  ]| the furnace-holes. 
103:028,03[H  ]| "Whenever you feel homesick," 
103:028,03['  ]| he
103:028,04['  ]| said, 
103:028,04[H  ]| "you must come up$4$ here. We will$1$ stick you down
103:028,05[H  ]| before a register, under a good big burner, and ~"
103:028,06[I  ]| "And you will$1$ soon get over your homesickness," 
103:028,06['  ]| said
103:028,07['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram.
103:028,08['  ]| Her husband stared; his wife often had a tone which$6#1$
103:028,09['  ]| he found inscrutable; 
103:028,09@h   | he could not tell for$4$ his life whether
103:028,10@h   | she was in$4$ jest or in$4$ earnest. 
103:028,10['  ]| The truth is that$3$ circumstances
103:028,11['  ]| had done much to$9$ cultivate in$4$ Mrs%*Tristram a
103:028,12['  ]| marked tendency to$4$ irony. Her taste on$4$ many points
103:028,13['  ]| differed from that$6#2$ of her husband; and though she made
103:028,14['  ]| frequent concessions, it must be confessed that$3$ her concessions
103:028,15['  ]| were not always graceful. They were founded
103:028,16['  ]| upon$4$ a vague project she had of some day doing something
103:028,17['  ]| very positive, something a trifle passionate. What
103:028,18['  ]| she meant to$9$ do she could by$4$ no$2$ means have told you;
103:028,19['  ]| but meanwhile, nevertheless, she was buying a good
103:028,20['  ]| conscience, by$4$ instalments.
103:028,21['  ]| It should be added, without delay, to$9$ anticipate misconception,
103:028,22['  ]| that$3$ her little scheme of independence did
103:028,23['  ]| not definitely involve the assistance of another person, of
103:028,24['  ]| the opposite sex; she was not saving up$5$ virtue to$9$ cover
103:028,25['  ]| the expenses of a flirtation. For$4$ this there were various
103:028,26['  ]| reasons. To$9$ begin with, she had a very plain face, and
103:028,27['  ]| she was entirely without illusions as to$4$ her appearance.
103:028,28['  ]| She had taken its measure to$4$ a hair's-breadth, she knew
103:028,29['  ]| the worst and the best, she had accepted herself. It had
103:028,30['  ]| not been, indeed, without a struggle. As a young girl,
103:028,31['  ]| she had spent hours with her back to$4$ her mirror, crying
103:028,32['  ]| her eyes out; and later she had, from desperation and
103:028,33['  ]| bravado, adopted the habit of proclaiming herself the
103:028,34['  ]| most ill-favoured of women, in$4$ order that$3$ she might ~~ as
103:028,35['  ]| in$4$ common politeness was inevitable ~~ be contradicted
103:028,36['  ]| and reassured. It was since she had come to$9$ live in$4$
103:028,37['  ]| Europe that$3$ she had begun to$9$ take the matter philosophically.
103:029,01['  ]| Her observation, acutely exercised here, had
103:029,02['  ]| suggested to$4$ her that$3$ 
103:029,02@i   | a woman's first duty is not to$9$ be
103:029,03@i   | beautiful, but to$9$ be pleasing; 
103:029,03['  ]| and she encountered so$5#1$
103:029,04['  ]| many women who$6#1$ pleased without beauty, that$3$ she began
103:029,05['  ]| to$9$ feel that$3$ 
103:029,05@i   | she had discovered her mission. 
103:029,05['  ]| She had
103:029,06['  ]| once heard an enthusiastic musician, out of patience with
103:029,07['  ]| a gifted bungler, declare that$3$ 
103:029,07@x   | a fine voice is really an
103:029,08@x   | obstacle to$4$ singing properly; 
103:029,08['  ]| and it occurred to$4$ her that$3$
103:029,09@i   | it might perhaps be equally true that$3$ a beautiful face is
103:029,10@i   | an obstacle to$4$ the acquisition of charming manners.
103:029,11['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram, then, undertook to$9$ be exquisitely agreeable,
103:029,12['  ]| and she brought to$4$ the task a really touching
103:029,13['  ]| devotion. How well she would have succeeded I am
103:029,14['  ]| unable to$9$ say; unfortunately she broke off in$4$ the middle.
103:029,15['  ]| Her own excuse was the want of encouragement in$4$ her
103:029,16['  ]| immediate circle. But I am inclined to$9$ think that$3$ she
103:029,17['  ]| had not a real genius for$4$ the matter, or she would have
103:029,18['  ]| pursued the charming art for$4$ itself. The poor lady was
103:029,19['  ]| very incomplete. She fell back upon$4$ the harmonies of
103:029,20['  ]| the toilet, which$6#1$ she thoroughly understood, and contented
103:029,21['  ]| herself with dressing in$4$ perfection. She lived in$4$ Paris,
103:029,22['  ]| which$6#1$ she pretended to$9$ detest, because 
103:029,22@i   | it was only in$4$
103:029,23@i   | Paris that$3$ one could find things to$9$ exactly suit one's
103:029,24@i   | complexion. Besides, out of Paris it was always more
103:029,25@i   | or less of a trouble to$9$ get ten-button gloves. 
103:029,25['  ]| When she
103:029,26['  ]| railed at this serviceable city, and you asked her where
103:029,27['  ]| she would prefer to$9$ reside, she returned some very
103:029,28['  ]| unexpected answer. She would say in$4$ Copenhagen, or
103:029,29['  ]| in$4$ Barcelona; having, while making the tour of Europe,
103:029,30['  ]| spent a couple of days at each of these places. On$4$ the
103:029,31['  ]| whole, with her poetic furbelows, and her misshapen,
103:029,32['  ]| intelligent little face, she was, when you knew her, a
103:029,33['  ]| decidedly interesting woman. She was naturally shy,
103:029,34['  ]| and if she had been born a beauty, she would (having no$2$
103:029,35['  ]| vanity) probably have remained shy. Now, she was both
103:029,36['  ]| diffident and importunate; extremely reserved sometimes
103:029,37['  ]| with her friends, and strangely expansive with strangers.
103:030,01['  ]| She despised her husband; despised him too much, for$3$
103:030,02['  ]| she had been perfectly at liberty not to$9$ marry him. She
103:030,03['  ]| had been in$4$ love with a clever man, who$6#1$ had slighted
103:030,04['  ]| her, and she had married a fool, in$4$ the hope that$3$ this
103:030,05['  ]| thankless wit, reflecting on$4$ it, would conclude that$3$ she
103:030,06['  ]| had no$2$ appreciation of merit, and that$3$ he had flattered
103:030,07['  ]| himself in$4$ supposing that$3$ she cared for$4$ his own. Restless,
103:030,08['  ]| discontented, visionary, without personal ambitions,
103:030,09['  ]| but with a certain avidity of imagination, she was, as I
103:030,10['  ]| have said before, eminently incomplete. She was full ~
103:030,11['  ]| both for$4$ good and for$4$ ill ~~ of beginnings that$6#1$ came to$4$
103:030,12['  ]| nothing; but she had nevertheless, morally, a spark of
103:030,13['  ]| the sacred fire.
103:030,14['  ]| Newman was fond, under all circumstances, of the
103:030,15['  ]| society of women; and now that$3$ he was out of his native
103:030,16['  ]| element, and deprived of his habitual interests, he turned
103:030,17['  ]| to$4$ it for$4$ compensation. He took a great fancy to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram;
103:030,18['  ]| she frankly repaid it, and after their first
103:030,19['  ]| meeting he passed a great many hours in$4$ her drawing-room.
103:030,20['  ]| After two or three talks, they were fast friends.
103:030,21['  ]| Newman's manner with women was peculiar, and it
103:030,22['  ]| required some ingenuity on$4$ a lady's part to$9$ discover that$3$
103:030,23['  ]| he admired her. He had no$2$ gallantry, in$4$ the usual
103:030,24['  ]| sense of the term; no$2$ compliments, no$2$ graces, no$2$
103:030,25['  ]| speeches. Very fond of what is called chaffing, in$4$ his
103:030,26['  ]| dealings with men, he never found himself on$4$ a sofa
103:030,27['  ]| beside a member of the softer sex without feeling extremely
103:030,28['  ]| serious. He was not shy, and, so$5#1$ far as
103:030,29['  ]| awkwardness proceeds from a struggle with shyness, he
103:030,30['  ]| was not awkward; grave, attentive, submissive, often
103:030,31['  ]| silent, he was simply swimming in$4$ a sort of rapture of
103:030,32['  ]| respect. This emotion was not at all theoretic, it was
103:030,33['  ]| not even in$4$ a high degree sentimental; he had thought
103:030,34['  ]| very little about the "position" of women, and he was
103:030,35['  ]| not familiar, either sympathetically or otherwise, with
103:030,36['  ]| the image of a President in$4$ petticoats. His attitude was
103:030,37['  ]| simply the flower of his general good-nature, and a part
103:031,01['  ]| of his instinctive and genuinely democratic assumption of
103:031,02['  ]| every*one's right to$4$ lead an easy life. 
103:031,02@b   | If a shaggy pauper
103:031,03@b   | had a right to$4$ bed and board and wages and a vote,
103:031,04@b   | women, of course, who$6#1$ were weaker than paupers, and
103:031,05@b   | whose physical tissue was in$4$ itself an appeal, should be
103:031,06@b   | maintained, sentimentally, at the public expense. 
103:031,06['  ]| Newman
103:031,07['  ]| was willing to$9$ be taxed for$4$ this purpose, largely,
103:031,08['  ]| in$4$ proportion to$4$ his means. Moreover, any of the
103:031,09['  ]| common traditions with regard to$4$ women were with him
103:031,10['  ]| fresh personal impressions; he had never read a novel!
103:031,11['  ]| He had been struck with their acuteness, their subtlety,
103:031,12['  ]| their tact, their felicity of judgement. They seemed to$4$
103:031,13['  ]| him exquisitely organised. If it is true that$3$ one must
103:031,14['  ]| always have in$4$ one's work here below a religion, or at
103:031,15['  ]| least an ideal, of some sort, Newman found his metaphysical
103:031,16['  ]| inspiration in$4$ a vague acceptance of final responsibility
103:031,17['  ]| to$4$ some illumined feminine brow.
103:031,18['  ]| He spent a great deal of time in$4$ listening to$4$ advice
103:031,19['  ]| from Mrs%*Tristram; advice, it must be added, for$4$ which$6#1$
103:031,20['  ]| he had never asked. He would have been incapable of
103:031,21['  ]| asking for$4$ it, for$3$ he had no$2$ perception of difficulties, and
103:031,22['  ]| consequently no$2$ curiosity about remedies. The complex
103:031,23['  ]| Parisian world about him seemed a very simple affair;
103:031,24['  ]| it was an immense, amazing spectacle, but it neither
103:031,25['  ]| inflamed his imagination nor irritated his curiosity. He
103:031,26['  ]| kept his hands in$4$ his pockets, looked on$5$ good-humouredly,
103:031,27['  ]| desired to$9$ miss nothing important, observed a great many
103:031,28['  ]| things narrowly, and never reverted to$4$ himself. 
103:031,28@b   | Mrs%*Tristram's
103:031,29@b   | "advice" was a part of the show, and a more
103:031,30@b   | entertaining element, in$4$ her abundant gossip, than the
103:031,31@b   | others. He enjoyed her talking about himself; it seemed
103:031,32@b   | a part of her beautiful ingenuity; 
103:031,32['  ]| but he never made an
103:031,33['  ]| application of anything she said, or remembered it when
103:031,34['  ]| he was away from her. For$4$ herself, she appropriated
103:031,35['  ]| him; 
103:031,35@i   | he was the most interesting thing she had had to$9$
103:031,36@i   | think about in$4$ many a month. 
103:031,36['  ]| She wished to$9$ do something
103:031,37['  ]| with him ~~ she hardly knew what. 
103:031,37@i   | There was so$5#1$
103:032,01@i   | much of him; he was so$5#1$ rich and robust, so$5#1$ easy, friendly,
103:032,02@i   | well-disposed, that$3$ he kept her fancy constantly on$4$ the
103:032,03@i   | alert. For$4$ the present, the only thing she could do was
103:032,04@i   | to$9$ like$1$ him. 
103:032,04['  ]| She told him that$3$ he was 
103:032,04[I  ]| "horribly
103:032,05[I  ]| Western," 
103:032,05['  ]| but in$4$ this compliment the adverb was tinged
103:032,06['  ]| with insincerity. She led him about with her, introduced
103:032,07['  ]| him to$4$ fifty people, and took extreme satisfaction in$4$ her
103:032,08['  ]| conquest. Newman accepted every proposal, shook
103:032,09['  ]| hands universally and promiscuously, and seemed equally
103:032,10['  ]| unfamiliar with trepidation or with elation. Tom*Tristram
103:032,11['  ]| complained of his wife's avidity, and declared
103:032,12['  ]| that$3$ 
103:032,12@h   | he could never have a clear five minutes with his
103:032,13@h   | friend. If he had known how things were going to$9$ turn
103:032,14@h   | out, he never would have brought him to$4$ the Avenue*d'Ie=na.
103:032,15['  ]| The two men, formerly, had not been intimate,
103:032,16['  ]| but Newman remembered his earlier impression of his
103:032,17['  ]| host, and did Mrs%*Tristram, who$6#1$ had by$4$ no$2$ means taken
103:032,18['  ]| him into her confidence, but whose secret he presently
103:032,19['  ]| discovered, the justice to$9$ admit that$3$ 
103:032,19@b   | her husband was a
103:032,20@b   | rather degenerate mortal. At twenty-five he had been
103:032,21@b   | a good fellow, and in$4$ this respect he was unchanged; but
103:032,22@b   | of a man of his age one expected something more.
103:032,23['  ]| People said he was sociable, but this was as much a
103:032,24['  ]| matter of course as for$4$ a dipped sponge to$9$ expand; and
103:032,25['  ]| it was not a high order of sociability. He was a great
103:032,26['  ]| gossip and tattler, and to$9$ produce a laugh would hardly
103:032,27['  ]| have spared the reputation of his aged mother. Newman
103:032,28['  ]| had a kindness for$4$ old memories, but he found it impossible
103:032,29['  ]| not to$9$ perceive that$3$ 
103:032,29@b   | Tristram was nowadays a very
103:032,30@b   | light weight. His only aspirations were to$9$ hold out at
103:032,31@b   | poker, at his club, to$9$ know the names of all the \9cocottes\,
103:032,32@b   | to$9$ shake hands all round, to$9$ ply his rosy gullet with
103:032,33@b   | truffles and champagne, and to$9$ create uncomfortable
103:032,34@b   | eddies and obstructions among the constituent atoms of
103:032,35@b   | the American colony. He was shamefully idle, spiritless,
103:032,36@b   | sensual, snobbish. 
103:032,36['  ]| He irritated our friend by$4$ the tone
103:032,37['  ]| of his allusions to$4$ their native country, and Newman was
103:033,01['  ]| at a loss to$9$ understand why the United States were not
103:033,02['  ]| good enough for$4$ Mr%*Tristram. He had never been a 
103:033,03['  ]| very conscious patriot, but it vexed him to$9$ see them
103:033,04['  ]| treated as little better than a vulgar smell in$4$ his friend's
103:033,05['  ]| nostrils, and he finally broke out and swore that$3$ 
103:033,05@b   | they
103:033,06@b   | were the greatest country in$4$ the world, that$3$ they could
103:033,07@b   | put all Europe into their breeches' pockets, and that$3$ an
103:033,08@b   | American who$6#1$ spoke ill of them ought to$9$ be carried
103:033,09@b   | home in$4$ irons and compelled to$9$ live in$4$ Boston. 
103:033,09['  ]| (This,
103:033,10['  ]| for$4$ Newman, was putting it very vindictively.) Tristram
103:033,11['  ]| was a comfortable man to$9$ snub; he bore no$2$ malice, and
103:033,12['  ]| he continued to$9$ insist on$4$ Newman's finishing his evenings
103:033,13['  ]| at the Occidental*Club.
103:033,14['  ]| Christopher*Newman dined several times in$4$ the Avenue*d'Ie=na,
103:033,15['  ]| and his host always proposed an early adjournment
103:033,16['  ]| to$4$ this institution. Mrs%*Tristram protested, and
103:033,17['  ]| declared that$3$ 
103:033,17@i   | her husband exhausted his ingenuity in$4$
103:033,18@i   | trying to$9$ displease her.
103:033,19[H  ]| "Oh no$7$, I never try, my love," 
103:033,19['  ]| he answered. 
103:033,19[H  ]| "I
103:033,20[H  ]| know you loathe me quite enough when I take my
103:033,21[H  ]| chance."
103:033,22['  ]| Newman hated to$9$ see a husband and wife on$4$ these
103:033,23['  ]| terms, and he was sure one or other of them must be very
103:033,24['  ]| unhappy. He knew it was not Tristram. 
103:033,24['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram
103:033,25['  ]| had a balcony before her windows, upon$4$ which$6#1$, during
103:033,26['  ]| the June evenings, she was fond of sitting, and Newman
103:033,27['  ]| used frankly to$9$ say that$3$ 
103:033,27@b   | he preferred the balcony to$4$ the
103:033,28@b   | club. It had a fringe of perfumed plants in$4$ tubs, and
103:033,29@b   | enabled you to$9$ look up$4$ the broad street and see the
103:033,30@b   | Arch*of*Triumph vaguely massing its heroic sculptures
103:033,31@b   | in$4$ the summer starlight. 
103:033,31['  ]| Sometimes Newman kept his
103:033,32['  ]| promise of following Mr%*Tristram, in$4$ half an hour, to$4$
103:033,33['  ]| the Occidental, and sometimes he forgot it. His hostess
103:033,34['  ]| asked him a great many questions about himself, but on$4$
103:033,35['  ]| this subject he was an indifferent talker. He was not
103:033,36['  ]| what is called subjective, though when he felt that$3$ her
103:033,37['  ]| interest was sincere, he made an almost heroic attempt
103:034,01['  ]| to$9$ be. He told her a great many things he had done,
103:034,02['  ]| and regaled her with anecdotes of Western life; she was
103:034,03['  ]| from Philadelphia, and with her eight years in$4$ Paris,
103:034,04['  ]| talked of herself as a languid Oriental. But some other
103:034,05['  ]| person was always the hero of the tale, by$4$ no$2$ means
103:034,06['  ]| always to$4$ his advantage; and Newman's own emotions
103:034,07['  ]| were but scantily chronicled. She had an especial wish
103:034,08['  ]| to$9$ know whether he had ever been in$4$ love ~~ seriously,
103:034,09['  ]| passionately ~~ and, failing to$9$ gather any satisfaction from
103:034,10['  ]| his allusions, she at last directly inquired. He hesitated
103:034,11['  ]| a while, and at last he said: 
103:034,11[B  ]| "No$7$!" 
103:034,11['  ]| She declared that$3$
103:034,12@i   | she was delighted to$9$ hear it, as it confirmed her private
103:034,13@i   | conviction that$3$ he was a man of no$2$ feeling.
103:034,14[B  ]| "Really?" 
103:034,14['  ]| he asked, very gravely. 
103:034,14[B  ]| "Do you think
103:034,15[B  ]| so$5#2$? How do you recognise a man of feeling?"
103:034,16[I  ]| "I can not make out," 
103:034,16['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, 
103:034,16[I  ]| "whether
103:034,17[I  ]| you are very simple or very deep."
103:034,18[B  ]| "I am very deep. That$6#2$ is a fact."
103:034,19[I  ]| "I believe that$3$ if I were to$9$ tell you with a certain air
103:034,20[I  ]| that$3$ you have no$2$ feeling, you would implicitly believe me."
103:034,21[B  ]| "A certain air?" 
103:034,21['  ]| said Newman. 
103:034,21[B  ]| "Try it and see."
103:034,22[I  ]| "You would believe me, but you would not care,"
103:034,23['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram.
103:034,24[B  ]| "You have got it all wrong. I should care immensely,
103:034,25[B  ]| but I should not believe you. The fact is, I have never
103:034,26[B  ]| had time to$9$ feel things. I have had to$9$ \do\ them, to$9$ make
103:034,27[B  ]| myself felt."
103:034,28[I  ]| "I can imagine that$3$ you may have done that$6#2$ tremendously,
103:034,29[I  ]| sometimes."
103:034,30[B  ]| "Yes, there is no$2$ mistake about that$6#2$."
103:034,31[I  ]| "When you are in$4$ a fury it can not be pleasant."
103:034,32[B  ]| "I am never in$4$ a fury."
103:034,33[I  ]| "Angry, then, or displeased."
103:034,34[B  ]| "I am never angry, and it is so$5#1$ long since I have
103:034,35[B  ]| been displeased that$3$ I have quite forgotten it."
103:034,36[I  ]| "I do not believe," 
103:034,36['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, 
103:034,36[I  ]| "that$3$ you are
103:034,37[I  ]| never angry. A man ought to$9$ be angry sometimes, and
103:035,01[I  ]| you are neither good enough nor bad enough always to$9$
103:035,02[I  ]| keep your temper."
103:035,03[B  ]| "I lose it perhaps once in$4$ five years."
103:035,04[I  ]| "The time is coming round, then," 
103:035,04['  ]| said his hostess.
103:035,05[I  ]| "Before I have known you six months I shall see you
103:035,06[I  ]| in$4$ a fine fury."
103:035,07[B  ]| "Do you mean to$9$ put me into one?"
103:035,08[I  ]| "I should not be sorry. You take things too coolly.
103:035,09[I  ]| It exasperates me. And then you are too happy. You
103:035,10[I  ]| have what must be the most agreeable thing in$4$ the world
103:035,11[I  ]| ~~ the consciousness of having bought your pleasure beforehand,
103:035,12[I  ]| and paid for$4$ it. You have not a day of reckoning
103:035,13[I  ]| staring you in$4$ the face. Your reckonings are over."
103:035,14[B  ]| "Well, I suppose I am happy," 
103:035,14['  ]| said Newman, meditatively.
103:035,15['  ]| 
103:035,16[I  ]| "You have been odiously successful."
103:035,17[B  ]| "Successful in$4$ copper," 
103:035,17['  ]| said Newman, 
103:035,17[B  ]| "only so-so in$4$
103:035,18[B  ]| railroads, and a hopeless fizzle in$4$ oil."
103:035,19[I  ]| "It is very disagreeable to$9$ know how Americans have
103:035,20[I  ]| made their money. Now you have the world before you.
103:035,21[I  ]| You have only to$9$ enjoy."
103:035,22[B  ]| "Oh, I suppose I am very well off," 
103:035,22['  ]| said Newman.
103:035,23[B  ]| "Only I am tired of having it thrown up$5$ at me. Besides,
103:035,24[B  ]| there are several drawbacks. I am not intellectual."
103:035,25[I  ]| "One does not expect it of you," 
103:035,25['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram answered.
103:035,26['  ]| Then in$4$ a moment: 
103:035,26[I  ]| "Besides, you are!"
103:035,27['  ]| "Well, I mean to$9$ have a good time, whether or no$5$,"
103:035,28['  ]| said Newman. 
103:035,28[B  ]| "I am not cultivated, I am not even
103:035,29[B  ]| educated; I know nothing about history, or art, or foreign
103:035,30[B  ]| tongues, or any other learned matters. But I am not a
103:035,31[B  ]| fool either, and I shall undertake to$9$ know something
103:035,32[B  ]| about Europe by$4$ the time I have done with it. I feel
103:035,33[B  ]| something under my ribs here," 
103:035,33['  ]| he added in$4$ a moment,
103:035,34[B  ]| "that$6#1$ I can not explain ~~ a sort of a mighty hankering, a
103:035,35[B  ]| desire to$9$ stretch out and haul in$5$."
103:035,36[I  ]| "Bravo!" 
103:035,36['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, 
103:035,36[I  ]| "that$6#2$ is very fine.
103:035,37[I  ]| You are the great Western Barbarian, stepping forth in$4$
103:036,01[I  ]| his innocence and might, gazing a while at this poor
103:036,02[I  ]| effete Old World, and then swooping down on$4$ it."
103:036,03[B  ]| "Oh, come," 
103:036,03['  ]| said Newman. 
103:036,03[B  ]| "I am not a barbarian,
103:036,04[B  ]| by$4$ a good deal. I am very much the reverse. I have
103:036,05[B  ]| seen barbarians; I know what they are."
103:036,06[I  ]| "I do not mean that$3$ you are a Comanche chief, or that$3$
103:036,07[I  ]| you wear a blanket and feathers. There are different
103:036,08[I  ]| shades."
103:036,09[B  ]| "I am a highly civilised man," 
103:036,09['  ]| said Newman. 
103:036,09[B  ]| "I
103:036,10[B  ]| stick to$4$ that$6#2$. If you do not believe it, I should like$1$ to$9$
103:036,11[B  ]| prove it to$4$ you."
103:036,12['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram was silent a while. 
103:036,12[I  ]|"I should like$1$ to$9$
103:036,13[I  ]| make you prove it," 
103:036,13['  ]| she said at last. 
103:036,13[I  ]| "I should like$1$ to$9$
103:036,14[I  ]| put you in$4$ a difficult place."
103:036,15[B  ]| "Pray do," 
103:036,15['  ]| said Newman.
103:036,16[I  ]| "That$6#2$ has a little conceited sound!" 
103:036,16['  ]| his companion
103:036,17['  ]| rejoined.
103:036,18[B  ]| "Oh," 
103:036,18['  ]| said Newman, 
103:036,18[B  ]| "I have a very good opinion
103:036,19[B  ]| of myself."
103:036,20[I  ]| "I wish I could put it to$4$ the test. Give me time,
103:036,21[I  ]| and I will$1$." 
103:036,21['  ]| And Mrs%*Tristram remained silent for$4$
103:036,22['  ]| some time afterwards, as if she was trying to$9$ keep her
103:036,23['  ]| pledge. It did not appear that$6#2$ evening that$3$ she succeeded; 
103:036,24['  ]| but as he was rising to$9$ take his leave, she
103:036,25['  ]| passed suddenly, as she was very apt to$9$ do, from the
103:036,26['  ]| tone of unsparing persiflage to$4$ that$6#2$ of almost tremulous
103:036,27['  ]| sympathy. 
103:036,27[I  ]| "Speaking seriously," 
103:036,27['  ]| she said, 
103:036,27[I  ]| "I believe
103:036,28[I  ]| in$4$ you, Mr%*Newman. You flatter my patriotism."
103:036,29[B  ]| "Your patriotism?" 
103:036,29['  ]| Christopher demanded.
103:036,30[I  ]| "Even so$5#2$. It would take too long to$9$ explain, and
103:036,31[I  ]| you probably would not understand. Besides, you might
103:036,32[I  ]| take it ~~ really, you might take it for$4$ a declaration. But
103:036,33[I  ]| it has nothing to$9$ do with you personally; it is what you
103:036,34[I  ]| represent. Fortunately you do not know all that$6#2$, or your
103:036,35[I  ]| conceit would increase insufferably."
103:036,36['  ]| Newman stood staring and wondering what under the
103:036,37['  ]| sun he "represented."
103:037,01[I  ]| "Forgive all my meddlesome chatter, and forget my
103:037,02[I  ]| advice. It is very silly in$4$ me to$9$ undertake to$9$ tell you
103:037,03[I  ]| what to$9$ do. When you are embarrassed, do as you
103:037,04[I  ]| think best, and you will$1$ do very well. When you are
103:037,05[I  ]| in$4$ a difficulty, judge for$4$ yourself."
103:037,06[B  ]| "I shall remember everything you have told me," 
103:037,06['  ]| said
103:037,07['  ]| Newman. 
103:037,07[B  ]| "There are so$5#1$ many forms and ceremonies
103:037,08[B  ]| over here ~"
103:037,09[I  ]| "Forms and ceremonies are what I mean, of course."
103:037,10[B  ]| "Ah, but I want to$9$ observe them," 
103:037,10['  ]| said Newman.
103:037,11[B  ]| "Have not I as good a right as another? They do not
103:037,12[B  ]| scare me, and you need not give me leave to$9$ violate them.
103:037,13[B  ]| I will$1$ not take it."
103:037,14[I  ]| "That$6#2$ is not what I mean. I mean, observe them in$4$
103:037,15[I  ]| your own way. Settle nice questions for$4$ yourself. Cut
103:037,16[I  ]| the knot or untie it, as you choose."
103:037,17[B  ]| "Oh, I am sure I shall never fumble over it," 
103:037,17['  ]| said
103:037,18['  ]| Newman.
103:037,19['  ]| The next time that$3$ he dined in$4$ the Avenue*d'Ie=na was
103:037,20['  ]| a Sunday, a day on$4$ which$6#1$ Mr%*Tristram left the cards
103:037,21['  ]| unshuffled, so$3$ that$3$ there was a trio in$4$ the evening on$4$ the
103:037,22['  ]| balcony. The talk was of many things, and at last Mrs%*Tristram
103:037,23['  ]| suddenly observed to$4$ Christopher*Newman that$3$
103:037,24@i   | it was high time he should take a wife.
103:037,25[H  ]| "Listen to$4$ her; she has the audacity!" 
103:037,25['  ]| said Tristram,
103:037,26['  ]| who$6#1$ on$4$ Sunday evenings was always rather acrimonious.
103:037,27['  ]| 
103:037,28[I  ]| "I do not suppose you have made up$5$ your mind not to$9$
103:037,29[I  ]| marry?" 
103:037,29['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram continued.
103:037,30[B  ]| "Heaven forbid!" 
103:037,30['  ]| cried Newman. 
103:037,30[B  ]| "I am sternly
103:037,31[B  ]| resolved on$4$ it."
103:037,32[H  ]| "It is very easy," 
103:037,32['  ]| said Tristram; 
103:037,32[H  ]| "fatally easy!"
103:037,33[I  ]| "Well, then, I suppose you do not mean to$9$ wait till
103:037,34[I  ]| you are fifty."
103:037,35[B  ]| "On$4$ the contrary, I am in$4$ a great hurry."
103:037,36[I  ]| "One would never suppose it. Do you expect a lady
103:037,37[I  ]| to$9$ come and propose to$4$ you?"
103:038,01[B  ]| "No$7$; I am willing to$9$ propose. I think a great deal
103:038,02[B  ]| about it."
103:038,03[I  ]| "Tell me some of your thoughts."
103:038,04[B  ]| "Well," 
103:038,04['  ]| said Newman slowly, 
103:038,04[B  ]| "I want to$9$ marry
103:038,05[B  ]| very well."
103:038,06[H  ]| "Marry a woman of sixty, then," 
103:038,06['  ]| said Tristram.
103:038,07[I  ]| " ""Well"" in$4$ what sense?"
103:038,08[B  ]| "In$4$ every sense. I shall be hard to$9$ please."
103:038,09[I  ]| "You must remember that$3$, as the French proverb
103:038,10[I  ]| says, 
103:038,10@z   | the most beautiful girl in$4$ the world can give but
103:038,11@z   | what she has."
103:038,12[B  ]| "Since you ask me," 
103:038,12['  ]| said Newman, 
103:038,12[B  ]| "I will$1$ say
103:038,13[B  ]| frankly that$3$ I want extremely to$9$ marry. It is time, to$9$
103:038,14[B  ]| begin with; before I know it I shall be forty. And then
103:038,15[B  ]| I am lonely and helpless and dull. But if I marry now,
103:038,16[B  ]| so$5#1$ long as I did not do it in$4$ hot haste when I was twenty,
103:038,17[B  ]| I must do it with my eyes open. I want to$9$ do the thing
103:038,18[B  ]| in$4$ handsome style. I not only want to$9$ make no$2$ mistakes,
103:038,19[B  ]| but I want to$9$ make a great hit. I want to$9$ take
103:038,20[B  ]| my pick. My wife must be a magnificent woman."
103:038,21[I  ]| "\9voila` 9ce 9qui 9s'appelle 9parler\!" 
103:038,21['  ]| cried Mrs%*Tristram.
103:038,22[B  ]| "Oh, I have thought an immense deal about it."
103:038,23[I  ]| "Perhaps you think too much. The best thing is
103:038,24[I  ]| simply to$9$ fall in$4$ love."
103:038,25[B  ]| "When I find the woman who$6#1$ pleases me I shall
103:038,26[B  ]| love her enough. My wife shall be very comfortable."
103:038,27[I  ]| "You are superb! There is a chance for$4$ the magnificent
103:038,28[I  ]| woman."
103:038,29[B  ]| "You are not fair," 
103:038,29['  ]| Newman rejoined. 
103:038,29[B  ]| "You draw
103:038,30[B  ]| a fellow out and put him off his guard, and then you
103:038,31[B  ]| laugh at him."
103:038,32[I  ]| "I assure you," 
103:038,32['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, 
103:038,32[I  ]| "that$3$ I am very
103:038,33[I  ]| serious. To$9$ prove it, I will$1$ make you a proposal.
103:038,34[I  ]| Should you like$1$ me, as they say here, to$9$ marry you?"
103:038,35[B  ]| "To$9$ hunt up$5$ a wife for$4$ me?"
103:038,36[I  ]| "She is already found. I will$1$ bring you together."
103:038,37[H  ]| "Oh, come," 
103:038,37['  ]| said Tristram, 
103:038,37[H  ]| "we do not keep a
103:039,01[H  ]| matrimonial bureau. He will$1$ think you want your
103:039,02[H  ]| commission."
103:039,03[B  ]| "Present me to$4$ a woman who$6#1$ comes up$5$ to$4$ my notions,"
103:039,04['  ]| said Newman, 
103:039,04[B  ]| "and I will$1$ marry her to-morrow."
103:039,05[I  ]| "You have a strange tone about it, and I do not quite
103:039,06[I  ]| understand you. I did not suppose you would be so$5#1$ cold-blooded
103:039,07[I  ]| and calculating."
103:039,08['  ]| Newman was silent a while. 
103:039,08[B  ]| "Well," 
103:039,08['  ]| he said, at last,
103:039,09[B  ]| "I want a great woman. I stick to$4$ that$6#2$. That$6#2$ is one
103:039,10[B  ]| thing I \can\ treat myself to$4$, and if it is to$9$ be had I mean
103:039,11[B  ]| to$9$ have it. What else have I toiled and struggled for$4$
103:039,12[B  ]| all these years? I have succeeded, and now what am I
103:039,13[B  ]| to$9$ do with my success? To$9$ make it perfect, as I see it,
103:039,14[B  ]| there must be a beautiful woman perched on$4$ the pile,
103:039,15[B  ]| like$4$ a statue on$4$ a monument. She must be as good as
103:039,16[B  ]| she is beautiful, and as clever as she is good. I can give
103:039,17[B  ]| my wife a good deal, so$3$ I am not afraid to$9$ ask a good
103:039,18[B  ]| deal myself. She shall have everything a woman can
103:039,19[B  ]| desire; I shall not even object to$4$ her being too good for$4$
103:039,20[B  ]| me; she may be cleverer and wiser than I can understand,
103:039,21[B  ]| and I shall only be the better pleased. I want to$9$ possess,
103:039,22[B  ]| in$4$ a word, the best article in$4$ the market."
103:039,23[H  ]| "Why did not you tell a fellow all this at the outset?"
103:039,24['  ]| Tristram demanded. 
103:039,24[B  ]| "I have been trying so$5#1$ to$9$ make
103:039,25[B  ]| you fond of \me\!"
103:039,26[I  ]| "This is very interesting," 
103:039,26['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram. 
103:039,26[I  ]| "I 
103:039,27[I  ]| like$1$ to$9$ see a man know his own mind."
103:039,28[B  ]| "I have known mine for$4$ a long time," 
103:039,28['  ]| Newman went
103:039,29['  ]| on$5$. 
103:039,29[B  ]| "I made up$5$ my mind tolerably early in$4$ life that$3$ a
103:039,30[B  ]| beautiful wife was the thing best worth having, here
103:039,31[B  ]| below. It is the greatest victory over circumstances.
103:039,32[B  ]| When I say beautiful, I mean beautiful in$4$ mind and in$4$
103:039,33[B  ]| manners as well as in$4$ person. It is a thing every man
103:039,34[B  ]| has an equal right to$4$; he may get it if he can. He
103:039,35[B  ]| does not have to$9$ be born with certain faculties on$4$ purpose;
103:039,36[B  ]| he needs only to$9$ be a man. Then he needs only to$9$ use
103:039,37[B  ]| his will$0$, and such wits as he has, and to$9$ try."
103:040,01[I  ]| "It strikes me that$3$ your marriage is to$9$ be rather a
103:040,02[I  ]| matter of vanity."
103:040,03[B  ]| "Well, it is certain," 
103:040,03['  ]| said Newman, 
103:040,03[B  ]| "that$3$ if people
103:040,04[B  ]| notice my wife and admire her, I shall be mightily
103:040,05[B  ]| tickled."
103:040,06[I  ]| "After this," 
103:040,06['  ]| cried Mrs%*Tristram, 
103:040,06[I  ]| "call any man
103:040,07[I  ]| modest!"
103:040,08[B  ]| "But none of them will$1$ admire her so$5#1$ much as I."
103:040,09[I  ]| "I see you have a taste for$4$ splendour."
103:040,10['  ]| Newman hesitated a little; and then: 
103:040,10[B  ]| "I honestly
103:040,11[B  ]| believe I have!" 
103:040,11['  ]| he said.
103:040,12[I  ]| "And I suppose you have already looked about you a
103:040,13[I  ]| good deal."
103:040,14[B  ]| "A good deal, according to$4$ opportunity."
103:040,15[I  ]| "And you have seen nothing that$6#1$ satisfied you?"
103:040,16[B  ]| "No$7$," 
103:040,16['  ]| said Newman, half reluctantly, 
103:040,16[B  ]| "I am bound
103:040,17[B  ]| to$9$ say in$4$ honesty that$3$ I have seen nothing that$6#1$ really
103:040,18[B  ]| satisfied me."
103:040,19[I  ]| "You remind me of the heroes of the French romantic
103:040,20[I  ]| poets, Rolla and Fortunio and all those other insatiable
103:040,21[I  ]| gentlemen for$4$ whom nothing in$4$ this world was handsome
103:040,22[I  ]| enough. But I see you are in$4$ earnest, and I should like$1$
103:040,23[I  ]| to$9$ help you."
103:040,24[H  ]| "Who$6#2$ the deuce is it, darling, that$6#1$ you are going to$9$
103:040,25[H  ]| put upon$4$ him?" 
103:040,25['  ]| Tristram cried. 
103:040,25[H  ]| "We know a good
103:040,26[H  ]| many pretty girls, thank heaven, but magnificent women
103:040,27[H  ]| are not so$5#1$ common."
103:040,28[I  ]| "Have you any objections to$4$ a foreigner?" 
103:040,28['  ]| his wife
103:040,29['  ]| continued, addressing Newman, who$6#1$ had tilted back his
103:040,30['  ]| chair, and, with his feet on$4$ a bar of the balcony railing
103:040,31['  ]| and his hands in$4$ his pockets, was looking at the stars.
103:040,32[H  ]| "No$2$ Irish need apply," 
103:040,32['  ]| said Tristram.
103:040,33['  ]| Newman meditated a while. 
103:040,33[B  ]| "As a foreigner, no$7$,"
103:040,34['  ]| he said at last; 
103:040,34[B  ]| "I have no$2$ prejudices."
103:040,35[H  ]| "My dear fellow, you have no$2$ suspicions!" 
103:040,35['  ]| cried
103:040,36['  ]| Tristram. 
103:040,36[H  ]| "You do not know what terrible customers
103:040,37[H  ]| these foreign women are; especially the ""magnificent""
103:041,01[H  ]| ones. How should you like$1$ a fair Circassian, with a
103:041,02[H  ]| dagger in$4$ her belt?" 
103:041,03['  ]| Newman administered a vigorous slap to$4$ his knee. 
103:041,03[B  ]| "I
103:041,04[B  ]| would marry a Japanese, if she pleased me," 
103:041,04['  ]| he affirmed.
103:041,05[I  ]| "We had better confine ourselves to$4$ Europe," 
103:041,05['  ]| said
103:041,06['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram. 
103:041,06[I  ]| "The only thing is, then, that$3$ the
103:041,07[I  ]| person be in$4$ herself to$4$ your taste?"
103:041,08[H  ]| "She is going to$9$ offer you an unappreciated governess!"
103:041,09['  ]| Tristram groaned.
103:041,10[B  ]| "Assuredly. I will$1$ not deny that$3$, other things being
103:041,11[B  ]| equal, I should prefer one of my own countrywomen.
103:041,12[B  ]| We should speak the same language, and that$6#2$ would be
103:041,13[B  ]| a comfort. But I am not afraid of a foreigner. Besides I
103:041,14[B  ]| rather like$1$ the idea of taking in$4$ Europe too. It enlarges
103:041,15[B  ]| the field of selection. When you choose from a greater
103:041,16[B  ]| number, you can bring your choice to$4$ a finer point."
103:041,17[H  ]| "You talk like$4$ Sardanapalus!" 
103:041,17['  ]| exclaimed Tristram.
103:041,18[I  ]| "You say all this to$4$ the right person," 
103:041,18['  ]| said Newman's
103:041,19['  ]| hostess. 
103:041,19[I  ]| "I happen to$9$ number among my friends the
103:041,20[I  ]| loveliest woman in$4$ the world. Neither more nor less.
103:041,21[I  ]| I do not say a very charming person or a very estimable
103:041,22[I  ]| woman or a very great beauty; I say simply the loveliest
103:041,23[I  ]| woman in$4$ the world."
103:041,24[H  ]| "The deuce!" 
103:041,24['  ]| cried Tristram, 
103:041,24[H  ]| "you have kept very
103:041,25[H  ]| quiet about her. Were you afraid of me?"
103:041,26[I  ]| "You have seen her," 
103:041,26['  ]| said his wife, 
103:041,26[I  ]| "but you have
103:041,27[I  ]| no$2$ perception of such merit as Claire's."
103:041,28[H  ]| "Ah, her name is Claire? I give it up$5$."
103:041,29[B  ]| "Does your friend wish to$9$ marry?" 
103:041,29['  ]| asked Newman.
103:041,30[I  ]| "Not in$4$ the least. It is for$4$ you to$9$ make her change
103:041,31[I  ]| her mind. It will$1$ not be easy; she has had one husband,
103:041,32[I  ]| and he gave her a low opinion of the species."
103:041,33[B  ]| "Oh, she is a widow, then?" 
103:041,33['  ]| said Newman.
103:041,34[I  ]| "Are you already afraid? She was married at
103:041,35[I  ]| eighteen, by$4$ her parents, in$4$ the French fashion, to$4$ a
103:041,36[I  ]| disagreeable old man. But he had the good taste to$9$ die
103:041,37[I  ]| a couple of years afterward, and she is now twenty-five."
103:042,01[B  ]| "So$3$ she is French?"
103:042,02[I  ]| "French by$4$ her father, English by$4$ her mother. She
103:042,03[I  ]| is really more English than French, and she speaks
103:042,04[I  ]| English as well as you or I ~~ or rather much better. She
103:042,05[I  ]| belongs to$4$ the very top of the basket, as they say here.
103:042,06[I  ]| Her family, on$4$ each side, is of fabulous antiquity; her
103:042,07[I  ]| mother is the daughter of an English Catholic earl. Her
103:042,08[I  ]| father is dead, and since her widowhood she has lived
103:042,09[I  ]| with her mother and a married brother. There is
103:042,10[I  ]| another brother, younger, who$6#1$ I believe is wild. They
103:042,11[I  ]| have an old hotel in$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite=, but their
103:042,12[I  ]| fortune is small, and they make a common household,
103:042,13[I  ]| for$4$ economy's sake. When I was a girl I was put into
103:042,14[I  ]| a convent here for$4$ my education, while my father made
103:042,15[I  ]| the tour of Europe. It was a silly thing to$9$ do with me,
103:042,16[I  ]| but it had the advantage that$3$ it made me acquainted
103:042,17[I  ]| with Claire*de*Bellegarde. She was younger than I,
103:042,18[I  ]| but we became fast friends. I look a tremendous fancy
103:042,19[I  ]| to$4$ her, and she returned my passion as far as she could.
103:042,20[I  ]| They kept such a tight rein on$4$ her that$3$ she could do very
103:042,21[I  ]| little, and when I left the convent she had to$9$ give me
103:042,22[I  ]| up$5$. I was not of her \9monde\; I am not now, either,
103:042,23[I  ]| but we sometimes meet. They are terrible people ~~ her
103:042,24[I  ]| \9monde\; all mounted upon$4$ stilts a mile high, and with
103:042,25[I  ]| pedigrees long in$4$ proportion. It is the skim of the milk
103:042,26[I  ]| of the old \9noblesse\. Do you know what a Legitimist is,
103:042,27[I  ]| or an Ultramontane? Go into Madame*de*Cintre='s
103:042,28[I  ]| drawing-room some afternoon, at five o'clock, and you
103:042,29[I  ]| will$1$ see the best-preserved specimens. I say go, but no*one
103:042,30[I  ]| is admitted who$6#1$ can not show his fifty quarterings."
103:042,31[B  ]| "And is this the lady you propose to$4$ me to$9$ marry?"
103:042,32['  ]| asked Newman. 
103:042,32[B  ]| "A lady I can not even approach?"
103:042,33[I  ]| "But you said just now that$3$ you recognised no$2$
103:042,34[I  ]| obstacles."
103:042,35['  ]| Newman looked at Mrs%*Tristram a while, stroking
103:042,36['  ]| his moustache. 
103:042,36[B  ]| "Is she a beauty?" 
103:042,36['  ]| he demanded.
103:042,37[I  ]| "No$7$."
103:043,01[B  ]| "Oh, then it is no$2$ use ~"
103:043,02[I  ]| "She is not a beauty, but she is beautiful, two very
103:043,03[I  ]| different things. A beauty has no$2$ faults in$4$ her face; the
103:043,04[I  ]| face of a beautiful woman may have faults that$6#1$ only
103:043,05[I  ]| deepen its charm."
103:043,06[H  ]| "I remember Madame*de*Cintre=, now," 
103:043,06['  ]| said Tristram.
103:043,07[H  ]| "She is as plain as a pikestaff. A man would not look
103:043,08[H  ]| at her twice."
103:043,09[I  ]| "In$4$ saying that$3$ \he\ would not look at her twice, my
103:043,10[I  ]| husband sufficiently describes her," 
103:043,10['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram rejoined.
103:043,11['  ]| 
103:043,12[B  ]| "Is she good; is she clever?" 
103:043,12['  ]| Newman asked.
103:043,13[I  ]| "She is perfect! I will$1$ not say more than that$6#2$. When
103:043,14[I  ]| you are praising a person to$4$ another who$6#1$ is to$9$ know her,
103:043,15[I  ]| it is bad policy to$9$ go into details. I will$1$ not exaggerate.
103:043,16[I  ]| I simply recommend her. Among all women I have
103:043,17[I  ]| known she stands alone; she is of a different clay."
103:043,18[B  ]| "I should like$1$ to$9$ see her," 
103:043,18[B  ]| said Newman, simply.
103:043,19[I  ]| "I will$1$ try to$9$ manage it. The only way will$1$ be to$9$
103:043,20[I  ]| invite her to$4$ dinner. I have never invited her before
103:043,21[I  ]| and I do not know that$3$ she will$1$ come. Her old feudal
103:043,22[I  ]| countess of a mother rules the family with an iron hand,
103:043,23[I  ]| and allows her to$9$ have no$2$ friends but of her own choosing,
103:043,24[I  ]| and to$9$ visit only in$4$ a certain sacred circle. But I 
103:043,25[I  ]| can at least ask her."
103:043,26['  ]| At this moment Mrs%*Tristram was interrupted; a
103:043,27['  ]| servant stepped out upon$4$ the balcony and announced
103:043,28['  ]| that$3$ 
103:043,28@w   | there were visitors in$4$ the drawing-room. 
103:043,28['  ]| When
103:043,29['  ]| Newman's hostess had gone in$5$ to$9$ receive her friends
103:043,30['  ]| Tom*Tristram approached his guest.
103:043,31[H  ]| "Do not put your foot into \this\, my boy," 
103:043,31['  ]| he said,
103:043,32['  ]| puffing the last whiffs of his cigar. 
103:043,32[H  ]| "There is nothing
103:043,33[H  ]| in$4$ it!"
103:043,34['  ]| Newman looked askance at him, inquisitive. 
103:043,34[B  ]| "You
103:043,35[B  ]| tell another story, eh?"
103:043,36[H  ]| "I say simply that$3$ Madame*de*Cintre= is a great white
103:043,37[H  ]| doll of a woman, who$6#1$ cultivates quiet haughtiness."
103:044,01[B  ]| "Ah, she is haughty, eh?"
103:044,02[H  ]| "She looks at you as if you were so$5#1$ much thin air,
103:044,03[H  ]| and cares for$4$ you about as much."
103:044,04[B  ]| "She is very proud, eh?"
103:044,05[H  ]| "Proud? As proud as I am humble."
103:044,06[B  ]| "And not good-looking?"
103:044,07['  ]| Tristram shrugged his shoulders: 
103:044,07[H  ]| "It is a kind of
103:044,08[H  ]| beauty you must be intellectual to$9$ understand. But I
103:044,09[H  ]| must go in$5$ and amuse the company."
103:044,10['  ]| Some time elapsed before Newman followed his friends
103:044,11['  ]| into the drawing-room. When he at last made his
103:044,12['  ]| appearance there he remained but a short time, and
103:044,13['  ]| during this period sat perfectly silent, listening to$4$ a lady
103:044,14['  ]| to$4$ whom Mrs%*Tristram had straightway introduced him,
103:044,15['  ]| and who$6#1$ chattered, without a pause, with the full force
103:044,16['  ]| of an extraordinarily high-pitched voice. Newman gazed
103:044,17['  ]| and attended. Presently he came to$9$ bid good-night to$4$
103:044,18['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram.
103:044,19[B  ]| "Who$6#2$ is that$6#2$ lady?" 
103:044,19['  ]| he asked.
103:044,20[I  ]| "Miss*Dora*Finch. How do you like$1$ her?"
103:044,21[B  ]| "She is too noisy."
103:044,22[I  ]| "She is thought so$5#1$ bright! Certainly you are fastidious,"
103:044,23['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram.
103:044,24['  ]| Newman stood a moment, hesitating. Then at last,
103:044,25[B  ]| "Do not forget about your friend," 
103:044,25['  ]| he said; 
103:044,25[B  ]| "Madame*What's-her-name?
103:044,26[B  ]| the proud beauty. Ask her to$4$ dinner,
103:044,27[B  ]| and give me good notice." 
103:044,25['  ]| And with this he departed.
103:044,28['  ]| Some days later he came back; it was in$4$ the afternoon.
103:044,29['  ]| He found Mrs%*Tristram in$4$ her drawing-room;
103:044,30['  ]| with her was a visitor, a woman young and pretty,
103:044,31['  ]| dressed in$4$ white. The two ladies had risen, and the
103:044,32['  ]| visitor was apparently taking her leave. As Newman
103:044,33['  ]| approached he received from Mrs%*Tristram a glance of
103:044,34['  ]| the most vivid significance, which$6#1$ he was not immediately
103:044,35['  ]| able to$9$ interpret.
103:044,36[I  ]| "This is a good friend of ours," 
103:044,36['  ]| she said, turning to$4$
103:044,37['  ]| her companion, 
103:044,37[I  ]| "Mr%*Christopher*Newman. I have
103:045,01[I  ]| spoken of you to$4$ him, and he has an extreme desire
103:045,02[I  ]| to$9$ make your acquaintance. If you had consented
103:045,03[I  ]| to$9$ come and dine, I should have offered him an opportunity."
103:045,04[I  ]| 
103:045,05['  ]| The stranger turned her face toward Newman with a
103:045,06['  ]| smile. He was not embarrassed, for$3$ his unconscious
103:045,07['  ]| \9sang-froid\ was boundless; but as he became aware that$3$
103:045,08['  ]| this was the proud and beautiful Madame*de*Cintre=, the
103:045,09['  ]| loveliest woman in$4$ the world, the promised perfection,
103:045,10['  ]| the proposed ideal, he made an instinctive movement to$9$
103:045,11['  ]| gather his wits together. Through the slight preoccupation
103:045,12['  ]| that$6#1$ it produced he had a sense of a long, fair face,
103:045,13['  ]| and of two eyes that$6#1$ were both brilliant and mild.
103:045,14[A  ]| "I should have been most happy," 
103:045,14['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
103:045,15[A  ]| "Unfortunately, as I have been telling Mrs%*Tristram,
103:045,16[A  ]| I go on$4$ Monday to$4$ the country."
103:045,17['  ]| Newman had made a solemn bow. 
103:045,17[B  ]| "I am very
103:045,18[B  ]| sorry," 
103:045,18['  ]| he said.
103:045,19[A  ]| "Paris is getting too warm," 
103:045,19['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=
103:045,20['  ]| added, taking her friend's hand again in$4$ farewell.
103:045,21['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram seemed to$9$ have formed a sudden and
103:045,22['  ]| somewhat venturesome resolution, and she smiled more
103:045,23['  ]| intensely, as women do when they take such resolutions.
103:045,24[I  ]| "I want Mr%*Newman to$9$ know you," 
103:045,24['  ]| she said, dropping
103:045,25['  ]| her head on$4$ one side and looking at Madame*de*Cintre='s
103:045,26['  ]| bonnet ribbons.
103:045,27['  ]| Christopher*Newman stood gravely silent, while his
103:045,28['  ]| native penetration admonished him. 
102:045,28@b   | Mrs%*Tristram was
103:045,29@b   | determined to$9$ force her friend to$9$ address him a word of
103:045,30@b   | encouragement which$6#1$ should be more than one of the
103:045,31@b   | common formulas of politeness; and if she was prompted
103:045,32@b   | by$4$ charity, it was by$4$ the charity that$6#1$ begins at home.
103:045,33@b   | Madame*de*Cintre= was her dearest Claire, and her
103:045,34@b   | especial admiration; but Madame*de*Cintre= had found
103:045,35@b   | it impossible to$9$ dine with her, and Madame*de*Cintre=
103:045,36@b   | should for$4$ once be forced gently to$9$ render tribute to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram.
103:045,37@b   | 
103:046,01[A  ]| "It would give me great pleasure," 
103:046,01['  ]| she said, looking
103:046,02['  ]| at Mrs%*Tristram.
103:046,03[I  ]| "That$6#2$ is a great deal," 
103:046,03['  ]| cried the latter, 
103:046,03[I  ]| "for$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=
103:046,04[I  ]| to$9$ say!"
103:046,05[B  ]| "I am very much obliged to$4$ you," 
103:046,05['  ]| said Newman.
103:046,06[B  ]| "Mrs%*Tristram can speak better for$4$ me than I can speak
103:046,07[B  ]| for$4$ myself."
103:046,08['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= looked at him again, with the
103:046,09['  ]| same soft brightness. 
103:046,09[A  ]| "Are you to$9$ be long in$4$ Paris?"
103:046,10['  ]| she asked.
103:046,11[I  ]| "We shall keep him," 
103:046,11['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram.
103:046,12[A  ]| "But you are keeping \me\!" 
103:046,12['  ]| and Madame*de*Cintre=
103:046,13['  ]| shook her friend's hand.
103:046,14[I  ]| "A moment longer," 
103:046,14['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram.
103:046,15['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= looked at Newman again; this
103:046,16['  ]| time without her smile. Her eyes lingered a moment.
103:046,17[A  ]| "Will$1$ you come and see me?" 
103:046,17['  ]| she asked.
103:046,18['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram kissed her. Newman expressed his
103:046,19['  ]| thanks, and she took her leave. Her hostess went with
103:046,20['  ]| her to$4$ the door, and left Newman alone a moment.
103:046,21['  ]| Presently she returned, rubbing her hands. 
103:046,21[I  ]| "It was a
103:046,22[I  ]| fortunate chance," 
103:046,22['  ]| she said. 
103:046,22[I  ]| "She had come to$9$ decline
103:046,23[I  ]| my invitation. You triumphed on$4$ the spot, making her
103:046,24[I  ]| ask you, at the end of three minutes, to$4$ her house."
103:046,25[B  ]| "It was you who$6#1$ triumphed," 
103:046,25['  ]| said Newman. 
103:046,25[B  ]| "You
103:046,26[B  ]| must not be too hard upon$4$ her."
103:046,27['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram stared. 
103:046,27[I  ]| "What do you mean?"
103:046,28[B  ]| "She did not strike me as so$5#1$ proud. I should say
103:046,29[B  ]| she was shy."
103:046,30[I  ]| "You are very discriminating. And what do you
103:046,31[I  ]| think of her face?"
103:046,32[B  ]| "It is handsome!" 
103:046,31['  ]| said Newman.
103:046,33[I  ]| "I should think it was! Of course you will$1$ go and
103:046,34[I  ]| see her."
103:046,35[B  ]| "To-morrow!" 
103:046,35['  ]| cried Newman.
103:046,36[I  ]| "No$7$, not to-morrow; the next day. That$6#2$ will$1$ be
103:046,37[I  ]| Sunday; she leaves Paris on$4$ Monday. If you do not see
103:047,01[I  ]| her, it will$1$ at least be a beginning." 
103:047,01['  ]| And she gave him
103:047,02['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre='s address.
103:047,03['  ]| He walked across the Seine, late in$4$ the summer afternoon,
103:047,04['  ]| and made his way through those gray and silent
103:047,05['  ]| streets of the Faubourg*St%*Germain, whose houses present
103:047,06['  ]| to$4$ the outer world a face as impassive and as
103:047,07['  ]| suggestive of the concentration of privacy within as the
103:047,08['  ]| blank walls of Eastern seraglios. Newman thought it 
103:047,08@b   | a
103:047,09@b   | queer way for$4$ rich people to$9$ live; 
103:047,09['  ]| his ideal of grandeur
103:047,10['  ]| was a splendid facade, diffusing its brilliancy outward
103:047,11['  ]| too, irradiating hospitality. The house to$4$ which$6#1$ he had
103:047,12['  ]| been directed had a dark, dusty, painted portal, which$6#1$
103:047,13['  ]| swung open in$4$ answer to$4$ his ring. It admitted him
103:047,14['  ]| into a wide, gravelled court, surrounded on$4$ three sides
103:047,15['  ]| with closed windows, and with a doorway facing the
103:047,16['  ]| street, approached by$4$ three steps and surmounted by$4$ a
103:047,17['  ]| tin canopy. The place was all in$4$ the shade; it answered
103:047,18['  ]| to$4$ Newman's conception of a convent. The portress
103:047,19['  ]| could not tell him 
103:047,19@v   | whether Madame*de*Cintre= was visible;
103:047,20@v   | he would please to$9$ apply at the farther door. 
103:047,20['  ]| He crossed
103:047,21['  ]| the court; a gentleman was sitting, bareheaded, on$4$ the
103:047,22['  ]| steps of the portico, playing with a beautiful pointer.
103:047,23['  ]| He rose as Newman approached, and, as he laid his
103:047,24['  ]| hand upon$4$ the bell, said with a smile, in$4$ English, that$3$
103:047,25@e   | he was afraid Newman would be kept waiting; the
103:047,26@e   | servants were scattered; he himself had been ringing;
103:047,27@e   | he did not know what the deuce was in$4$ them. 
103:047,27['  ]| He was a
103:047,28['  ]| young man; his English was excellent, and his smile
103:047,29['  ]| very frank. Newman pronounced the name of Madame*de*Cintre=.
103:047,30['  ]| 
103:047,31[E  ]| "I think," 
103:047,31['  ]| said the young man, 
103:047,31[E  ]| "that$3$ my sister is
103:047,32[E  ]| visible. Come in$5$, and if you will$1$ give me your card I
103:047,33[E  ]| will$1$ carry it to$4$ her myself."
103:047,34['  ]| Newman had been accompanied on$4$ his present errand
103:047,35['  ]| by$4$ a slight sentiment, I will$1$ not say of defiance ~~ a readiness
103:047,36['  ]| for$4$ aggression or defence, as they might prove needful ~
103:047,37['  ]| but of reflective good-humoured suspicion. He took
103:048,01['  ]| from his pocket, while he stood on$4$ the portico, a card,
103:048,02['  ]| upon$4$ which$6#1$, under his name, he had written the words
103:048,03['  ]| "San*Francisco," and while he presented it he looked
103:048,04['  ]| warily at his interlocutor. His glance was singularly
103:048,05['  ]| reassuring; he liked the young man's face; 
103:048,05@b   | it strongly
103:048,06@b   | resembled that$6#2$ of Madame*de*Cintre=. He was evidently
103:048,07@b   | her brother. 
103:048,07['  ]| The young man, on$4$ his side, had made a
103:048,08['  ]| rapid inspection of Newman's person. He had taken
103:048,09['  ]| the card and was about to$9$ enter the house with it when
103:048,10['  ]| another figure appeared on$4$ the threshold ~~ an older man,
103:048,11['  ]| of fine presence, wearing evening dress. He looked
103:048,12['  ]| hard at Newman, and Newman looked at him. 
103:048,12[E  ]| "Madame*de*Cintre=,"
103:048,13['  ]| the younger man repeated, as an introduction 
103:048,14['  ]| of the visitor. The other took the card from his hand,
103:048,15['  ]| read it in$4$ a rapid glance, looked again at Newman from
103:048,16['  ]| head to$4$ foot, hesitated a moment and then said, gravely,
103:048,17['  ]| but urbanely, 
103:048,17[D  ]| "Madame*de*Cintre= is not at home."
103:048,18['  ]| The younger man made a gesture, and then turning to$4$
103:048,19['  ]| Newman: 
103:048,19[E  ]| "I am very sorry, sir," 
103:048,19['  ]| he said.
103:048,20['  ]| Newman gave him a friendly nod, to$9$ show that$3$ he
103:048,21['  ]| bore him no$2$ malice, and retraced his steps. At the
103:048,22['  ]| porter's lodge he stopped; the two men were still standing
103:048,23['  ]| on$4$ the portico.
103:048,24[B  ]| "Who$6#2$ is the gentleman with the dog?" 
103:048,24['  ]| he asked of
103:048,25['  ]| the old woman who$6#1$ reappeared. He had begun to$9$ learn
103:048,26['  ]| French.
103:048,27[V  ]| "That$6#2$ is Monsieur*le*Comte."
103:048,28[B  ]| "And the other?"
103:048,29[V  ]| "That$6#2$ is Monsieur*le*Marquis."
103:048,30[B  ]| "A marquis?" 
103:048,30['  ]| said Christopher in$4$ English, which$6#1$
103:048,31['  ]| the old woman fortunately did not understand. 
103:048,31[B  ]| "Oh,
103:048,32[B  ]| then, he is not the butler."
104:049,01['  ]| Early one morning, before Christopher*Newman was
104:049,02['  ]| dressed, a little old man was ushered into his apartment,
104:049,03['  ]| followed by$4$ a youth in$4$ a blouse, bearing a picture in$4$ a
104:049,04['  ]| brilliant frame. Newman, among the distractions of
104:049,05['  ]| Paris, had forgotten M%*Nioche and his accomplished
104:049,06['  ]| daughter; but this was an effective reminder.
104:049,07[F  ]| "I am afraid you had given me up$5$, sir," 
104:049,07['  ]| said the old
104:049,08['  ]| man, after many apologies and salutations. 
104:049,08[F  ]| "We have
104:049,09[F  ]| made you wait so$5#1$ many days. You accused us, perhaps
104:049,10[F  ]| of inconsistency, of bad faith. But behold me at last!
104:049,11[F  ]| And behold also the pretty ""Madonna."" Place it on$4$ a
104:049,12[F  ]| chair, my friend, in$4$ a good light, so$3$ that$3$ Monsieur may
104:049,13[F  ]| admire it." 
104:049,13['  ]| And M%*Nioche, addressing his companion,
104:049,14['  ]| helped him to$9$ dispose the work of art.
104:049,15['  ]| It had been endued with a layer of varnish an inch
104:049,16['  ]| thick, and its frame, of an elaborate pattern, was at least
104:049,17['  ]| a foot wide. It glittered and twinkled in$4$ the morning
104:049,18['  ]| light, and looked, to$4$ Newman's eyes, wonderfully splendid
104:049,19['  ]| and precious. It seemed to$4$ him a very happy purchase,
104:049,20['  ]| and he felt rich in$4$ the possession of it. He stood looking
104:049,21['  ]| at it complacently, while he proceeded with his toilet,
104:049,22['  ]| and M%*Nioche, who$6#1$ had dismissed his own attendant,
104:049,23['  ]| hovered near, smiling and rubbing his hands.
104:049,24[F  ]| "It has wonderful \finesse\," 
104:049,24['  ]| he murmured, caressingly.
104:049,25[F  ]| "And here and there are marvellous touches; you probably
104:049,26[F  ]| perceive them, sir. It attracted great attention
104:049,27[F  ]| on$4$ the Boulevard as we came along. And then a
104:049,28[F  ]| gradation of tones! That$6#2$ is what it is to$9$ know how to$9$
104:049,29[F  ]| paint. I do not say it because I am her father, sir; but
104:049,30[F  ]| as one man of taste addressing another I cannot help
104:049,31[F  ]| observing that$3$ you have there an exquisite work. It is
104:049,32[F  ]| hard to$9$ produce such things and to$9$ have to$9$ part with
104:049,33[F  ]| them. If our means only allowed us the luxury of
104:050,01[F  ]| keeping it! I really may say, sir" 
104:050,01['  ]| ~~ and M%*Nioche
104:050,02['  ]| gave a little feebly insinuating laugh ~~ 
104:050,02[F  ]| "I really may say
104:050,03[F  ]| that$3$ I envy you! You see," 
104:050,03['  ]| he added in$4$ a moment,
104:050,04[F  ]| "we have taken the liberty of offering you a frame. It
104:050,05[F  ]| increases by$4$ a trifle the value of the work, and it will$1$
104:050,06[F  ]| save you the annoyance ~~ so$5#1$ great for$4$ a person of your
104:050,07[F  ]| delicacy ~~ of going about to$9$ bargain at the shops."
104:050,08['  ]| The language spoken by$4$ M%*Nioche was a singular
104:050,09['  ]| compound, which$6#1$ I shrink from the attempt to$9$ reproduce
104:050,10['  ]| in$4$ its integrity. He had apparently once possessed a
104:050,11['  ]| certain knowledge of English, and his accent was oddly
104:050,12['  ]| tinged with the Cockneyism of the British metropolis.
104:050,13['  ]| But his learning had grown rusty with disuse, and his
104:050,14['  ]| vocabulary was defective and capricious. He had repaired
104:050,15['  ]| it with large patches of French, with words
104:050,16['  ]| anglicised by$4$ a process of his own, and with native idioms
104:050,17['  ]| literally translated. The result, in$4$ the form in$4$ which$6#1$ he
104:050,18['  ]| in$4$ all humility presented it, would be scarcely comprehensible
104:050,19['  ]| to$4$ the reader, so$3$ that$3$ I have ventured to$9$ trim
104:050,20['  ]| and sift it. Newman only half understood it, but it
104:050,21['  ]| amused him, and the old man's decent forlornness
104:050,22['  ]| appealed to$4$ his democratic instincts. The assumption
104:050,23['  ]| of a fatality in$4$ misery always irritated his strong good-nature 
104:050,24['  ]| ~~ it was almost the only thing that$6#1$ did so$5#2$; and
104:050,25['  ]| he felt the impulse to$9$ wipe it out, as it were, with the
104:050,26['  ]| sponge of his own prosperity. The papa of Mademoiselle*Noe=mie,
104:050,27['  ]| however, had apparently on$4$ this occasion been
104:050,28['  ]| vigorously indoctrinated, and he showed a certain tremulous
104:050,29['  ]| eagerness to$9$ cultivate unexpected opportunities.
104:050,30[B  ]| "How much do I owe you, then, with the frame?"
104:050,31['  ]| asked Newman.
104:050,32[F  ]| "It will$1$ make in$4$ all three thousand francs," 
104:050,32['  ]| said the
104:050,33['  ]| old man, smiling agreeably, but folding his hands in$4$
104:050,34['  ]| instinctive suppliance.
104:050,35[B  ]| "Can you give me a receipt?"
104:050,36[F  ]| "I have brought one," 
104:050,36['  ]| said M%*Nioche. 
104:050,36[F  ]| "I took
104:050,37[F  ]| the liberty of drawing it up$5$ in$4$ case Monsieur should
104:051,01['  ]| happen to$9$ desire to$9$ discharge his debt." 
104:051,01['  ]| And he drew
104:051,02['  ]| a paper from his pocket-book and presented it to$4$ his
104:051,03['  ]| patron. The document was written in$4$ a minute, fantastic
104:051,04['  ]| hand, and couched in$4$ the choicest language.
104:051,05['  ]| Newman laid down the money, and M%*Nioche dropped
104:051,06['  ]| the napoleons one by$4$ one, solemnly and lovingly, into an
104:051,07['  ]| old leathern purse.
104:051,08[B  ]| "And how is your young lady?" 
104:051,08['  ]| asked Newman.
104:051,09[B  ]| "She made a great impression on$4$ me."
104:051,10[F  ]| "An impression? Monsieur is very good. Monsieur
104:051,11[F  ]| admires her appearance?"
104:051,12[B  ]| "She is very pretty, certainly."
104:051,13[F  ]| "Alas, yes, she is very pretty!"
104:051,14[B  ]| "And what is the harm in$4$ her being pretty?"
104:051,15['  ]| M%*Nioche fixed his eyes upon$4$ a spot on$4$ the carpet
104:051,16['  ]| and shook his head. Then looking up$5$ at Newman with
104:051,17['  ]| a gaze that$6#1$ seemed to$9$ brighten and expand, 
104:051,17[F  ]| "Monsieur
104:051,18[F  ]| knows what Paris is. She is dangerous to$4$ beauty, when
104:051,19[F  ]| beauty has not the sou."
104:051,20[B  ]| "Ah, but that$6#2$ is not the case with your daughter.
104:051,21[B  ]| She is rich now."
104:051,22[F  ]| "Very true; we are rich for$4$ six months. But if my
104:051,23[F  ]| daughter were a plain girl I should sleep better, all the
104:051,24[F  ]| same."
104:051,25[B  ]| "You are afraid of the young men?"
104:051,26[F  ]| "The young and the old!"
104:051,27[B  ]| "She ought to$9$ get a husband."
104:051,28[F  ]| "Ah, Monsieur, one does not get a husband for$4$ nothing.
104:051,29[F  ]| Her husband must take her as she is; I can not give her
104:051,30[F  ]| a sou. But the young men do not see with that$6#2$ eye."
104:051,31[B  ]| "Oh," 
104:051,31['  ]| said Newman, 
104:051,31[B  ]| "her talent is in$4$ itself a 
104:051,32[B  ]| dowry."
104:051,33[F  ]| "Ah, sir, it needs first to$9$ be converted into specie!"
104:051,34['  ]| and M%*Nioche slapped his purse tenderly before he
104:051,35['  ]| stowed it away. 
104:051,35[F  ]| "The operation does not take place
104:051,36[F  ]| every day."
104:051,37[B  ]| "Well, your young men are very shabby," 
104:051,37['  ]| said Newman;
104:052,01[B  ]| "that$6#2$ is all I can say. They ought to$9$ pay for$4$
104:052,02[B  ]| your daughter, and not ask money themselves."
104:052,03[F  ]| "Those are very noble ideas, Monsieur; but what will$1$
104:052,04[F  ]| you have? They are not the ideas of this country. We
104:052,05[F  ]| want to$9$ know what we are about when we marry."
104:052,06[B  ]| "How big a portion does your daughter want?"
104:052,07['  ]| M%*Nioche stared, as if he wondered what was coming
104:052,08['  ]| next; but he promptly recovered himself, at a venture,
104:052,09['  ]| and replied that$3$ 
104:052,09@f   | he knew a very nice young man, employed
104:052,10@f   | by$4$ an insurance company, who$6#1$ would content himself
104:052,11@f   | with fifteen thousand francs.
104:052,12[B  ]| "Let your daughter paint half a dozen pictures for$4$
104:052,13[B  ]| me, and she shall have her dowry."
104:052,14[F  ]| "Half a dozen pictures ~~ her dowry! Monsieur is
104:052,15[F  ]| not speaking inconsiderately?"
104:052,16[B  ]| "If she will$1$ make me six or eight copies in$4$ the
104:052,17[B  ]| Louvre as pretty as that$6#2$ ""Madonna,"" I will$1$ pay her the
104:052,18[B  ]| same price," 
104:052,18['  ]| said Newman.
104:052,19['  ]| Poor M%*Nioche was speechless a moment, with
104:052,20['  ]| amazement and gratitude, and then he seized Newman's
104:052,21['  ]| hand, pressed it between his own ten fingers, and gazed
104:052,22['  ]| at him with watery eyes. 
104:052,22[F  ]| "As pretty as that$6#2$? They
104:052,23[F  ]| shall be a thousand times prettier ~~ they shall be magnificent,
104:052,24[F  ]| sublime. Ah, if I only knew how to$9$ paint
104:052,25[F  ]| myself, sir, so$3$ that$3$ I might lend a hand! What can I
104:052,26[F  ]| do to$9$ thank you? \9Voyons\!" 
104:052,26['  ]| and he pressed his forehead
104:052,27['  ]| while he tried to$9$ think of something.
104:052,28[B  ]| "Oh, you have thanked me enough," 
104:052,28['  ]| said Newman.
104:052,29[F  ]| "Ah, here it is, sir!" 
104:052,29['  ]| cried M%*Nioche. 
104:052,29[F  ]| "To$9$
104:052,30[F  ]| express my gratitude, I will$1$ charge you nothing for$4$ the
104:052,31[F  ]| lessons in$4$ French conversation."
104:052,32[B  ]| "The lessons? I had quite forgotten them. Listening
104:052,33[B  ]| to$4$ your English," 
104:052,33['  ]| added Newman, laughing, 
104:052,33[B  ]| "is almost
104:052,34[B  ]| a lesson in$4$ French."
104:052,35[F  ]| "Ah,I do not profess to$9$ teach English, certainly,"
104:052,36['  ]| said M%*Nioche. 
104:052,36[F  ]| "But for$4$ my own admirable tongue I
104:052,37[F  ]| am still at your service."
104:053,01[B  ]| "Since you are here, then," 
104:053,01['  ]| said Newman, 
104:053,01[B  ]| "we will$1$
104:053,02[B  ]| begin. This is a very good hour, I am going to$9$ have
104:053,03[B  ]| my coffee; come every morning at half-past nine and
104:053,04[B  ]| have yours with me."
104:053,05[F  ]| "Monsieur offers me my coffee also?" 
104:053,05['  ]| cried M%*Nioche.
104:053,06[F  ]| "Truly, my \9beaux 9jours\ are coming back."
104:053,07[B  ]| "Come," 
104:053. 7[B  ]| said Newman, 
104:053,07[B  ]| "let us begin. The coffee
104:053,08[B  ]| is almighty hot. How do you say that$6#2$ in$4$ French?"
104:053,09['  ]| Every day, then, for$4$ the following three weeks, the
104:053,10['  ]| minutely respectable figure of M%*Nioche made its appearance,
104:053,11['  ]| with a series of little inquiring and apologetic
104:053,12['  ]| obeisances, among the aromatic fumes of Newman's
104:053,13['  ]| morning beverage. I do not know how much French our
104:053,14['  ]| friend learned; but, as he himself said, 
104:053,14@b   | if the attempt
104:053,15@b   | did him no$2$ good, it could at any rate do him no$2$ harm.
104:053,16['  ]| And it amused him; it gratified that$6#2$ irregularly sociable
104:053,17['  ]| side of his nature which$6#1$ had always expressed itself in$4$ a
104:053,18['  ]| relish for$4$ ungrammatical conversation, and which$6#1$ often,
104:053,19['  ]| even in$4$ his busy and preoccupied days, had made him
104:053,20['  ]| sit on$4$ rail fences in$4$ young Western towns, in$4$ the twilight,
104:053,21['  ]| in$4$ gossip hardly less than fraternal with humorous loafers
104:053,22['  ]| and obscure fortune-seekers. He had notions, wherever
104:053,23['  ]| he went, about talking with the natives; he had
104:053,24['  ]| been assured, and his judgment approved the advice, that$3$
104:053,25@x   | in$4$ travelling abroad it was an excellent thing to$9$ look into
104:053,26@x   | the life of the country. 
104:053,26['  ]| M%*Nioche was very much of a 
104:053,27['  ]| native, and though his life might not be particularly worth
104:053,28['  ]| looking into, he was a palpable and smoothly-rounded
104:053,29['  ]| unit in$4$ that$6#2$ picturesque Parisian civilisation which$6#1$ offered
104:053,30['  ]| our hero so$5#1$ much easy entertainment and propounded so$5#1$
104:053,31['  ]| many curious problems to$4$ his inquiring and practical
104:053,32['  ]| mind. Newman was fond of statistics; he liked to$9$ know
104:053,33['  ]| how things were done; it gratified him to$9$ learn what
104:053,34['  ]| taxes were paid, what profits were gathered, what commercial
104:053,35['  ]| habits prevailed, how the battle of life was fought.
104:053,36['  ]| M%*Nioche, as a reduced capitalist, was familiar with
104:053,37['  ]| these considerations, and he formulated his information,
104:054,01['  ]| which$6#1$ he was proud to$9$ be able to$9$ impart, in$4$ the neatest
104:054,02['  ]| possible terms and with a pinch of snuff between finger
104:054,03['  ]| and thumb. As a Frenchman ~~ quite apart from Newman's
104:054,04['  ]| napoleons ~~ M%*Nioche loved conversation, and
104:054,05['  ]| even in$4$ his decay his urbanity had not grown rusty. As
104:054,06['  ]| a Frenchman, too, he could give a clear account of things,
104:054,07['  ]| and ~~ still as a Frenchman ~~ when his knowledge was at
104:054,08['  ]| fault he could supply its lapses with the most convenient
104:054,09['  ]| and ingenious hypotheses. The little shrunken financier
104:054,10['  ]| was intensely delighted to$9$ have questions asked him, and
104:054,11['  ]| he scraped together information, by$4$ frugal processes, and
104:054,12['  ]| took notes, in$4$ his little greasy pocket-book, of incidents
104:054,13['  ]| which$6#1$ might interest his munificent friend. He read old
104:054,14['  ]| almanacs at the book-stalls on$4$ the quays, and he began
104:054,15['  ]| to$9$ frequent another \cafe=\, where more newspapers were
104:054,16['  ]| taken and his post-prandial \9demitasse\ cost him a penny
104:054,17['  ]| extra, and where he used to$9$ con the tattered sheets for$4$
104:054,18['  ]| curious anecdotes, freaks of nature, and strange coincidences.
104:054,19['  ]| He would relate with solemnity the next morning
104:054,20['  ]| that$3$ 
104:054,20@f   | a child of five years of age had lately died at Bordeaux,
104:054,21@f   | whose brain had been found to$9$ weigh sixty ounces ~~ the
104:054,22@f   | brain of a Napoleon or a Washington! or that$3$ Madame*P~~,
104:054,23@f   | \9charcutie`re\ in$4$ the Rue*de*Clichy, had found in$4$
104:054,24@f   | the wadding of an old petticoat the sum of three hundred
104:054,25@f   | and sixty francs, which$6#1$ she had lost five years before.
104:054,26['  ]| He pronounced his words with great distinctness and
104:054,27['  ]| sonority, and Newman assured him that$3$ 
104:054,27@b   | his way of dealing
104:054,28@b   | with the French tongue was very superior to$4$ the
104:054,29@b   | bewildering chatter that$6#1$ he heard in$4$ other mouths. 
104:054,29['  ]| Upon$4$
104:054,30['  ]| this M%*Nioche's accent became more finely trenchant
104:054,31['  ]| than ever; he offered to$9$ read extracts from Lamartine,
104:054,32['  ]| and he protested that$3$, 
104:054,32@f   | although he did endeavour according
104:054,33@f   | to$4$ his feeble lights to$9$ cultivate refinement of diction,
104:054,34@f   | Monsieur, if he wanted the real thing, should go to$4$ the
104:054,35@f   | The=a^tre*Francais.
104:054,36['  ]| Newman took an interest in$4$ French thriftiness, and
104:054,37['  ]| conceived a lively admiration for$4$ Parisian economies.
104:055,01['  ]| His own economic genius was so$5#1$ entirely for$4$ operations
104:055,02['  ]| on$4$ a larger scale, and, to$9$ move at his ease, he needed so$5#1$
104:055,03['  ]| imperatively the sense of great risks and great prizes, that$3$
104:055,04['  ]| he found an ungrudging entertainment in$4$ the spectacle
104:055,05['  ]| of fortunes made by$4$ the aggregation of copper coins, and
104:055,06['  ]| in$4$ the minute subdivision of labour and profit. He
104:055,07['  ]| questioned M%*Nioche about his own manner of life, and
104:055,08['  ]| felt a friendly mixture of compassion and respect over
104:055,09['  ]| the recital of his delicate frugalities. The worthy man
104:055,10['  ]| told him how, 
104:055,10@f   | at one period, he and his daughter had
104:055,11@f   | supported existence, comfortably, upon$4$ the sum of fifteen
104:055,12@f   | sous \7per*diem\; 
104:055,12['  ]| recently, having succeeded in$4$ hauling
104:055,13['  ]| ashore the last floating fragments of the wreck of his
104:055,14['  ]| fortune, his budget had been a trifle more ample. But
104:055,15['  ]| they still had to$9$ count their sous very narrowly, and M%*Nioche
104:055,16['  ]| intimated with a sigh that$3$ 
104:055,16@f   | Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
104:055,17@f   | did not bring to$4$ this task that$6#2$ zealous co-operation which$6#1$
104:055,18@f   | might have been desired.
104:055,19[F  ]| "But what will$1$ you have?" 
104:055,19['  ]| he asked, philosophically.
104:055,20[F  ]| "One is young, one is pretty, one needs new dresses
104:055,21[F  ]| and fresh gloves; one can not wear shabby gowns among 
104:055,22[F  ]| the splendours of the Louvre."
104:055,23[B  ]| "But your daughter earns enough to$9$ pay for$4$ her own
104:055,24[B  ]| clothes," 
104:055,24['  ]| said Newman.
104:055,25['  ]| M%*Nioche looked at him with weak, uncertain eyes.
104:055,26['  ]| He would have liked to$9$ be able to$9$ say that$3$ his daughter's
104:055,27['  ]| talents were appreciated, and that$3$ her crooked little daubs
104:055,28['  ]| commanded a market; but it seemed a scandal to$9$ abuse
104:055,29['  ]| the credulity of this free-handed stranger, who$6#1$, without
104:055,30['  ]| a suspicion or a question, had admitted him to$4$ equal
104:055,31['  ]| social rights. He compromised, and declared that$3$ 
104:055,31@f   | while
104:055,32@f   | it was obvious that$3$ Mademoiselle*Noe=mie's reproductions
104:055,33@f   | of the old masters had only to$9$ be seen to$9$ be coveted, the
104:055,34@f   | prices which$6#1$, in$4$ consideration of their altogether peculiar
104:055,35@f   | degree of finish, she felt obliged to$9$ ask for$4$ them, had
104:055,36@f   | kept purchasers at a respectable distance. 
104:055,36[F  ]| "Poor little
104:055,37[F  ]| one!" 
104:055,37['  ]| said M%*Nioche, with a sigh; 
104:055,37[F  ]| "it is almost a pity
104:056,01[F  ]| that$3$ her work is so$5#1$ perfect! It would be in$4$ her interest
104:056,02[F  ]| to$9$ paint less well."
104:056,03[B  ]| "But if Mademoiselle*Noe=mie has this devotion to$4$ her
104:056,04[B  ]| art," 
104:056,04['  ]| Newman once observed, 
104:056,04[B  ]| "why should you have
104:056,05[B  ]| those fears for$4$ her that$6#1$ you spoke of the other day?"
104:056,06['  ]| M%*Nioche meditated; there was an inconsistency in$4$
104:056,07['  ]| his position; it made him chronically uncomfortable.
104:056,08['  ]| Though he had no$2$ desire to$9$ destroy the goose with the
104:056,09['  ]| golden eggs ~~ Newman's benevolent confidence ~~ he felt
104:056,10['  ]| a tremulous impulse to$9$ speak out all his trouble. 
104:056,10[F  ]| "Ah,
104:056,11[F  ]| she is an artist, my dear sir, most assuredly," 
104:056,11['  ]| he declared.
104:056,12[F  ]| "But to$9$ tell you the truth, she is also a \9franche 9coquette\.
104:056,13[F  ]| I am sorry to$9$ say," 
104:056,13['  ]| he added in$4$ a moment, shaking his
104:056,14['  ]| head with a world of harmless bitterness, 
104:056,14[F  ]| "that$3$ she
104:056,15[F  ]| comes honestly by$4$ it. Her mother was one before her!"
104:056,16[B  ]| "You were not happy with your wife?" 
104:056,16['  ]| Newman
104:056,17['  ]| asked.
104:056,18['  ]| M%*Nioche gave half a dozen little backwards jerks of
104:056,19['  ]| his head. 
104:056,19[F  ]| "She was my purgatory, Monsieur!"
104:056,20[B  ]| "She deceived you?"
104:056,21[F  ]| "Under my nose, year after year. I was too stupid,
104:056,22[F  ]| and the temptation was too great.  But I found her out
104:056,23[F  ]| at last. I have only been once in$4$ my life a man to$9$ be
104:056,24[F  ]| afraid of; I know it very well: it was in$4$ that$6#2$ hour!
104:056,25[F  ]| Nevertheless I do not like$1$ to$9$ think of it. I loved her ~
104:056,26[F  ]| I can not tell you how much. She was a bad woman."
104:056,27[B  ]| "She is not living?"
104:056,28[F  ]| "She has gone to$4$ her account."
104:056,29[B  ]| "Her influence on$4$ your daughter, then," 
104:056,29['  ]| said Newman,
104:056,30['  ]| encouragingly, 
104:056,30[B  ]| "is not to$9$ be feared."
104:056,31[F  ]| "She cared no$2$ more for$4$ her daughter than for$4$ the sole
104:056,32[F  ]| of her shoe! But Noe=mie has no$2$ need of influence. She
104:056,33[F  ]| is sufficient to$4$ herself. She is stronger than I."
104:056,34[B  ]| "She does not obey you, eh?"
104:056,35[F  ]| "She can not obey, Monsieur, since I do not command.
104:056,36[F  ]| what would be the use? It would only irritate her and
104:056,37[F  ]| drive her to$4$ some \9coup 9de 9te^te\. She is very clever, like$4$
104:057,01[F  ]| her mother; she would waste no$2$ time about it. As a
104:057,02[F  ]| child ~~ when I was happy, or supposed I was ~~ she studied
104:057,03[F  ]| drawing and painting with first-class professors, and they
104:057,04[F  ]| assured me she had a talent. I was delighted to$9$ believe
104:057,05[F  ]| it, and when I went into society I used to$9$ carry her pictures
104:057,06[F  ]| with me in$4$ a portfolio and hand them round to$4$ the
104:057,07[F  ]| company. I remember, once, a lady thought I was
104:057,08[F  ]| offering them for$4$ sale, and I took it very ill. We do not
104:057,09[F  ]| know what we may come to$4$! Then came my dark days,
104:057,10[F  ]| and my explosion with Madame*Nioche. Noe=mie had
104:057,11[F  ]| no$2$ more twenty-franc lessons; but in$4$ the course of time,
104:057,12[F  ]| when she grew older, and it became highly expedient that$3$
104:057,13[F  ]| she should do something that$6#1$ would help to$9$ keep us alive,
104:057,14[F  ]| she bethought herself of her palette and brushes, some
104:057,15[F  ]| of our friends in$4$ the \9quartier\ pronounced the idea fantastic:
104:057,16[F  ]| they recommended her to$9$ try bonnet-making, to$9$ get
104:057,17[F  ]| a situation in$4$ a shop, or ~~ if she was more ambitious ~~ to$9$
104:057,18[F  ]| advertise for$4$ a place of \9dame 9de 9compagnie\. She did
104:057,19[F  ]| advertise, and an old lady wrote her a letter and bade
104:057,20[F  ]| her come and see her. The old lady liked her, and
104:057,21[F  ]| offered her her living and six hundred francs a year; but
104:057,22[F  ]| Noe=mie discovered that$3$ she passed her life in$4$ her armchair
104:057,23[F  ]| and had only two visitors, her confessor and her
104:057,24[F  ]| nephew: the confessor very strict, and the nephew a
104:057,25[F  ]| man of fifty, with a broken nose and a government clerkship
104:057,26[F  ]| of two thousand francs. She threw her old lady
104:057,27[F  ]| over, bought a paint-box, a canvas, and a new dress, and
104:057,28[F  ]| went and set up$5$ her easel in$4$ the Louvre. There, in$4$ one
104:057,29[F  ]| place and another, she has passed the last two years; I
104:057,30[F  ]| can not say it has made us millionaires. But Noe=mie tells
104:057,31[F  ]| me that$3$ Rome was not built in$4$ a day, that$3$ she is making
104:057,32[F  ]| great progress, that$3$ I must leave her to$4$ her own devices.
104:057,33[F  ]| The fact is, without prejudice to$4$ her genius, that$3$ she has
104:057,34[F  ]| no$2$ idea of burying herself alive. She likes to$9$ see the
104:057,35[F  ]| world, and to$9$ be seen. She says, herself, that$3$ she can not
104:057,36[F  ]| work in$4$ the dark. With her appearance it is very
104:057,37[F  ]| natural. Only, I can not help worrying and trembling and
104:058,01[F  ]| wondering what may happen to$4$ her there all alone, day
104:058,02[F  ]| after day, amid all that$6#2$ coming and going of strangers.
104:058,03[F  ]| I can not be always at her side. I go with her in$4$ the
104:058,04[F  ]| morning, and I come to$9$ fetch her away, but she will$1$ not
104:058,05[F  ]| have me near her in$4$ the interval; she says I make her
104:058,06[F  ]| nervous. As if it did not make me nervous to$9$ wander
104:058,07[F  ]| about all day without her! Ah, if anything were to$9$
104:058,08[F  ]| happen to$4$ her!" 
104:058,08['  ]| cried M%*Nioche, clenching his two fists
104:058,09['  ]| and jerking back his head again, portentously.
104:058,10[B  ]| "Oh, I guess nothing will$1$ happen," 
104:058,10['  ]| said Newman.
104:058,11[F  ]| "I believe I should shoot her!" 
104:058,11['  ]| said the old man,
104:058,12['  ]| solemnly.
104:058,13[B  ]| "Oh, we will$1$ marry her," 
104:058,13['  ]| said Newman, 
104:058,13[B  ]| "since that$6#2$ is
104:058,14[B  ]| how you manage it; and I will$1$ go and see her to-morrow
104:058,15[B  ]| at the Louvre and pick out the pictures she is to$9$ copy
104:058,16[B  ]| for$4$ me."
104:058,17['  ]| M%*Nioche had brought Newman a message from his
104:058,18['  ]| daughter, in$4$ acceptance of his magnificent commission,
104:058,19['  ]| the young lady 
104:058,19@g   | declaring herself his most devoted servant,
104:058,20@g   | promising her most zealous endeavour, and regretting
104:058,21@g   | that$3$ the proprieties forbade her coming to$9$ thank him in$4$
104:058,22@g   | person. 
104:058,22['  ]| The morning after the conversation just narrated
104:058,23['  ]| Newman reverted to$4$ his intention of meeting Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
104:058,24['  ]| at the Louvre. M%*Nioche appeared preoccupied,
104:058,25['  ]| and left his budget of anecdotes unopened; he
104:058,26['  ]| took a great deal of snuff, and sent certain oblique, appealing
104:058,27['  ]| glances toward his stalwart pupil. At last, when
104:058,28['  ]| he was taking his leave, he stood a moment, after he had
104:058,29['  ]| polished his hat with his calico pocket-handkerchief, with
104:058,30['  ]| his small, pale eyes fixed strangely upon$4$ Newman.
104:058,31[B  ]| "What is the matter?" 
104:058,31['  ]| our hero demanded.
104:058,32[F  ]| "Excuse the solicitude of a father's heart!" 
104:058,32['  ]| said M%*Nioche.
104:058,33[F  ]| "You inspire me with boundless confidence,
104:058,34[F  ]| but I can not help giving you a warning. After all, you
104:058,35[F  ]| are a man, you are young and at liberty. Let me beseech
104:058,36[F  ]| you, then, to$9$ respect the innocence of Mademoiselle*Nioche!"
104:058,37[F  ]| 
104:059,01['  ]| Newman had wondered what was coming, and at this
104:059,02['  ]| he broke into a laugh. He was on$4$ the point of declaring
104:059,03['  ]| that$3$ his own innocence struck him as the more exposed,
104:059,04['  ]| but he contented himself with promising to$9$ treat the
104:059,05['  ]| young girl with nothing less than veneration. He found
104:059,06['  ]| her waiting for$4$ him, seated upon$4$ the great divan in$4$ the
104:059,07['  ]| Salon*Carre=. She was not in$4$ her working-day costume,
104:059,08['  ]| but wore her bonnet and gloves and carried her parasol, in$4$
104:059,09['  ]| honour of the occasion. These articles had been selected
104:059,10['  ]| with unerring taste, and a fresher, prettier image of youthful
104:059,11['  ]| alertness and blooming discretion was not to$9$ be conceived. 
104:059,12['  ]| She made Newman a most respectful curtsy,
104:059,13['  ]| and expressed her gratitude for$4$ his liberality in$4$ a wonderfully
104:059,14['  ]| graceful little speech. It annoyed him to$9$ have a
104:059,15['  ]| charming young girl stand there thanking him, and it
104:059,16['  ]| made him feel uncomfortable to$9$ think that$3$ this perfect
104:059,17['  ]| young lady, with her excellent manners and her finished
104:059,18['  ]| intonation, was literally in$4$ his pay. He assured her, in$4$
104:059,19['  ]| such French as he could muster, that$3$ 
104:059,19@b   | the thing was not
104:059,20@b   | worth mentioning, and that$3$ he considered her services a
104:059,21@b   | great favour.
104:059,22[G  ]| "Whenever you please, then," 
104:059,22['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie,
104:059,23[G  ]| "we will$1$ pass the review."
104:059,24['  ]| They walked slowly round the room, then passed into
104:059,25['  ]| the others and strolled about for$4$ half an hour. Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
104:059,26['  ]| evidently relished her situation, and had
104:059,27['  ]| no$2$ desire to$9$ bring her public interview with her striking-looking
104:059,28['  ]| patron to$4$ a close. Newman perceived that$3$ prosperity
104:059,29['  ]| agreed with her. The little thin-lipped, peremptory
104:059,30['  ]| air with which$6#1$ she had addressed her father on$4$ the
104:059,31['  ]| occasion of their former meeting had given place to$4$ the
104:059,32['  ]| most lingering and caressing tones.
104:059,33[G  ]| "What sort of pictures do you desire?" 
104:059,33['  ]| she asked.
104:059,34[G  ]| "Sacred, or profane?"
104:059,35[B  ]| "Oh, a few of each," 
104:059,35['  ]| said Newman. 
104:059,35[B  ]| "But I want
104:059,36[B  ]| something bright and gay."
104:059,37[G  ]| "Something gay? There is nothing very gay in$4$ this
104:060,01[G  ]| solemn old Louvre. But we will$1$ see what we can find.
104:060,02[G  ]| You speak French to-day like$4$ a charm. My father has
104:060,03[G  ]| done wonders."
104:060,04[B  ]| "Oh, I am a bad subject," 
104:060,04['  ]| said Newman. 
104:060,04[B  ]| "I am
104:060,05[B  ]| too old to$9$ learn a language."
104:060,06[G  ]| "Too old? \9Quelle 9folie\!" 
104:060,06['  ]| cried Mademoiselle*Noe=mie,
104:060,07['  ]| with a clear, shrill laugh. 
104:060,07[G  ]| "You are a very young man.
104:060,08[G  ]| And how do you like$1$ my father?"
104:060,09[B  ]| "He is a very nice old gentleman. He never laughs
104:060,10[B  ]| at my blunders."
104:060,11[G  ]| "He is very \9comme 9il 9faut\, my papa," 
104:060,11['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie,
104:060,12[G  ]| "and as honest as the day. Oh, an exceptional
104:060,13[G  ]| probity! You could trust him with millions."
104:060,14[B  ]| "Do you always obey him?" 
104:060,14['  ]| asked Newman.
104:060,15[G  ]| "Obey him?"
104:060,16[B  ]| "Do you do what he bids you?"
104:060,17['  ]| The young girl stopped and looked at him; she had
104:060,18['  ]| a spot of colour in$4$ either cheek, and in$4$ her expressive
104:060,19['  ]| French eye, which$6#1$ projected too much for$4$ perfect beauty,
104:060,20['  ]| there was a slight gleam of audacity. 
104:060,20[G  ]| "Why do you
104:060,21[G  ]| ask me that$6#2$?" 
104:060,21['  ]| she demanded.
104:060,22[B  ]| "Because I want to$9$ know."
104:060,23[G  ]| "You think me a bad girl?" 
104:060,23['  ]| And she gave a strange
104:060,24['  ]| smile.
104:060,25['  ]| Newman looked at her a moment; he saw that$3$ she
104:060,26['  ]| was pretty, but he was not in$4$ the least dazzled. He
104:060,27['  ]| remembered poor M%*Nioche's solicitude for$4$ her "innocence,"
104:060,28['  ]| and he laughed out again as his eyes met hers.
104:060,29['  ]| Her face was the oddest mixture of youth and maturity,
104:060,30['  ]| and beneath her candid brow her searching little smile
104:060,31['  ]| seemed to$9$ contain a world of ambiguous intentions. She
104:060,32['  ]| was pretty enough, certainly, to$9$ make her father nervous;
104:060,33['  ]| but, as regards her innocence, Newman felt ready on$4$ the
104:060,34['  ]| spot to$9$ affirm that$3$ she had never parted with it. She
104:060,35['  ]| had simply never had any; she had been looking at the
104:060,36['  ]| world since she was ten years old, and he would have
104:060,37['  ]| been a wise man who$6#1$ could tell her any secrets. In$4$ her
104:061,01['  ]| long mornings at the Louvre she had not only studied
104:061,02['  ]| Madonnas and St%*Johns; she had kept an eye upon$4$ all
104:061,03['  ]| the variously embodied human nature around her, and
104:061,04['  ]| she had formed her conclusions. 
104:061,04@b   | In$4$ a certain sense, 
104:061,04['  ]| it
104:061,05['  ]| seemed to$4$ Newman, 
104:061,05@b   | M%*Nioche might be at rest; his
104:061,06@b   | daughter might do something very audacious, but she
104:061,07@b   | would never do anything foolish. 
104:061,07['  ]| Newman, with his
104:061,08['  ]| long-drawn, leisurely smile, and his even, unhurried
104:061,09['  ]| utterance, was always, mentally, taking his time; and he
104:061,10['  ]| asked himself, now, 
104:061,10@b   | what she was looking at him in$4$ that$6#2$
104:061,11@b   | way for$4$. He had an idea that$3$ she would like$1$ him to$9$
104:061,12@b   | confess that$3$ he did think her a bad girl.
104:061,13[B  ]| "Oh no$7$," 
104:061,13['  ]| he said at last; 
104:061,13[B  ]| "it would be very bad
104:061,14[B  ]| manners in$4$ me to$9$ judge you that$6#2$ way. I do not know
104:061,15[B  ]| you."
104:061,16[G  ]| "But my father has complained to$4$ you," 
104:061,16['  ]| said
104:061,17['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
104:061,18[B  ]| "He says you are a coquette."
104:061,19[G  ]| "He should not go about saying such things to$4$ gentlemen!
104:061,20[G  ]| But you do not believe it?"
104:061,21[B  ]| "No$7$," 
104:061,21['  ]| said Newman, gravely, 
104:061,21[B  ]| "I do not believe it."
104:061,22['  ]| She looked at him again, gave a shrug and a smile,
104:061,23['  ]| and then pointed to$4$ a small Italian picture, a Marriage*of*St%*Catherine.
104:061,24[G  ]| "How should you like$1$ that$6#2$?" 
104:061,24['  ]| she
104:061,25['  ]| asked.
104:061,26[B  ]| "It does not please me," 
104:061,26['  ]| said Newman. 
104:061,26[B  ]| "The young
104:061,27[B  ]| lady in$4$ the yellow dress is not pretty."
104:061,28[G  ]| "Ah, you are a great connoisseur," 
104:061,28['  ]| murmured Madamoiselle*Noe=mie.
104:061,29['  ]| 
104:061,30[B  ]| "In$4$ pictures? Oh no$7$; I know very little about them."
104:061,31[G  ]| "In$4$ pretty women, then?"
104:061,32[B  ]| "In$4$ that$6#2$ I am hardly better."
104:061,33[G  ]| "What do you say to$4$ that$6#2$, then?" 
104:061,33['  ]| the young girl
104:061,34['  ]| asked, indicating a superb Italian portrait of a lady. 
104:061,34[G  ]| "I
104:061,35[G  ]| will$1$ do it for$4$ you on$4$ a smaller scale."
104:061,36[B  ]| "On$4$ a smaller scale? Why not as large as the
104:061,37[B  ]| original?"
104:062,01['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie glanced at the glowing splendour
104:062,02['  ]| of the Venetian masterpiece and gave a little toss of her
104:062,03['  ]| head. 
104:062,03[G  ]| "I do not like$1$ that$6#2$ woman. She looks stupid."
104:062,04[B  ]| "I do like$1$ her," 
104:062,04['  ]| said Newman. 
104:062,04[B  ]| "Decidedly, I must
104:062,05[B  ]| have her, as large as life. And just as stupid as she is
104:062,06[B  ]| there."
104:062,07['  ]| The young girl fixed her eyes on$4$ him again, and with
104:062,08['  ]| her mocking smile, 
104:062,08[G  ]| "It certainly ought to$9$ be easy for$4$
104:062,09[G  ]| me to$9$ make her look stupid!" 
104:062,09['  ]| she said.
104:062,10[B  ]| "What do you mean?" 
104:062,10['  ]| asked Newman, puzzled.
104:062,11['  ]| She gave another little shrug. 
104:062,11[G  ]| "Seriously, then, you
104:062,12[G  ]| want that$6#2$ portrait ~~ the golden hair, the purple satin, the
104:062,13[G  ]| pearl necklace, the two magnificent arms?"
104:062,14[B  ]| "Everything ~~ just as it is."
104:062,15[G  ]| "Would nothing else do, instead?"
104:062,16[B  ]| "Oh, I want some other things, but I want that$6#2$ 
104:062,17[B  ]| too."
104:062,18['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie turned away a moment, walked
104:062,19['  ]| to$4$ the other side of the hall, and stood there, looking
104:062,20['  ]| vaguely about her. At last she came back. 
104:062,20[G  ]| "It must
104:062,21[G  ]| be charming to$9$ be able to$9$ order pictures at such a rate.
104:062,22[G  ]| Venetian portraits, as large as life! You go at it \9en
104:062,23[G  ]| 9prince\. And you are going to$9$ travel about Europe that$6#2$
104:062,24[G  ]| way?"
104:062,25[B  ]| "Yes, I intend to$9$ travel," 
104:062,25['  ]| said Newman.
104:062,26[G  ]| "Ordering, buying, spending money?"
104:062,27[B  ]| "Of course I shall spend some money."
104:062,28[G  ]| "You are very happy to$9$ have it. And you are
104:062,29[G  ]| perfectly free?"
104:062,30[B  ]| "How do you mean, free?"
104:062,31[G  ]| "You have nothing to$9$ bother you ~~ no$2$ family, no$2$
104:062,32[G  ]| wife, no$2$ \9fiance=e\?"
104:062,33[B  ]| "Yes, I am tolerably free."
104:062,34[G  ]| "You are very happy," 
104:062,34['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie,
104:062,35['  ]| gravely.
104:062,36[B  ]| "\9Je 9le 9veux 9bien!\" 
104:062,36['  ]| said Newman, proving that$3$ he had
104:062,37['  ]| learned more French than he admitted.
104:063,01[G  ]| "And how long shall you stay in$4$ Paris?" 
104:063,01['  ]| the young
104:063,02['  ]| girl went on$5$.
104:063,03[B  ]| "Only a few days more."
104:063,04[G  ]| "Why do you go away?"
104:063,05[B  ]| "It is getting hot, and I must go to$4$ Switzerland."
104:063,06[G  ]| "To$4$ Switzerland? That$6#2$ is a fine country. I would
104:063,07[G  ]| give my new parasol to$9$ see it! Lakes and mountains,
104:063,08[G  ]| romantic valleys and icy peaks! Oh, I congratulate
104:063,09[G  ]| you. Meanwhile, I shall sit here through all the hot
104:063,10[G  ]| summer, daubing at your pictures."
104:063,11[B  ]| "Oh, take your time about it," 
104:063,11['  ]| said Newman. 
104:063,11[B  ]| "Do
104:063,12[B  ]| them at your convenience."
104:063,13['  ]| They walked farther and looked at a dozen other
104:063,14['  ]| things. Newman pointed out what pleased him, and
104:063,15['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie generally criticised it, and proposed
104:063,16['  ]| something else. Then suddenly she diverged and began
104:063,17['  ]| to$9$ talk about some personal matter.
104:063,18[G  ]| "What made you speak to$4$ me the other day in$4$ the
104:063,19[G  ]| Salon*Carre=?" 
104:063,19['  ]| she abruptly asked.
104:063,20[B  ]| "I admired your picture."
104:063,21[G  ]| "But you hesitated a long time."
104:063,22[B  ]| "Oh, I do nothing rashly," 
104:063,22['  ]| said Newman.
104:063,23[G  ]| "Yes, I saw you watching me. But I never supposed
104:063,24[G  ]| you were going to$9$ speak to$4$ me. I never dreamed I
104:063,25[G  ]| should be walking about here with you to-day. It is very
104:063,26[G  ]| curious."
104:063,27[B  ]| "It is very natural," 
104:063,27['  ]| observed Newman.
104:063,28[G  ]| "Oh, I beg your pardon: not to$4$ me. Coquette as
104:063,29[G  ]| you think me, I have never walked about in$4$ public with
104:063,30[G  ]| a gentleman before. What was my father thinking of
104:063,31[G  ]| when he consented to$4$ our interview?"
104:063,32[B  ]| "He was repenting of his unjust accusations," 
104:063,32['  ]| replied
104:063,33['  ]| Newman.
104:063,34['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie remained silent; at last she
104:063,35['  ]| dropped into a seat. 
104:063,35[G  ]| "Well, then, for$4$ those five it is
104:063,36[G  ]| fixed," 
104:063,36['  ]| she said. 
104:063,36[G  ]| "Five copies as brilliant and beautiful
104:063,37[G  ]| as I can make them. We have one more to$9$ choose.
104:064,01[G  ]| Should not you like$1$ one of those great Rubenses ~~ the
104:064,02[G  ]| marriage of Marie*de*Me=dicis? Just look at it and see
104:064,03[G  ]| how handsome it is."
104:064,04[B  ]| "Oh yes; I should like$1$ that$6#2$," 
104:064,04['  ]| said Newman. 
104:064,04[B  ]| "Finish
104:064,05[B  ]| off with that$6#2$."
104:064,06[G  ]| "Finish off with that$6#2$ ~~ good!" 
104:064,06['  ]| And she laughed.
104:064,07['  ]| She sat a moment, looking at him, and then she suddenly
104:064,08['  ]| rose and stood before him, with her hands hanging and
104:064,09['  ]| clasped in$4$ front of her. 
104:064,09[G  ]| "I do not understand you," 
104:064,09['  ]| she
104:064,10['  ]| said with a smile. 
104:064,10[G  ]| "I do not understand how a man can
104:064,11[G  ]| be so$5#1$ ignorant."
104:064,12[B  ]| "Oh, I am ignorant, certainly," 
104:064,12['  ]| said Newman, putting
104:064,13['  ]| his hands into his pockets.
104:064,14[G  ]| "It is ridiculous! I do not know how to$9$ paint."
104:064,15[B  ]| "You do not know how?"
104:064,16[G  ]| "I paint like$4$ a cat; I can not draw a straight line. I
104:064,17[G  ]| never sold a picture until you bought that$6#2$ thing the other
104:064,18[G  ]| day." 
104:064,18['  ]| And as she offered his surprising information she
104:064,19['  ]| continued to$9$ smile.
104:064,20['  ]| Newman burst into a laugh. 
104:064,20[B  ]| "Why do you tell me
104:064,21[B  ]| this?" 
104:064,21['  ]| he asked.
104:064,22[G  ]| "Because it irritates me to$9$ see a clever man blunder
104:064,23[G  ]| so$5#2$. My pictures are grotesque."
104:064,24[B  ]| "And the one I possess ~"
104:064,25[G  ]| "That$6#2$ one is rather worse than usual."
104:064,26[B  ]| "Well," 
104:064,26['  ]| said Newman, 
104:064,26[B  ]| "I like$1$ it all the same!"
104:064,27['  ]| She looked at him askance. 
104:064,27[G  ]| "That$6#2$ is a very pretty
104:064,28[G  ]| thing to$9$ say," 
104:064,28['  ]| she answered; 
104:064,28[G  ]| "but it is my duty to$9$ warn
104:064,29[G  ]| you before you go farther. This order of yours is impossible,
104:064,30[G  ]| you know. What do you take me for$4$? It is
104:064,31[G  ]| work for$4$ ten men. You pick out the six most difficult
104:064,32[G  ]| pictures in$4$ the Louvre, and you expect me to$9$ go to$9$ work
104:064,33[G  ]| as if I were sitting down to$9$ hem a dozen pocket
104:064,34[G  ]| handkerchiefs. I wanted to$9$ see how far you would go."
104:064,35['  ]| Newman looked at the young girl in$4$ some perplexity.
104:064,36['  ]| In$4$ spite of the ridiculous blunder of which$6#1$ he stood
104:064,37['  ]| convicted, he was very far from being a simpleton, and
104:065,01['  ]| he had a lively suspicion that$3$ 
104:065,01@b   | Mademoiselle*Noe=mie's
104:065,02@b   | sudden frankness was not essentially more honest than
104:065,03@b   | her leaving him in$4$ error would have been. She was
104:065,04@b   | playing a game; she was not simply taking pity on$4$ his
104:065,05@b   | aesthetic verdancy. What was it she expected to$9$ win?
104:065,06@b   | The stakes were high and the risk was great; the prize,
104:065,07@b   | therefore, must have been commensurate. 
104:065,07['  ]| But even
104:065,08['  ]| granting that$3$ the prize might be great, Newman could
104:065,09['  ]| not resist a movement of admiration for$4$ his companion's
104:065,10['  ]| intrepidity. She was throwing away with one hand,
104:065,11['  ]| whatever she might intend to$9$ do with the other, a very
104:065,12['  ]| handsome sum of money.
104:065,13[B  ]| "Are you joking," 
104:065,13['  ]| he said, 
104:065,13[B  ]| "or are you serious?"
104:065,14[G  ]| "Oh, serious!" 
104:065,14['  ]| cried Mademoiselle*Noe=mie, but with
104:065,15['  ]| her extraordinary smile.
104:065,16[B  ]| "I know very little about pictures, or how they are
104:065,17[B  ]| painted. If you can not do all that$6#2$, of course you can not.
104:065,18[B  ]| Do what you can, then."
104:065,19[G  ]| "It will$1$ be very bad," 
104:065,19['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
104:065,20[B  ]| "Oh," 
104:065,20['  ]| said Newman, laughing, 
104:065,20[B  ]| "if you are determined
104:065,21[B  ]| it shall be bad, of course it will$1$. But why do
104:065,22[B  ]| you go on$4$ painting badly?"
104:065,23[G  ]| "I can do nothing else; I have no$2$ real talent."
104:065,24[B  ]| "You are deceiving your father, then."
104:065,25['  ]| The young girl hesitated a moment. 
104:065,25[G  ]| "He knows
104:065,26[G  ]| very well!"
104:065,27[B  ]| "No$7$," 
104:065,27['  ]| Newman declared; 
104:065,27[B  ]| "I am sure he believes
104:065,28[B  ]| in$4$ you."
104:065,29[G  ]| "He is afraid of me. I go on$4$ painting badly, as you
104:065,30[G  ]| say, because I want to$9$ learn. I like$1$ it, at any rate.
104:065,31[G  ]| And I like$1$ being here; it is a place to$9$ come to$4$ every day;
104:065,32[G  ]| it is better than sitting in$4$ a little dark damp room, on$4$ a
104:065,33[G  ]| court, or selling buttons and whalebones over a counter."
104:065,34[B  ]| "Of course it is much more amusing," 
104:065,34['  ]| said Newman.
104:065,35[B  ]| "But for$4$ a poor girl is not it rather an expensive amusement?"
104:065,36[B  ]| 
104:065,37[G  ]| "Oh, I am very wrong, there is no$2$ doubt about that$6#2$,"
104:066,01['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie. 
104:066,01[G  ]| "But rather than earn my
104:066,02[G  ]| living as some girls do ~~ toiling with a needle, in$4$ little
104:066,03[G  ]| black holes, out of the world ~~ I would throw myself
104:066,04[G  ]| into the Seine."
104:066,05[B  ]| "There is no$2$ need of that$6#2$," 
104:066,05['  ]| Newman answered; 
104;066,05[B  ]| "your
104:066,06[B  ]| father told you my offer?"
104:066,07[G  ]| "Your offer?"
104:066,08[B  ]| "He wants you to$9$ marry, and I told him I would
104:066,09[B  ]| give you a chance to$9$ earn your \9dot\."
104:066,10[G  ]| "He told me all about it, and you see the account I
104:066,11[G  ]| make of it! Why should you take such an interest in$4$
104:066,12[G  ]| my marriage?"
104:066,13[B  ]| "My interest was in$4$ your father. I hold to$4$ my offer;
104:066,14[B  ]| do what you can, and I will$1$ buy what you paint."
104:066,15['  ]| She stood for$4$ some time, meditating, with her eyes on$4$
104:066,16['  ]| the ground. At last, looking up$5$: 
104:066,16[G  ]| "What sort of a
104:066,17[G  ]| husband can you get for$4$ twelve thousand francs?" 
104:066,17['  ]| she
104:066,18['  ]| asked.
104:066,19[B  ]| "Your father tells me he knows some very good
104:066,20[B  ]| young men."
104:066,21[G  ]| "Grocers and butchers and little \9mai^tres*de*cafe=s! I
104:066,22[G  ]| will$1$ not marry at all if I can not marry well."
104:066,23[B  ]| "I would advise you not to$9$ be too fastidious," 
104:066,23['  ]| said
104:066,24['  ]| Newman. 
104:066,24[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is all the advice I can give you."
104:066,25[G  ]| "I am very much vexed at what I have said!" 
104:066,25['  ]| cried
104:066,26['  ]| the young girl. 
104:066,26[G  ]| "It has done me no$2$ good. But I
104:066,27[G  ]| could not help it."
104:066,28[B  ]| "What good did you expect it to$9$ do you?"
104:066,29[G  ]| "I could not help it, simply."
104:066,30['  ]| Newman looked at her a moment. 
104:066,30[B  ]| "Well, your
104:066,31[B  ]| pictures may be bad," 
104:066,31['  ]| he said, 
104:066,31[B  ]| "but you are too clever
104:066,32[B  ]| for$4$ me, nevertheless. I do not understand you. Good-bye!"
104:066,33['  ]| And he put out his hand.
104:066,34['  ]| She made no$2$ response, and offered him no$2$ farewell.
104:066,35['  ]| She turned away and seated herself sidewise on$4$ a bench,
104:066,36['  ]| leaning her head on$4$ the back of her hand, which$6#1$ clasped
104:066,37['  ]| the rail in$4$ front of the pictures. Newman stood a
104:067,01['  ]| moment and then turned on$4$ his heel and retreated. He
104:067,02['  ]| had understood her better than he confessed; 
104:067,02@b   | this singular
104:067,03@b   | scene was a practical commentary upon$4$ her father's
104:067,04@b   | statement that$3$ she was a frank coquette.
105:067,01['  ]| When Newman related to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram his fruitless
105:067,02['  ]| visit to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=, she urged him 
105:067,02@i   | not to$9$ be discouraged,
105:067,03@i   | but to$9$ carry out his plan of "seeing Europe"
105:067,04@i   | during the summer, and return to$4$ Paris in$4$ the autumn
105:067,05@i   | and settle down comfortably for$4$ the winter. 
105:067,05[I  ]| "Madame*de*Cintre=
105:067,06[I  ]| will$1$ keep," 
105:067,06['  ]| she said; 
105:067,06[I  ]| "she is not a woman
105:067,07[I  ]| who$6#1$ will$1$ marry from one day to$4$ another." 
105:067,07['  ]| Newman
105:067,08['  ]| made no$2$ distinct affirmation that$3$ he would come back to$4$
105:067,09['  ]| Paris; he even talked about Rome and the Nile, and
105:067,10['  ]| abstained from professing any especial interest in$4$ Madame*de*Cintre='s
105:067,11['  ]| continued widowhood. This circumstance
105:067,12['  ]| was at variance with his habitual frankness, and may
105:067,13['  ]| perhaps be regarded as characteristic of the incipient
105:067,14['  ]| stage of that$6#2$ passion which$6#1$ is more particularly known
105:067,15['  ]| as the mysterious one. The truth is that$3$ the expression
105:067,16['  ]| of a pair of eyes, that$6#1$ were at once brilliant and mild,
105:067,17['  ]| had become very familiar to$4$ his memory, and he would
105:067,18['  ]| not easily have resigned himself to$4$ the prospect of never
105:067,19['  ]| looking into them again. He communicated to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram
105:067,20['  ]| a number of other facts, of greater or less importance,
105:067,21['  ]| as you choose; but on$4$ this particular point he
105:067,22['  ]| kept his own counsel. He took a kindly leave of M%*Nioche,
105:067,23['  ]| having assured him that$3$, 
105:067,23@b   | so$5#1$ far as he was concerned,
105:067,24@b   | the blue-cloaked Madonna herself might have
105:067,25@b   | been present at his interview with Mademoiselle*Noe=mie;
105:067,26['  ]| and left the old man nursing his breast-pocket, in$4$ an
105:067,27['  ]| ecstasy which$6#1$ the acutest misfortune might have been
105:068,01['  ]| defied to$9$ dissipate. Newman then started on$4$ his travels
105:068,02['  ]| with all his usual appearance of slow-strolling leisure,
105:068,03['  ]| and all his essential directness and intensity of aim. No$2$
105:068,04['  ]| man seemed less in$4$ a hurry, and yet no$2$ man achieved
105:068,05['  ]| more in$4$ brief periods. He had certain practical instincts
105:068,06['  ]| which$6#1$ served him excellently in$4$ his trade of tourist. He
105:068,07['  ]| found his way in$4$ foreign cities by$4$ divination, his memory
105:068,08['  ]| was excellent when once his attention had been at all
105:068,09['  ]| cordially given, and he emerged from dialogues in$4$ foreign
105:068,10['  ]| tongues, of which$6#1$ he had, formally, not understood a
105:068,11['  ]| word, in$4$ full possession of the particular fact he had
105:068,12['  ]| desired to$9$ ascertain. His appetite for$4$ facts was capacious,
105:068,13['  ]| and although many of those which$6#1$ he noted would
105:068,14['  ]| have seemed woefully dry and colourless to$4$ the ordinary
105:068,15['  ]| sentimental traveller, a careful inspection of the list
105:068,16['  ]| would have shown that$3$ he had a soft spot in$4$ his imagination.
105:068,17['  ]| In$4$ the charming city of Brussels ~~ his first
105:068,18['  ]| stopping-place after leaving Paris ~~ he asked a great
105:068,19['  ]| many questions about the street cars, and took extreme
105:068,20['  ]| satisfaction in$4$ the reappearance of this familiar symbol
105:068,21['  ]| of American civilisation; but he was also greatly struck
105:068,22['  ]| with the beautiful Gothic tower of the Ho^tel*de*Ville,
105:068,23['  ]| and wondered 
105:068,23@b   | whether it would not be possible to$9$ "get
105:068,24@b   | up$5$" something like$4$ it in$4$ San*Francisco. 
105:068,24['  ]| He stood for$4$
105:068,25['  ]| half an hour in$4$ the crowded square before this edifice, in$4$
105:068,26['  ]| imminent danger from carriage-wheels, listening to$4$ a
105:068,27['  ]| toothless old cicerone mumble in$4$ broken English the
105:068,28['  ]| touching history of Counts*Egmont and Horn; and he
105:068,29['  ]| wrote the names of these gentlemen ~~ for$4$ reasons best
105:068,30['  ]| known to$4$ himself ~~ on$4$ the back of an old letter.
105:068,31['  ]| At the outset, on$4$ his leaving Paris, his curiosity had
105:068,32['  ]| not been intense; passive entertainment, in$4$ the Champs*E=lyse`es
105:068,33['  ]| and at the theatres, seemed about as much as he
105:068,34['  ]| need expect of himself, and although, as he had said to$4$
105:068,35['  ]| Tristram, 
105:068,35@b   | he wanted to$9$ see the mysterious, satisfying
105:068,36@b   | \best\, 
105:068,36['  ]| he had not the Grand*Tour in$4$ the least on$4$ his
105:068,37['  ]| conscience, and was not given to$4$ cross-questioning the
105:069,01['  ]| amusement of the hour. He believed that$3$ 
105:069,01@b   | Europe was
105:069,02@b   | made for$4$ him, and not he for$4$ Europe. 
105:069,02['  ]| He had said that$3$
105:069,03@b   | he wanted to$9$ improve his mind, 
105:069,03['  ]| but he would have felt
105:069,04['  ]| a certain embarrassment, a certain shame even ~~ a false
105:069,05['  ]| shame possibly ~~ if he had caught himself looking intellectually
105:069,06['  ]| into the mirror. Neither in$4$ this nor in$4$ any
105:069,07['  ]| other respect had Newman a high sense of responsibility;
105:069,08['  ]| it was his prime conviction that$3$ 
105:069,08@b   | a man's life should be
105:069,09@b   | easy, and that$3$ he should be able to$9$ resolve privilege into
105:069,10@b   | a matter of course. The world, 
105:069,10['  ]| to$4$ his sense, 
105:069,10@b   | was a great
105:069,11@b   | bazaar, where one might stroll about and purchase
105:069,12@b   | handsome things; 
105:069,12['  ]| but he was no$2$ more conscious, individually,
105:069,13['  ]| of social pressure than he admitted the existence
105:069,14['  ]| of such a thing as an obligatory purchase. He had not
105:069,15['  ]| only a dislike, but a sort of moral mistrust, of uncomfortable
105:069,16['  ]| thoughts, and 
105:069,16@b   | it was both uncomfortable and
105:069,17@b   | slightly contemptible to$9$ feel obliged to$9$ square oneself
105:069,18@b   | with a standard. One's standard was the ideal of one's
105:069,19@b   | own good-humoured prosperity, the prosperity which$6#1$
105:069,20@b   | enabled one to$9$ give as well as take. To$9$ expand, without
105:069,21@b   | bothering about it ~~ without shiftless timidity on$4$ one
105:069,22@b   | side, or loquacious eagerness on$4$ the other ~~ to$4$ the full
105:069,23@b   | compass of 
105:069,23['  ]| what he would have called 
105:069,23@b   | a "pleasant" experience,
105:069,24['  ]| was Newman's most definite programme of
105:069,25['  ]| life. He had always hated to$9$ hurry to$9$ catch railroad
105:069,26['  ]| trains, and yet he had always caught them; and just so$5#2$
105:069,27@b   | an undue solicitude for$4$ "culture" seemed a sort of silly
105:069,28@b   | dawdling at the station, a proceeding properly confined
105:069,29@b   | to$4$ women, foreigners, and other unpractical persons.
105:069,30['  ]| All this admitted, Newman enjoyed his journey, when
105:069,31['  ]| once he had fairly entered the current, as profoundly as
105:069,32['  ]| the most zealous \9dilettante\. One's theories, after all,
105:069,33['  ]| matter little; it is one's humour that$6#1$ is the great thing.
105:069,34['  ]| Our friend was intelligent, and he could not help that$6#2$.
105:069,35['  ]| He lounged through Belgium and Holland and the
105:069,36['  ]| Rhineland, through Switzerland and Northern*Italy,
105:069,37['  ]| planning about nothing, but seeing everything. The
105:070,01['  ]| guides and \9valets 9de 9place\ found him an excellent subject.
105:070,02['  ]| He was always approachable, for$3$ he was much addicted
105:070,03['  ]| to$4$ standing about in$4$ the vestibules and porticoes of inns,
105:070,04['  ]| and he availed himself little of the opportunities for$4$ impressive
105:070,05['  ]| seclusion which$6#1$ are so$5#1$ liberally offered in$4$ Europe
105:070,06['  ]| to$4$ gentlemen who$6#1$ travel with long purses. When an
105:070,07['  ]| excursion, a church, a gallery, a ruin was proposed to$4$
105:070,08['  ]| him, the first thing Newman usually did, after surveying
105:070,09['  ]| his postulant in$4$ silence, from head to$4$ foot, was to$9$ sit
105:070,10['  ]| down at a little table and order something to$9$ drink.
105:070,11['  ]| The cicerone, during this process, usually retreated to$4$ a
105:070,12['  ]| respectful distance; otherwise I am not sure that$3$ Newman
105:070,13['  ]| would not have bidden him sit down and have a 
105:070,14['  ]| glass also, and tell him as an honest fellow whether his
105:070,15['  ]| church or his gallery was really worth a man's trouble.
105:070,16['  ]| At last he rose and stretched his long legs, beckoned to$4$
105:070,17['  ]| the man of monuments, looked at his watch, and fixed
105:070,18['  ]| his eye on$4$ his adversary. 
105:070,18[B  ]| "What is it?" 
105:070,18['  ]| he asked.
105:070,19[B  ]| "How far?" 
105:070,19['  ]| And whatever the answer was, although
105:070,20['  ]| he seemed to$9$ hesitate, he never declined. He stepped
105:070,21['  ]| into an open cab, made his conductor sit beside him to$9$
105:070,22['  ]| answer questions, bade the driver go fast (he had a particular
105:070,23['  ]| aversion to$4$ slow driving), and rolled, in$4$ all probability
105:070,24['  ]| through a dusty suburb, to$4$ the goal of his pilgrimage.
105:070,25['  ]| If the goal was a disappointment, if the church
105:070,26['  ]| was a meagre, or the ruin a heap of rubbish, Newman
105:070,27['  ]| never protested or berated his cicerone; he looked with
105:070,28['  ]| an impartial eye upon$4$ great monuments and small, made
105:070,29['  ]| the guide recite his lesson, listened to$4$ it religiously,
105:070,30['  ]| asked 
105:070,30@b   | if there was nothing else to$9$ be seen in$4$ the neighbourhood,
105:070,31['  ]| and drove back again at a rattling pace. It
105:070,32['  ]| is to$9$ be feared that$3$ his perception of the difference
105:070,33['  ]| between good architecture and bad was not acute, and
105:070,34['  ]| that$3$ he might sometimes have been seen gazing with
105:070,35['  ]| culpable serenity at inferior productions. Ugly churches
105:070,36['  ]| were a part of his pastime in$4$ Europe as well as beautiful
105:070,37['  ]| ones, and his tour was altogether a pastime. But
105:070,01['  ]| there is sometimes nothing like$4$ the imagination of those
105:071,02['  ]| people who$6#1$ have none, and Newman, now and then, in$4$
105:071,03['  ]| an unguided stroll in$4$ a foreign city, before some lonely,
105:071,04['  ]| sad-towered church, or some angular image of one who$6#1$
105:071,05['  ]| had rendered civic service in$4$ an unknown past, had felt
105:071,06['  ]| a singular inward tremor. It was not an excitement or a 
105:071,07['  ]| perplexity; it was a placid, fathomless sense of diversion.
105:071,08['  ]| He encountered by$4$ chance in$4$ Holland a young American,
105:071,09['  ]| with whom, for$4$ a time, he formed a sort of traveller's
105:071,10['  ]| partnership. They were men of a very different cast,
105:071,11['  ]| but each, in$4$ his way, was so$5#1$ good a fellow that$3$, for$4$ a
105:071,12['  ]| few weeks at least, it seemed something of a pleasure to$9$
105:071,13['  ]| share the chances of the road. Newman's comrade,
105:071,14['  ]| whose name was Babcock, was a young Unitarian
105:071,15['  ]| minister; a small, spare, neatly-attired man, with a 
105:071,16['  ]| strikingly candid physiognomy. He was a native of
105:071,17['  ]| Dorchester, Massachusetts, and had spiritual charge of
105:071,18['  ]| a small congregation in$4$ another suburb of the New*England
105:071,19['  ]| Metropolis. His digestion was weak, and he lived
105:071,20['  ]| chiefly on$4$ Graham*bread and hominy ~~ a regimen to$4$
105:071,21['  ]| which$6#1$ he was so$5#1$ much attached that$3$ his tour seemed to$4$
105:071,22['  ]| him destined to$9$ be blighted when, on$4$ landing on$4$ the
105:071,23['  ]| Continent, he found that$3$ these delicacies did not flourish
105:071,24['  ]| under the \9table*d'ho^te\ system. In$4$ Paris he had purchased
105:071,25['  ]| a bag of hominy at an establishment which$6#1$ called itself
105:071,26['  ]| an American Agency, and at which$6#1$ the New*York illustrated
105:071,27['  ]| papers were also to$9$ be procured, and he had carried
105:071,28['  ]| it about with him, and shown extreme serenity and
105:071,29['  ]| fortitude in$4$ the somewhat delicate position of having his
105:071,30['  ]| hominy prepared for$4$ him and served at anomalous hours,
105:071,31['  ]| at the hotels he successively visited. Newman had once
105:071,32['  ]| spent a morning, in$4$ the course of business, at Mr%*Babcock's
105:071,33['  ]| birthplace, and, for$4$ reasons too recondite to$9$ unfold,
105:071,34['  ]| his visit there always assumed in$4$ his mind a jocular
105:071,35['  ]| cast. To$9$ carry out his joke, which$6#1$ certainly seems poor
105:071,36['  ]| so$5#1$ long as it is not explained, he used often to$9$ address
105:071,37['  ]| his companion as "Dorchester." Fellow-travellers very
105:072,01['  ]| soon grow intimate; but it is highly improbable that$3$ at
105:072,02['  ]| home these extremely dissimilar characters would have
105:072,03['  ]| found any very convenient points of contact. They were,
105:072,04['  ]| indeed, as different as possible. Newman, who$6#1$ never
105:072,05['  ]| reflected on$4$ such matters, accepted the situation with
105:072,06['  ]| great equanimity, but Babcock used to$9$ meditate over it
105:072,07['  ]| privately; used often, indeed, to$9$ retire to$4$ his room early
105:072,08['  ]| in$4$ the evening for$4$ the express purpose of considering it
105:072,09['  ]| conscientiously and impartially. He was not sure that$3$
105:072,10['  ]| it was a good thing for$4$ him to$9$ associate with our hero,
105:072,11['  ]| whose way of taking life was so$5#1$ little his own. 
105:072,11@k   | Newman
105:072,12@k   | was an excellent, generous fellow; 
105:072,12['  ]| Mr%*Babcock sometimes
105:072,13['  ]| said to$4$ himself that$3$ 
105:072,13@k   | he was a \noble\ fellow, and,
105:072,14@k   | certainly, it was impossible not to$9$ like$1$ him. But would
105:072,15@k   | it not be desirable to$9$ try to$9$ exert an influence upon$4$ him,
105:072,16@k   | to$9$ try to$9$ quicken his moral life and sharpen his sense of
105:072,17@k   | duty? He liked everything, he accepted everything, he
105:072,18@k   | found amusement in$4$ everything; he was not discriminating,
105:072,19@k   | he had not a high tone. 
105:072,19['  ]| The young man from Dorchester
105:072,20['  ]| accused Newman of a fault which$6#1$ he considered very
105:072,21['  ]| grave, and which$6#1$ he did his best to$9$ avoid: what he
105:072,22['  ]| would have called a want of "moral reaction." Poor
105:072,23['  ]| Mr%*Babcock was extremely fond of pictures and churches,
105:072,24['  ]| and carried Mrs%*Jameson's works about in$4$ his trunk; he
105:072,25['  ]| delighted in$4$ aesthetic analysis, and received peculiar impressions
105:072,26['  ]| from everything he saw. But nevertheless in$4$
105:072,27['  ]| his secret soul he detested Europe, and he felt an irritating
105:072,28['  ]| need to$9$ protest against Newman's gross intellectual
105:072,29['  ]| hospitality. Mr%*Babcock's moral \malaise\, I am afraid,
105:072,30['  ]| lay deeper than where any definition of mine can reach
105:072,31['  ]| it. He mistrusted the European temperament, he
105:072,32['  ]| suffered from the European climate, he hated the European
105:072,33['  ]| dinner hour; European life seemed to$4$ him unscrupulous
105:072,34['  ]| and impure. And yet he had an exquisite
105:072,35['  ]| sense of beauty; and as beauty was often inextricably
105:072,36['  ]| associated with the above displeasing conditions, as he
105:072,37['  ]| wished, above all, to$9$ be just and dispassionate, and as
105:073,01['  ]| he was, furthermore, extremely devoted to$4$ "culture," he
105:073,02['  ]| could not bring himself to$9$ decide that$3$ Europe was utterly
105:073,03['  ]| bad. But he thought it was very bad indeed, and his
105:073,04['  ]| quarrel with Newman was that$3$ this unregulated epicure
105:073,05['  ]| had a sadly insufficient perception of the bad. Babcock
105:073,06['  ]| himself really knew as little about the bad, in$4$ any quarter
105:073,07['  ]| of the world, as a nursing infant; his most vivid realisation
105:073,08['  ]| of evil had been the discovery that$3$ one of his college
105:073,09['  ]| classmates, who$6#1$ was studying architecture in$4$ Paris, had
105:073,10['  ]| a love affair with a young woman who$6#1$ did not expect
105:073,11['  ]| him to$9$ marry her. Babcock had related this incident to$4$
105:073,12['  ]| Newman, and our hero had applied an epithet of an
105:073,13['  ]| unflattering sort to$4$ the young girl. The next day his
105:073,14['  ]| companion asked him 
105:073,14@k   | whether he was very sure he had
105:073,15@k   | used exactly the right word to$9$ characterise the young
105:073,16@k   | architect's mistress. 
105:073,16['  ]| Newman stared and laughed.
105:073,17[B  ]| "There are a great many words to$9$ express that$6#2$ idea,"
105:073,18['  ]| he said; 
105:073,18[B  ]| "you can take your choice!"
105:073,19[K  ]| "Oh, I mean," 
105:073,19['  ]| said Babcock, 
105:073,19[K  ]| "was she possibly not
105:073,20[K  ]| to$9$ be considered in$4$ a different light? Do not you think
105:073,21[K  ]| she \really\ expected him to$9$ marry her?"
105:073,22[B  ]| "I am sure I do not know," 
105:073,22['  ]| said Newman. 
105:073,22[B  ]| "Very
105:073,23[B  ]| likely she did; I have no$2$ doubt she is a grand woman."
105:073,24['  ]| And he began to$9$ laugh again.
105:073,25[K  ]| "I did not mean that$6#2$ either," 
105:073,25['  ]| said Babcock; 
105:073,25[K  ]| "I was
105:073,26[K  ]| only afraid that$3$ I might have seemed yesterday not to$9$
105:073,27[K  ]| remember ~~ not to$9$ consider; well, I think I will$1$ write
105:073,28[K  ]| to$4$ Percival about it."
105:073,29['  ]| And he had written to$4$ Percival 
105:073,29@k   | (who$6#1$ answered him in$4$
105:073,30@k   | a really impudent fashion), 
105:073,30['  ]| and he had reflected that$3$ 
105:073,30@k   | it
105:073,31@k   | was, somehow, raw and reckless in$4$ Newman to$9$ assume
105:073,32@k   | in$4$ that$6#2$ off-hand manner that$3$ the young woman in$4$ Paris
105:073,33@k   | might be "grand." 
105:073,33['  ]| The brevity of Newman's judgments
105:073,34['  ]| very often shocked and discomposed him. 
105:073,34@k   | He
105:073,35@k   | had a way of damning people without farther appeal, or
105:073,36@k   | of pronouncing them capital company in$4$ the face of uncomfortable
105:073,37@k   | symptoms, which$6#1$ seemed unworthy of a man
105:074,01@k   | whose conscience had been properly cultivated. 
105:074,01['  ]| And
105:074,02['  ]| yet poor Babcock liked him, and remembered that$3$ 
105:074,02@k   | even
105:074,03@k   | if he was sometimes perplexing and painful, this was not
105:074,04@k   | a reason for$4$ giving him up$5$. Goethe recommended seeing
105:074,05@k   | human nature in$4$ the most various forms, 
105:074,05['  ]| and Mr%*Babcock
105:074,06['  ]| thought 
105:074,06@k   | Goethe perfectly splendid. 
105:074,06['  ]| He often tried,
105:074,07['  ]| in$4$ odd half-hours of conversation, to$9$ infuse into Newman
105:074,08['  ]| a little of his own spiritual starch, but Newman's personal
105:074,09['  ]| texture was too loose to$9$ admit of stiffening. His mind
105:074,10['  ]| could no$2$ more hold principles than a sieve can hold
105:074,11['  ]| water. He admired principles extremely, and thought
105:074,12@b   | Babcock a mighty fine little fellow for$4$ having so$5#1$ many. 
105:074,12['  ]| He
105:074,13['  ]| accepted all that$6#1$ his high-strung companion offered him,
105:074,14['  ]| and put them away in$4$ what he supposed to$9$ be a very safe
105:074,15['  ]| place; but poor Babcock never afterwards recognised his
105:074,16['  ]| gifts among the articles that$6#1$ Newman had in$4$ daily use.
105:074,17['  ]| They travelled together through Germany and into
105:074,18['  ]| Switzerland, where for$4$ three or four weeks they trudged
105:074,19['  ]| over passes and lounged upon$4$ blue lakes. At last they
105:074,20['  ]| crossed the Simplon and made their way to$4$ Venice. Mr%*Babcock
105:074,21['  ]| had become gloomy and even a trifle irritable;
105:074,22['  ]| he seemed moody, absent, preoccupied; he got his plans
105:074,23['  ]| into a tangle, and talked one moment of doing one thing
105:074,24['  ]| and the next of doing another. Newman led his usual
105:074,25['  ]| life, made acquaintances, took his ease in$4$ the galleries
105:074,26['  ]| and churches, spent an unconscionable amount of time
105:074,27['  ]| in$4$ strolling in$4$ the Piazza*san*Marco, bought a great
105:074,28['  ]| many bad pictures, and for$4$ a fortnight enjoyed Venice
105:074,29['  ]| grossly. One evening, coming back to$4$ his inn, he found
105:074,30['  ]| Babcock waiting for$4$ him in$4$ the little garden beside it.
105:074,31['  ]| The young man walked up$5$ to$4$ him, looking very dismal,
105:074,32['  ]| thrust out his hand, and said with solemnity that$3$ he
105:074,33['  ]| was afraid they must part. Newman expressed his surprise
105:074,34['  ]| and regret, and asked why a parting had become
105:074,35['  ]| necessary. 
105:074,35[B  ]| "Do not be afraid I am tired of you," 
105:074,35['  ]| he said.
105:074,36[K  ]| "You are not tired of me?" 
105:074,36['  ]| demanded Babcock, fixing
105:074,37['  ]| him with his clear gray eye.
105:075,01[B  ]| "Why the deuce should I be? You are a very plucky
105:075,02[B  ]| fellow. Besides, I do not grow tired of things."
105:075,03[K  ]| "We do not understand each other," 
105:075,03['  ]| said the young
105:075,04['  ]| minister.
105:075,05[B  ]| "Do not I understand you?" 
105:075,05['  ]| cried Newman. 
105:075,05[B  ]| "Why,
105:075,06[B  ]| I hoped I did. But what if I do not; where is the harm?"
105:075,07[K  ]| "I do not understand \you\," 
105:075,07['  ]| said Babcock. And he sat
105:075,08['  ]| down and rested his head on$4$ his hand, and looked up$5$
105:075,09['  ]| mournfully at his immeasurable friend.
105:075,10[B  ]| "Oh Lord, I do not mind that$6#2$!" 
105:075,10['  ]| cried Newman, with
105:075,11['  ]| a laugh.
105:075,12[K  ]| "But it is very distressing to$4$ me. It keeps me in$4$ a 
105:075,13[K  ]| state of unrest. It irritates me: I can not settle anything.
105:075,14[K  ]| I do not think it is good for$4$ me."
105:075,15[B  ]| "You worry too much; that$6#2$ is what is the matter with
105:075,16[B  ]| you," 
105:075,16['  ]| said Newman.
105:075,17[K  ]| "Of course it must seem so$5#2$ to$4$ you. You think I take
105:075,18[K  ]| things too hard, and I think you take things too easily.
105:075,19[K  ]| We can never agree."
105:075,20[B  ]| "But we have agreed very well all along."
105:075,21[K  ]| "No$7$, I have not agreed," 
105:075,21['  ]| said Babcock, shaking his
105:075,22['  ]| head. 
105:075,22[K  ]| "I am very uncomfortable. I ought to$9$ have
105:075,23[K  ]| separated from you a month ago."
105:075,24[B  ]| "Oh, horrors! I will$1$ agree to$4$ anything!" 
105:075,24['  ]| cried Newman.
105:075,25['  ]| 
105:075,26['  ]| Mr%*Babcock buried his head in$4$ both hands. At last,
105:075,27['  ]| looking up$5$, 
105:075,27[K  ]| "I do not think you appreciate my position,"
105:075,28['  ]| he said. 
105:075,28[K  ]| "I try to$9$ arrive at the truth about everything.
105:075,29[K  ]| And then you go too fast. For$4$ me, you are too passionate,
105:075,30[K  ]| too extravagant. I feel as if I ought to$9$ go over all
105:075,31[K  ]| this ground we have traversed again, by$4$ myself, alone.
105:075,32[K  ]| I am afraid I have made a great many mistakes."
105:075,33[B  ]| "Oh, you need not give so$5#1$ many reasons," 
105:075,33['  ]| said Newman.
105:075,34[B  ]| "You are simply tired of my company. You
105:075,35[B  ]| have a good right to$9$ be."
105:075,36[K  ]| "No$7$, no$7$, I am not tired!" 
105:075,36['  ]| cried the pestered young
105:075,37['  ]| divine. 
105:075,37[K  ]| "It is very wrong to$9$ be tired."
105:076,01[B  ]| "I give it up$5$!" 
105:076,01['  ]| laughed Newman. 
105:076,01[B  ]| "But of course
105:076,02[B  ]| it will$1$ never do to$9$ go on$5$ making mistakes. Go your
105:076,03[B  ]| way, by$4$ all means. I shall miss you; but you have
105:076,04[B  ]| seen I make friends very easily. You will$1$ be lonely
105:076,05[B  ]| yourself; but drop me a line when you feel like$4$ it, and
105:076,06[B  ]| I will$1$ wait for$4$ you anywhere."
105:076,07[K  ]| "I think I will$1$ go back to$4$ Milan. I am afraid I did not
105:076,08[K  ]| do justice to$4$ Luini."
105:076,09[B  ]| "Poor Luini!" 
105:076,09['  ]| said Newman.
105:076,10[K  ]| "I mean that$3$ I am afraid I overestimated him. /I/
105:076,11[K  ]| do not think that$3$ he is a painter of the first rank."
105:076,12[B  ]| "Luini?" 
105:076,12['  ]| Newman exclaimed; 
105:076,12[B  ]| "why, he is enchanting
105:076,13[B  ]| ~~ he is magnificent! There is something in$4$ his genius
105:076,14[B  ]| that$6#1$ is like$4$ a beautiful woman. It gives one the same
105:076,15[B  ]| feeling."
105:076,16['  ]| Mr%*Babcock frowned and winced. And it must be
105:076,17['  ]| added that$3$ this was, for$4$ Newman, an unusually metaphysical
105:076,18['  ]| flight; but in$4$ passing through Milan he had
105:076,19['  ]| taken a great fancy to$4$ the painter. 
105:076,19[K  ]| "There you are
105:076,20[K  ]| again!" 
105:076,20['  ]| said Mr%*Babcock. 
105:076,20[K  ]| "Yes, we had better separate." 
105:076,21['  ]| And on$4$ the morrow he retraced his steps and proceeded
105:076,22['  ]| to$9$ tone down his impressions of the great Lombard
105:076,23['  ]| artist.
105:076,24['  ]| A few days afterwards Newman received a note from
105:076,25['  ]| his late companion which$6#1$ ran as follows:~~
105:076,26['  ]|
105:076,27[K  ]| "MY DEAR MR%*NEWMAN ~~ I am afraid that$3$ my
105:076,28[K  ]| conduct at Venice, a week ago, seemed to$4$ you strange
105:076,29[K  ]| and ungrateful, and I wish to$9$ explain my position, which$6#1$,
105:076,30[K  ]| as I said at the time, I do not think you appreciate. I
105:076,31[K  ]| had long had it on$4$ my mind to$9$ propose that$3$ we should
105:076,32[K  ]| part company, and this step was not really so$5#1$ abrupt as
105:076,33[K  ]| it seemed. In$4$ the first place, you know, I am travelling
105:076,34[K  ]| in$4$ Europe on$4$ funds supplied by$4$ my congregation, who$6#1$
105:076,35[K  ]| kindly offered me a vacation and an opportunity to$9$ enrich
105:076,36[K  ]| my mind with the treasures of nature and art in$4$ the Old*World.
105:076,37[K  ]| I feel therefore, as if I ought to$9$ use my time
105:077,01[K  ]| to$4$ the very best advantage. I have a high sense of responsibility.
105:077,02[K  ]| You appear to$9$ care only for$4$ the pleasure
105:077,03[K  ]| of the hour, and you give yourself up$5$ to$4$ it with a violence
105:077,04[K  ]| which$6#1$ I confess I am not able to$9$ emulate. I feel as
105:077,05[K  ]| if I must arrive at some conclusion and fix my belief on$4$
105:077,06[K  ]| certain points. Art and life seem to$4$ me intensely serious
105:077,07[K  ]| things, and in$4$ our travels in$4$ Europe we should especially
105:077,08[K  ]| remember the immense seriousness of Art. You seem to$9$
105:077,09[K  ]| hold that$3$ if a thing amuses you for$4$ the moment, that$6#2$
105:077,10[K  ]| is all you need ask for$4$ it; and your relish for$4$ mere
105:077,11[K  ]| amusement is also much higher than mine. You put,
105:077,12[K  ]| moreover, a kind of reckless confidence into your pleasure
105:077,13[K  ]| which$6#1$ at times, I confess, has seemed to$4$ me ~~ shall I say
105:077,14[K  ]| it? ~~ almost cynical. Your way, at any rate, is not my way,
105:077,15[K  ]| and it is unwise that$3$ we should attempt any longer to$9$
105:077,16[K  ]| pull together. And yet, let me add, that$3$ I know there
105:077,17[K  ]| is a great deal to$9$ be said for$4$ your way; I have felt its
105:077,18[K  ]| attraction, in$4$ your society, very strongly. But for$4$ this
105:077,19[K  ]| I should have left you long ago. But I was so$5#1$ perplexed.
105:077,20[K  ]| I hope I have not done wrong. I feel as if I had a great
105:077,21[K  ]| deal of lost time to$9$ make up$5$. I beg you to$9$ take all this as
105:077,22[K  ]| I mean it, which$6#1$, heaven knows, is not invidiously. I
105:077,23[K  ]| have a great personal esteem for$4$ you, and hope that$3$ some
105:077,24[K  ]| day, when I have recovered my balance, we shall meet
105:077,25[K  ]| again. I hope you will$1$ continue to$9$ enjoy your travels;
105:077,26[K  ]| only \do\ remember that$3$ Life and Art \are\ extremely serious.
105:077,27[K  ]| Believe me your sincere friend and well-wisher,
105:077,28[K  ]| "BENJAMIN*BABCOCK.
105:077,29[K  ]| "P%S% ~~ I am greatly perplexed by$4$ Luini."
105:077,30['  ]| 
105:077,31['  ]| This letter produced in$4$ Newman's mind a singular
105:077,32['  ]| mixture of exhilaration and awe. At first, Mr%*Babcock's
105:077,33['  ]| tender conscience seemed to$4$ him a capital farce, and his
105:077,34['  ]| travelling back to$4$ Milan only to$9$ get into a deeper muddle
105:077,35['  ]| appeared, as the reward of his pedantry, exquisitely and
105:077,36['  ]| ludicrously just. Then Newman reflected that$3$ 
105:077,36@b   | these are
105:077,37@b   | mighty mysteries; that$3$ possibly he himself was indeed
105:078,01@b   | that$6#2$ baleful and barely mentionable thing, a cynic, and
105:078,02@b   | that$3$ his manner of considering the treasures of art and
105:078,03@b   | the privileges of life was probably very base and immoral.
105:078,04['  ]| Newman had a great contempt for$4$ immorality, and that$6#2$
105:078,05['  ]| evening, for$4$ a good half-hour, as he sat watching the
105:078,06['  ]| star sheen on$4$ the warm Adriatic, he felt rebuked and depressed.
105:078,07['  ]| He was at a loss how to$9$ answer Babcock's letter.
105:078,08['  ]| His good-nature checked his resenting the young minister's
105:078,09['  ]| lofty admonitions, and his tough, inelastic sense of
105:078,10['  ]| humour forbade his taking them seriously. He wrote no$2$
105:078,11['  ]| answer at all, but a day or two afterward he found in$4$ a 
105:078,12['  ]| curiosity shop a grotesque little statuette in$4$ ivory, of the
105:078,13['  ]| sixteenth century, which$6#1$ he sent off to$4$ Babcock, without
105:078,14['  ]| a commentary. It represented a gaunt, ascetic-looking
105:078,15['  ]| monk, in$4$ a tattered gown and cowl, kneeling with clasped
105:078,16['  ]| hands and pulling a portentously long face. It was a 
105:078,17['  ]| wonderfully delicate piece of carving, and in$4$ a moment,
105:078,18['  ]| through one of the rents of his gown, you espied a fat
105:078,19['  ]| capon hung round the monk's waist. In$4$ Newman's intention
105:078,20['  ]| what did the figure symbolise? Did it mean that$3$
105:078,21['  ]| he was going to$9$ try to$9$ be as "high-toned" as the monk
105:078,22['  ]| looked at first, but that$3$ he feared he should succeed no$2$
105:078,23['  ]| better than the friar, on$4$ a closer inspection, proved to$9$
105:078,24['  ]| have done? It is not supposable that$3$ he intended a
105:078,25['  ]| satire upon$4$ Babcock's own asceticism, for$3$ this would
105:078,26['  ]| have been a truly cynical stroke. He made his late companion,
105:078,27['  ]| at any rate, a very valuable little present.
105:078,28['  ]| Newman, on$4$ leaving Venice, went through the Tyrol
105:078,29['  ]| to$4$ Vienna, and then returned westward, through Southern*Germany.
105:078,30['  ]| The autumn found him at Baden-Baden,
105:078,31['  ]| where he spent several weeks. The place was charming,
105:078,32['  ]| and he was in$4$ no$2$ hurry to$9$ depart; besides, he was looking
105:078,33['  ]| about him and deciding what to$9$ do for$4$ the winter.
105:078,34['  ]| His summer had been very full, and as he sat under the
105:078,35['  ]| great trees beside the miniature river that$6#1$ trickles past
105:078,36['  ]| the Baden flower-beds, he slowly rummaged it over.
105:078,37@b   | He had seen and done a great deal, enjoyed and
105:079,01@b   | observed a great deal; he felt older, and yet he felt
105:079,02@b   | younger too. He remembered Mr%*Babcock and his
105:079,03@b   | desire to$9$ form conclusions, and he remembered also that$3$
105:079,04@b   | he had profited very little by$4$ his friend's exhortation to$9$
105:079,05@b   | cultivate the same respectable habit. Could he not 
105:079,06@b   | scrape together a few conclusions? Baden-Baden was
105:079,07@b   | the prettiest place he had seen yet, and orchestral music
105:079,08@b   | in$4$ the evening, under the stars, was decidedly a great
105:079,09@b   | institution. 
105:079,09['  ]| This was one of his conclusions! But he  
105:079,10['  ]| went on$5$ to$9$ reflect that$3$ 
105,079,10@b   | he had done very wisely to$9$ pull
105:079,11@b   | up$5$ stakes and come abroad; this seeing of the world
105:079,12@b   | was a very interesting thing. He had learned a great
105:079,13@b   | deal; he could not say just what, but he had it there
105:079,14@b   | under his hat-band. He had done what he wanted; he
105:079,15@b   | had seen the great things, and he had given his mind a
105:079,16@b   | chance to$9$ "improve," if it would. 
105:079,16['  ]| He cheerfully believed
105:079,17['  ]| that$3$ 
105:079,17@b   | it had improved. Yes, this seeing of the
105:079,18@b   | world was very pleasant, and he would willingly do a
105:079,19@b   | little more of it.  Thirty-six years old as he was, he had
105:079,20@b   | a handsome stretch of life before him yet, and he need
105:079,21@b   | not begin to$9$ count his weeks. Where should he take
105:079,22@b   | the world next? 
105:079,22['  ]| I have said he remembered the eyes
105:079,23['  ]| of the lady whom he had found standing in$4$ Mrs%*Tristram's
105:079,24['  ]| drawing-room; four months had elapsed, and he
105:079,25['  ]| had not forgotten them yet. He had looked ~~ he had
105:079,26['  ]| made a point of looking ~~ into a great many other eyes
105:079,27['  ]| in$4$ the interval, but the only ones he thought of now
105:079,28['  ]| were Madame*de*Cintre='s. 
105:079,28@b   | If he wanted to$9$ see more of
105:079,29@b   | the world, should he find it in$4$ Madame*de*Cintre='s eyes?
105:079,30@b   | He would certainly find something there, call it this
105:079,31@b   | world or the next. 
105:079,31['  ]| Throughout these rather formless
105:079,32['  ]| meditations he sometimes thought of his past life and
105:079,33['  ]| the long array of years (they had begun so$5#1$ early) during
105:079,34['  ]| which$6#1$ he had had nothing in$4$ his head but "enterprise."
105:079,35['  ]| they seemed far away now, for$4$ his present attitude was
105:079,36['  ]| more than a holiday, it was almost a rupture. He had
105:079,37['  ]| told Tristram that$3$ 
105:079,37@b   | the pendulum was swinging back,
105:080,01@b   | and it appeared that$3$ the backward swing had not yet
105:080,02@b   | ended. 
105:080,02['  ]| Still "enterprise," which$6#1$ was over in$4$ the other
105:080,03['  ]| quarter, wore to$4$ his mind a different aspect at different
105:080,04['  ]| hours. In$4$ its train a thousand forgotten episodes came
105:080,05['  ]| trooping back into his memory. Some of them he
105:080,06['  ]| looked complacently enough in$4$ the face; from some he
105:080,07['  ]| averted his head. They were old efforts, old exploits,
105:080,08['  ]| antiquated examples of "smartness" and sharpness.
105:080,09['  ]| Some of them, as he looked at them, he felt decidedly
105:080,10['  ]| proud of; he admired himself as if he had been looking
105:080,11['  ]| at another man. And, in$4$ fact, many of the qualities
105:080,12['  ]| that$6#1$ make a great deed were there; the decision, the resolution,
105:080,13['  ]| the courage, the celerity, the clear eye, and the
105:080,14['  ]| strong hand. Of certain other achievements it would be
105:080,15['  ]| going too far to$9$ say that$3$ he was ashamed of them, for$3$
105:080,16['  ]| Newman had never had a stomach for$4$ dirty work. He
105:080,17['  ]| was blessed with a natural impulse to$9$ disfigure with a
105:080,18['  ]| direct, unreasoning blow the comely visage of temptation.
105:080,19['  ]| And, certainly, in$4$ no$2$ man could a want of integrity have
105:080,20['  ]| been less excusable. Newman knew the crooked from
105:080,21['  ]| the straight at a glance, and the former had cost him,
105:080,22['  ]| first and last, a great many moments of lively disgust.
105:080,23['  ]| But none the less some of his memories seemed to$9$ wear
105:080,24['  ]| at present a rather graceless and sordid mien, and it
105:080,25['  ]| struck him that$3$ if he had never done anything very ugly,
105:080,26['  ]| he had never, on$4$ the other hand, done anything particularly
105:080,27['  ]| beautiful. He had spent his years in$4$ the unremitting
105:080,28['  ]| effort to$9$ add thousands to$4$ thousands, and, now that$3$
105:080,29['  ]| he stood well outside of it, the business of money-getting
105:080,30['  ]| appeared extremely dry and sterile. It is very well to$9$
105:080,31['  ]| sneer at money-getting after you have filled your pockets,
105:080,32['  ]| and Newman, it may be said, should have begun somewhat
105:080,33['  ]| earlier to$9$ moralise thus delicately. To$4$ this it may
105:080,34['  ]| be answered that$3$ he might have made another fortune,
105:080,35['  ]| if he chose; and we ought to$9$ add that$3$ he was not exactly
105:080,36['  ]| moralising. It had come back to$4$ him simply that$3$ 
105:080,36@b   | what
105:080,37@b   | he had been looking at all the summer was a very rich
105:081,01@b   | and beautiful world, and that$3$ it had not all been made
105:081,02@b   | by$4$ sharp railroad men and stockbrokers.
105:081,03['  ]| During his stay at Baden-Baden he received a letter
105:081,04['  ]| from Mrs%*Tristram, scolding him for$4$ the scanty tidings
105:081,05['  ]| he had sent to$4$ his friends of the Avenue*d'Ie=na, and
105:081,06['  ]| begging to$9$ 
105:081,06@i   | be definitely informed that$3$ he had not concocted
105:081,07@i   | any horrid scheme for$4$ wintering in$4$ outlying
105:081,08@i   | regions, but was coming back sanely and promptly to$4$
105:081,09@i   | the most comfortable city in$4$ the world. 
105:081,09['  ]| Newman's
105:081,10['  ]| answer ran as follows:~~
105:081,11['  ]| 
105:081,12[B  ]| "I suppose you knew I was a miserable letter-writer,
105:081,13[B  ]| and did not expect anything of me. I do not think I have
105:081,14[B  ]| written twenty letters of pure friendship in$4$ my whole
105:081,15[B  ]| life; in$4$ American I conducted my correspondence altogether
105:081,16[B  ]| by$4$ telegrams. This is a letter of pure friendship;
105:081,17[B  ]| you have got hold of a curiosity, and I hope you will$1$
105:081,18[B  ]| value it. You want to$9$ know everything that$6#1$ has happened
105:081,19[B  ]| to$4$ me these three months. The best way to$9$ tell
105:081,20[B  ]| you, I think, would be to$9$ send you my half-dozen guide-books,
105:081,21[B  ]| with my pencil-marks in$4$ the margin. Wherever
105:081,22[B  ]| you find a scratch, or a cross, or a ""Beautiful!"" or a ""So$5#1$ 
105:081,23[B  ]| true!"" or a ""Too thin!"" you may know that$3$ I have had
105:081,24[B  ]| a sensation of some sort or other. That$6#2$ has been about
105:081,25[B  ]| my history ever since I left you. Belgium, Holland,
105:081,26[B  ]| Switzerland, Germany, Italy ~~ I have been through the
105:081,27[B  ]| whole list, and I do not think I am any the worse for$4$ it.
105:081,28[B  ]| I know more about Madonnas and church steeples than
105:081,29[B  ]| I supposed any man could. I have seen some very
105:081,30[B  ]| pretty things, and shall perhaps talk them over this
105:081,31[B  ]| winter by$4$ your fireside. You see, my face is not altogether
105:081,32[B  ]| set against Paris. I have had all kinds of plans
105:081,33[B  ]| and visions, but your letter has blown most of them
105:081,34[B  ]| away. ""\9L'appe=tit 9vient 9en 9mangeant\,"" says the French
105:081,35[B  ]| proverb, and I find that$3$ the more I see of the world the
105:081,36[B  ]| more I want to$9$ see. Now that$3$ I am in$4$ the shafts, why
105:081,37[B  ]| should not I trot to$4$ the end of the course? Sometimes I
105:082,01[B  ]| think of the far East, and keep rolling the names of
105:082,02[B  ]| Eastern cities under my tongue; Damascus and Bagdad,
105:082,03[B  ]| Medina and Mecca. I spent a week last month in$4$ the
105:082,04[B  ]| company of a returned missionary, who$6#1$ told me I ought
105:082,05[B  ]| to$9$ be ashamed to$9$ be loafing about Europe when there
105:082,06[B  ]| are such big things to$9$ be seen out there. I do want to$9$
105:082,07[B  ]| explore, but I think I would rather explore over in$4$ the
105:082,08[B  ]| Rue*de*l'Universite=. Do you ever hear from that$6#2$ pretty
105:082,09[B  ]| lady? If you can get her to$9$ promise she will$1$ be at
105:082,10[B  ]| home the next time I call, I will$1$ go back to$4$ Paris
105:082,11[B  ]| straight. I am more than ever in$4$ the state of mind I
105:082,12[B  ]| told you about that$6#2$ evening; I want a first-class wife.
105:082,13[B  ]| I have kept an eye on$4$ all the pretty girls I have come
105:082,14[B  ]| across this summer, but none of them came up$5$ to$4$ my
105:082,15[B  ]| notion, or anywhere near it. I should have enjoyed all
105:082,16[B  ]| this a thousand times more if I had had the lady just
105:082,17[B  ]| mentioned by$4$ my side. The nearest approach to$4$ her
105:082,18[B  ]| was a Unitarian minister from Boston, who$6#1$ very soon
105:082,19[B  ]| demanded a separation, for$4$ incompatibility of temper.
105:082,20[B  ]| He told me I was low-minded, immoral, a devotee of
105:082,21[B  ]| ""art for$4$ art"" ~~ whatever that$6#2$ is: all of which$6#1$ greatly
105:082,22[B  ]| afflicted me, for$3$ he was really a sweet little fellow. But
105:082,23[B  ]| shortly afterwards I met an Englishman, with whom I
105:082,24[B  ]| struck up$5$ an acquaintance which$6#1$ at first seemed to$9$ promise
105:082,25[B  ]| well ~~ a very bright man, who$6#1$ writes in$4$ the London
105:082,26[B  ]| papers and knows Paris nearly as well as Tristram. We
105:082,27[B  ]| knocked about for$4$ a week together, but he very soon
105:082,28[B  ]| gave me up$5$ in$4$ disgust. I was too virtuous by$4$ half; I
105:082,29[B  ]| was too stern a moralist. He told me, in$4$ a friendly
105:082,30[B  ]| way, that$3$ I was cursed with a conscience; that$3$ I judged
105:082,31[B  ]| things like$4$ a Methodist, and talked about them like$4$ an
105:082,32[B  ]| old lady. This was rather bewildering. Which$6#2$ of my
105:082,33[B  ]| two critics was I to$9$ believe? I did not worry about it,
105:082,34[B  ]| and very soon made up$5$ my mind they were both idiots.
105:082,35[B  ]| But there is one thing in$4$ which$6#1$ no*one will$1$ ever have
105:082,36[B  ]| the impudence to$9$ pretend I am wrong, that$6#2$ is, in$4$ being
105:082,37[B  ]| your faithful friend, C%*N%"
106:083,01['  ]| Newman gave up$5$ Damascus and Bagdad and returned
106:083,02['  ]| to$4$ Paris before the autumn was over. He establshed
106:083,03['  ]| himself in$4$ some rooms selected for$4$ him by$4$ Tom*Tristram,
106:083,04['  ]| in$4$ accordance with the latter's estimate of what he called
106:083,05['  ]| his social position. When Newman learned that$3$ his
106:083,06['  ]| social position was to$9$ be taken into account, he professed
106:083,07['  ]| himself utterly incompetent, and begged Tristram to$9$
106:083,08@b   | relieve him of the care. 
106:083,08[B  ]| "I did not know I had a social
106:083,09[B  ]| position," 
106:083,09['  ]| he said, 
106:083,09[B  ]| "and if I have, I have not the smallest
106:083,10[B  ]| idea what it is. Is not a social position knowing some
106:083,11[B  ]| two or three thousand people and inviting them to$4$ dinner?
106:083,12[B  ]| I know you and your wife and little old Mr%*Nioche,
106:083,13[B  ]| who$6#1$ gave me French lessons last spring. Can I invite
106:083,14[B  ]| you to$4$ dinner to$9$ meet each other? If I can, you must
106:083,15[B  ]| come to-morrow."
106:083,16[I  ]| "That$6#2$ is not very grateful to$4$ me," 
106:083,16['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram,
106:083,17[I  ]| "who$6#1$ introduced you last year to$4$ every creature I
106:083,18[I  ]| know."
106:083,19[B  ]| "So$5#2$ you did; I had quite forgotten. But I thought
106:083,20[B  ]| you wanted me to$9$ forget," 
106:083,20['  ]| said Newman, with that$6#2$ tone
106:083,21['  ]| of simple deliberateness which$6#1$ frequently marked his
106:083,22['  ]| utterance, and which$6#1$ an observer would not have known
106:083,23['  ]| whether to$9$ pronounce a somewhat mysteriously humorous
106:083,24['  ]| affectation of ignorance or a modest aspiration to$4$ knowledge;
106:083,25[B  ]| "you told me you disliked them all."
106:083,26[I  ]| "Ah, the way you remember what I say is at least
106:083,27[I  ]| very flattering. But in$4$ future," 
106:083,27['  ]| added Mrs%*Tristram,
106:083,28[I  ]| "pray forget all the wicked things, and remember only
106:083,29[I  ]| the good ones. It will$1$ be easily done, and it will$1$ not
106:083,30[I  ]| fatigue your memory. But I forewarn you that$3$ if you
106:083,31[I  ]| trust my husband to$9$ pick out your rooms you are in$5$ for$4$
106:083,32[I  ]| something hideous."
106:083,33[H  ]| "Hideous, darling?" 
106:083,33['  ]| cried Tristram.
106:084,01[I  ]| "To-day I must say nothing wicked; otherwise I
106:084,02[I  ]| should use stronger language."
106:084,03[H  ]| "What do you think she would say, Newman?"
106:084,04['  ]| asked Tristram. 
106:084,04[H  ]| "If she really tried, now? She can
106:084,05[H  ]| express displeasure, volubly, in$4$ two or three languages;
106:084,06[H  ]| that$6#2$ is what it is to$9$ be intellectual. It gives her the start
106:084,07[H  ]| of me completely, for$3$ I can not swear, for$4$ the life of me,
106:084,08[H  ]| except in$4$ English. When I get mad I have to$9$ fall back
106:084,09[H  ]| on$4$ our dear old mother tongue. There is nothing like$4$ it,
106:084,10[H  ]| after all."
106:084,11['  ]| Newman declared that$3$ 
106:084,11@b   | he knew nothing about tables
106:084,12@b   | and chairs, and that$3$ he would accept, in$4$ the way of a 
106:084,13@b   | lodging, with his eyes shut, anything that$6#1$ Tristram should
106:084,14@b   | offer him. 
106:084,14['  ]| This was partly pure veracity on$4$ our hero's
106:084,15['  ]| part, but it was also partly charity. He knew that$3$ to$9$
106:084,16@b   | pry about and look at rooms, and make people open
106:084,17@b   | windows, and poke into sofas with his cane, and gossip
106:084,18@b   | with landladies, and ask who$6#1$ lived above and who$6#1$ below
106:084,19['  ]| ~~ he knew that$3$ 
106:084,19@b   | this was of all pastimes the dearest to$4$
106:084,20@b   | Tristram's heart, 
106:084,20['  ]| and he felt the more disposed to$9$ put
106:084,21['  ]| it in$4$ his way as he was conscious that$3$, as regards his
106:084,22['  ]| obliging friend, he had suffered the warmth of ancient
106:084,23['  ]| good fellowship somewhat to$9$ abate. Besides, he had no$2$
106:084,24['  ]| taste for$4$ upholstery; he had even no$2$ very exquisite sense
106:084,25['  ]| of comfort or convenience. He had a relish for$4$ luxury
106:084,26['  ]| and splendour, but it was satisfied by$4$ rather gross contrivances.
106:084,27['  ]| He scarcely knew a hard chair from a soft
106:084,28['  ]| one, and he possessed a talent for$4$ stretching his legs
106:084,29['  ]| which$6#1$ quite dispensed with adventitious facilities. His
106:084,30['  ]| idea of comfort was to$9$ inhabit very large rooms, have a 
106:084,31['  ]| great many of them, and be conscious of their possessing
106:084,32['  ]| a number of patented mechanical devices ~~ half of which$6#1$
106:084,33['  ]| he should never have occasion to$9$ use. The apartments
106:084,34['  ]| should be light and brilliant and lofty; he had once
106:084,35['  ]| said that$3$ 
106:084,35@b   | he liked rooms in$4$ which$6#1$ you wanted to$9$ keep
106:084,36@b   | your hat on$5$. 
106:084,36['  ]| For$4$ the rest, he was satisfied with the
106:084,37['  ]| assurance of any respectable person that$3$ everything was
106:085,01['  ]| "handsome." Tristram accordingly secured for$4$ him an
106:085,02['  ]| apartment to$4$ which$6#1$ this epithet might be lavishly applied.
106:085,03['  ]| It was situated on$4$ the Boulevard*Haussmann, on$4$ a first
106:085,04['  ]| floor, and consisted of a series of rooms, gilded from floor
106:085,05['  ]| to$4$ ceiling a foot thick, draped in$4$ various light shades of
106:085,06['  ]| satin, and chiefly furnished with mirrors and clocks.
106:085,07['  ]| Newman thought them magnificent, thanked Tristram
106:085,08['  ]| heartily, immediately took possession, and had one of his
106:085,09['  ]| trunks standing for$4$ three months in$4$ his drawing-room.
106:085,10['  ]| One day Mrs%*Tristram told him that$3$ 
106:085,10@i   | her beautiful
106:085,11@i   | friend, Madame*de*Cintre=, had returned from the country;
106:085,12@i   | that$3$ she had met her three days before, coming out of
106:085,13@i   | the Church*of*St%*Sulpice; she herself having journeyed
106:085,14@i   | to$4$ that$6#2$ distant quarter in$4$ quest of an obscure lace-mender,
106:085,15@i   | of whose skill she had heard high praise.
106:085,16[B  ]| "And how were those eyes?" 
106;085,16['  ]| Newman asked.
106:085,17[I  ]| "Those eyes were red with weeping, if you please!"
106:085,18['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram. 
106:085,18[I  ]| "She had been to$4$ confession."
106:085,19[B  ]| "It does not tally with your account of her," 
106:085,19['  ]| said
106:085,20['  ]| Newman, 
106:085,20[B  ]| "that$3$ she should have sins to$9$ confess."
106:085,21[I  ]| "They were not sins; they were sufferings."
106:085,22[B  ]| "How do you know that$6#2$?"
106:085,23[I  ]| "She asked me to$9$ come and see her; I went this
106:085,24[I  ]| morning."
106:085,25[B  ]| "And what does she suffer from?"
106:085,26[I  ]| "I did not ask her. With her, somehow, one is very
106:085,27[I  ]| discreet. But I guessed easily enough. She suffers
106:085,28[I  ]| from her wicked old mother and her Grand*Turk of a
106:085,29[I  ]| brother. They persecute her. But I can almost forgive
106:085,30[I  ]| them, because, as I told you, she is a saint, and a persecution
106:085,31[I  ]| is all that$6#1$ she needs to$9$ bring out her saintliness
106:085,32[I  ]| and make her perfect."
106:085,33[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is a comfortable theory for$4$ her. I hope you
106:085,34[B  ]| will$1$ never impart it to$4$ the old folks. Why does she let
106:085,35[B  ]| them bully her? Is she not her own mistress?"
106:085,36[I  ]| "Legally, yes, I suppose; but morally, no$7$. In$4$ France
106:085,37[I  ]| you must never say Nay to$4$ your mother, whatever she
106:086,01[I  ]| requires of you. She may be the most abominable old
106:086,02[I  ]| woman in$4$ the world, and make your life a purgatory;
106:086,03[I  ]| but after all, she is \9ma 9me`re\, and you have no$2$ right to$9$
106:086,04[I  ]| judge her. You have simply to$9$ obey. The thing has a
106:086,05[I  ]| fine side to$4$ it. Madame*de*Cintre= bows her head and
106:086,06[I  ]| folds her wings."
106:086,07[B  ]| "can not she at least make her brother leave off?"
106:086,08[I  ]| "Her brother is the \9chef 9de 9la 9famille\, as they say;
106:086,09[I  ]| he is the head of the clan. With those people the family
106:086,10[I  ]| is everything; you must act, not for$4$ your own pleasure,
106:086,11[I  ]| but for$4$ the advantage of the family."
106:086,12[H  ]| "I wonder what \my\ family would like$1$ me to$9$ do!"
106:086,13['  ]| exclaimed Tristram.
106:086,14[H  ]| "I wish you had one!" 
106:086,14['  ]| said his wife.
106:086,15[B  ]| "But what do they want to$9$ get out of that$6#2$ poor lady?"
106:086,16['  ]| Newman asked.
106:086,17[I  ]| "Another marriage. They are not rich, and they
106:086,18[I  ]| want to$9$ bring more money into the family."
106:086,19[H  ]| "There is your chance, my boy!" 
106:086,19['  ]| said Tristram.
106:086,20[B  ]| "And Madame*de*Cintre= objects," 
106:086,20['  ]| Newman continued.
106:086,21[I  ]| "She has been sold once; she naturally objects to$4$
106:086,22[I  ]| being sold again. It appears that$3$ the first time they
106:086,23[I  ]| made rather a poor bargain; M%*de*Cintre= left a scanty
106:086,24[I  ]| property."
106:086,25[B  ]| "And to$4$ whom do they want to$9$ marry her now?"
106:086,26[I  ]| "I thought it best not to$9$ ask; but you may be sure
106:086,27[I  ]| it is to$4$ some horrid old nabob, or to$4$ some dissipated
106:086,28[I  ]| little duke."
106:086,29[H  ]| "There is Mrs%*Tristram, as large as life!" 
106:086,29['  ]| cried her
106:086,30['  ]| husband. 
106:086,30[H  ]| "Observe the richness of her imagination.
106:086,31[H  ]| She has not asked a single question ~~ it is vulgar to$9$ ask
106:086,32[H  ]| questions ~~ and yet she knows everything. She has
106:086,33[H  ]| the history of Madame*de*Cintre='s marriage at her fingers'
106:086,34[H  ]| ends. She has seen the lovely Claire on$4$ her knees, with
106:086,35[H  ]| loosened tresses and streaming eyes, and the rest of them
106:086,36[H  ]| standing over her with spikes and goads and red-hot 
106:086,37[H  ]| irons, ready to$9$ come down on$4$ her if she refuses the tipsy
106:087,01[H  ]| duke. The simple truth is that$3$ they have made a
106:087,02[H  ]| fuss about her milliner's bill or refused her an opera
106:087,03[H  ]| box."
106:087,04['  ]| Newman looked from Tristram to$4$ his wife with a 
106:087,05['  ]| certain mistrust in$4$ each direction. 
106:087,05[B  ]| "Do you really
106:087,06[B  ]| mean," 
106:087,06['  ]| he asked of Mrs%*Tristram, 
106:087,06[B  ]| "that$3$ your friend is
106:087,07[B  ]| being forced into an unhappy marriage?"
106:087,08[I  ]| "I think it extremely probable. Those people are
106:087,09[I  ]| very capable of that$6#2$ sort of thing."
106:087,10[B  ]| "It is like$4$ something in$4$ a play," 
106:087,10['  ]| said Newman;
106:087,11[B  ]| "that$6#2$ dark old house over there looks as if wicked things
106:087,12[B  ]| had been done in$4$ it, and might be done again."
106:087,13[I  ]| "They have a still darker old house in$4$ the country,
106:087,14[I  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= tells me, and there, during the
106:087,15[I  ]| summer, this scheme must have been hatched."
106:087,16[H  ]| "\Must\ have been; mind that$6#2$!" 
106:087,16['  ]| said Tristram.
106:087,17[B  ]| "After all," 
106:087,17['  ]| suggested Newman, after a silence, 
106:087,17[B  ]| "she
106:087,18[B  ]| may be in$4$ trouble about something else."
106:087,19[I  ]| "If it is something else, then it is something worse,"
106:087,20['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, with rich decision.
106:087,21['  ]| Newman was silent a while, and seemed lost in$4$ meditation.
106:087,22[B  ]| "Is it possible," 
106:087,22['  ]| he asked at last, 
106:087,22[B  ]| "that$3$ they do
106:087,23[B  ]| that$6#2$ sort of thing over here? that$3$ helpless women are
106:087,24[B  ]| bullied into marrying men they hate?"
106:087,25[I  ]| "Helpless women, all over the world, have a hard
106:087,26['  ]| time of it," 
106:087,26['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram. 
106:087,26[I  ]| "There is plenty of
106:087,27[I  ]| bullying everywhere."
106:087,28[H  ]| "A great deal of that$6#2$ kind goes on$4$ in$4$ New*York,"
106:087,29['  ]| said Tristram. 
106:087,29[H  ]| "Girls are bullied or coaxed or bribed,
106:087,30[H  ]| or all three together, into marrying nasty fellows. There
106:087,31[H  ]| is no$2$ end of that$6#2$ always going on$5$ in$4$ the Fifth*Avenue,
106:087,32[H  ]| and other bad things besides. The Mysteries of the
106:087,33[H  ]| Fifth*Avenue! Some*one ought to$9$ show them up$5$."
106:087,34[B  ]| "I do not believe it!" 
106:087,34['  ]| said Newman, very gravely.
106:087,35[B  ]| "I do not believe that$6#2$, in$4$ America, girls are ever subjected
106:087,36[B  ]| to$4$ compulsion. I do not believe there have been a dozen
106:087,37[B  ]| cases of it since the country began."
106:088,01[H  ]| "Listen to$4$ the voice of the spread eagle!" 
106:088,01['  ]| cried
106:088,02['  ]| Tristram.
106:088,03[I  ]| "The spread eagle ought to$9$ use his wings," 
106:088,03['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram.
106:088,04[I  ]| "Fly to$4$ the rescue of Madame*de*Cintre=!"
106:088,05[B  ]| "To$4$ her rescue?"
106:088,06[I  ]| "Pounce down, seize her in$4$ your talons, and carry her
106:088,07[I  ]| off. Marry her yourself."
106:088,08['  ]| Newman, for$4$ some moments, answered nothing; but
106:088,09['  ]| presently, 
106:088,09[B  ]| "I should suppose she had heard enough of
106:088,10['  ]| marrying," 
106:088,10['  ]| he said. 
106:088,10[B  ]| "The kindest way to$9$ treat her
106:088,11[B  ]| would be to$9$ admire her, and yet never to$9$ speak of it. But
106:088,12[B  ]| that$6#2$ sort of thing is infamous," 
106:088,12['  ]| he added; 
106:088,12[B  ]| "it makes me
106:088,13[B  ]| feel savage to$9$ hear of it."
106:088,14['  ]| He heard of it, however, more than once afterward.
106:088,15['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram again saw Madame*de*Cintre=, and again
106:088,16['  ]| found her looking very sad. But on$4$ these occasions there
106:088,17['  ]| had been no$2$ tears; her beautiful eyes were clear and
106:088,18['  ]| still. 
106:088,18[I  ]| "She is cold, calm, and hopeless," 
106:088,18['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram
106:088,19['  ]| declared, and she added that$3$ 
106:088,19@i   | on$4$ her mentioning that$3$ her
106:088,20@i   | friend Mr%*Newman was again in$4$ Paris, and was faithful
106:088,21@i   | in$4$ his desire to$9$ make Madame*de*Cintre='s acquaintance,
106:088,22@i   | this lovely woman had found a smile in$4$ her despair, and
106:088,23@i   | declared that$3$ she was sorry to$9$ have missed his visit in$4$
106:088,24@i   | the spring, and that$3$ she hoped he had not lost courage.
106:088,25[I  ]| "I told her something about you," 
106:088,25['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram.
106:088,26[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is a comfort," 
106:088,26['  ]| said Newman, placidly. 
106:088,26[B  ]| "I like$1$
106:088,27[B  ]| people to$9$ know about me."
106:088,28['  ]| A few days after this, one dusky autumn afternoon, he
106:088,29['  ]| went again to$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite=. The early evening
106:088,30['  ]| had closed in$5$ as he applied for$4$ admittance at the stoutly-guarded
106:088,31['  ]| Ho^tel*de*Bellegarde. He was told that$3$ 
106:088,31@x   | Madame*de*Cintre=
106:088,32@x   | was at home; 
106:088,32['  ]| he crossed the court, entered
106:088,33['  ]| the farther door, and was conducted through a vestibule,
106:088,34['  ]| vast, dim, and cold, up$4$ a broad stone staircase with an
106:088,35['  ]| ancient iron balustrade, to$4$ an apartment on$4$ the second
106:088,36['  ]| floor. Announced and ushered in$5$, he found himself in$4$ a
106:088,37['  ]| sort of panelled boudoir, at one end of which$6#1$ a lady and
106:089,01['  ]| gentleman were seated before the fire. The gentleman
106:089,02['  ]| was smoking a cigarette; there was no$2$ light in$4$ the room
106:089,03['  ]| save that$6#2$ of a couple of candles and the glow from the
106:089,04['  ]| hearth. Both persons rose to$9$ welcome Newman, who$6#1$,
106:089,05['  ]| in$4$ the firelight, recognised Madame*de*Cintre=. She gave
106:089,06['  ]| him her hand with a smile which$6#1$ seemed in$4$ itself an
106:089,07['  ]| illumination, and, pointing to$4$ her companion, said softly,
106:089,08[A  ]| "My brother." 
106:089,08['  ]| The gentleman offered Newman a frank,
106:089,09['  ]| friendly greeting, and our hero then perceived him to$9$ be
106:089,10['  ]| the young man who$6#1$ had spoken to$4$ him in$4$ the court of
106:089,11['  ]| the hotel in$4$ his former visit and who$6#1$ had struck him as
106:089,12['  ]| a good fellow.
106:089,13[A  ]| "Mrs%*Tristram has spoken to$4$ me a great deal of
106:089,14[A  ]| you," 
106:089,14['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre= gently, as she resumed her
106:089,15['  ]| former place.
106:089,16['  ]| Newman, after he had seated himself, began to$9$ consider
106:089,17['  ]| what, in$4$ truth, was his errand. He had an unusual,
106:089,18['  ]| unexpected sense of having wandered into a strange
106:089,19['  ]| corner of the world. He was not given, as a general
106:089,20['  ]| thing, to$4$ anticipating danger, or forecasting disaster, and
106:089,21['  ]| he had had no$2$ social tremors on$4$ this particular occasion.
106:089,22['  ]| He was not timid and he was not impudent. He felt
106:089,23['  ]| too kindly toward himself to$9$ be the one, and too good-naturedly
106:089,24['  ]| toward the rest of the world to$9$ be the other.
106:089,25['  ]| But his native shrewdness sometimes placed his ease of
106:089,26['  ]| temper at its mercy; with every disposition to$9$ take things
106:089,27['  ]| simply, it was obliged to$9$ perceive that$3$ some things were
106:089,28['  ]| not so$5#1$ simple as others. He felt as one does in$4$ missing
106:089,29['  ]| a step, in$4$ an ascent, where one expected to$9$ find it. 
106:089,29@b   | This
106:089,30@b   | strange, pretty woman, sitting in$4$ fireside talk with her
106:089,31@b   | brother, in$4$ the gray depths of her inhospitable-looking
106:089,32@b   | house ~~ what had he to$9$ say to$4$ her? She seemed enveloped
106:089,33@b   | in$4$ a sort of fantastic privacy; on$4$ what grounds had
106:089,34@b   | he pulled away the curtain? 
106:089,34['  ]| For$4$ a moment he felt as if
106:089,35['  ]| he had plunged into some medium as deep as the ocean,
106:089,36['  ]| and as if he must exert himself to$9$ keep from sinking.
106:089,37['  ]| Meanwhile he was looking at Madame*de*Cintre=, and
106:090,01['  ]| she was settling herself in$4$ her chair and drawing in$4$ her
106:090,02['  ]| long dress and turning her face towards him. Their eyes
106:090,03['  ]| met; a moment afterwards she looked away and motioned
106:090,04['  ]| to$4$ her brother to$9$ put a log on$4$ the fire. But the moment,
106:090,05['  ]| and the glance which$6#1$ traversed it, had been sufficient to$9$
106:090,06['  ]| relieve Newman of the first and the last fit of personal
106:090,07['  ]| embarrassment he was ever to$9$ know. He performed the
106:090,08['  ]| movement which$6#1$ was so$5#1$ frequent with him, and which$6#1$
106:090,09['  ]| was always a sort of symbol of his taking mental possession
106:090,10['  ]| of a scene ~~ he extended his legs. The impression
106:090,11['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= had made upon$4$ him on$4$ their first
106:090,12['  ]| meeting came back in$4$ an instant; it had been deeper
106:090,13['  ]| than he knew. 
106:090,13@b   | She was pleasing, she was interesting;
106:090,14@b   | he had opened a book, and the first lines held his
106:090,15@b   | attention.
106:090,16['  ]| She asked him several questions: 
106:090,16@a   | how lately he had
106:090,17@a   | seen Mrs%*Tristram, how long he had been in$4$ Paris, how
106:090,18@a   | long he expected to$9$ remain there, how he liked it. 
106:090,18['  ]| She
106:090,19['  ]| spoke English without an accent, or rather with that$6#2$
106:090,20['  ]| distinctively British accent which$6#1$, on$4$ his arrival in$4$
106:090,21['  ]| Europe, had struck Newman as an altogether foreign
106:090,22['  ]| tongue, but which$6#1$, in$4$ women, he had come to$9$ like$1$
106:090,23['  ]| extremely. Here and there Madame*de*Cintre='s utterance
106:090,24['  ]| had a faint shade of strangeness, but at the end of
106:090,25['  ]| ten minutes Newman found himself waiting for$4$ these soft
106:090,26['  ]| roughnesses. He enjoyed them, and he marvelled to$9$ see
106:090,27['  ]| that$6#2$ gross thing, error, brought down to$4$ so$5#1$ fine a point.
106:090,28[A  ]| "You have a beautiful country," 
106:090,28['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=,
106:090,29['  ]| presently.
106:090,30[B  ]| "Oh, magnificent!" 
106:090,30['  ]| said Newman. 
106:090,30[B  ]| "You ought to$9$
106:090,31[B  ]| see it."
106:090,32[A  ]| "I shall never see it," 
106:090,32['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, with a
106:090,33['  ]| smile.
106:090,34[B  ]| "Why not?" 
106:090,34['  ]| asked Newman.
106:090,35[A  ]| "I do not travel; especially so$5#1$ far."
106:090,36[B  ]| "But you go away sometimes; you are not always
106:090,37[B  ]| here?"
106:091,01[A  ]| "I go away in$4$ summer, a little way, to$4$ the country."
106:091,02['  ]| Newman wanted to$9$ ask her something more, something
106:091,03['  ]| personal, he hardly knew what. 
106:091,03[B  ]| "Do not you find
106:091,04[B  ]| it rather ~~ rather quiet here?" 
106:091,04['  ]| he said; 
106:091,04[B  ]| "so$5#1$ far from the
106:091,05[B  ]| street?" 
106:091,05['  ]| Rather "gloomy," he was going to$9$ say, but
106:091,06['  ]| he reflected that$3$ 
106:091,06@b   | that$6#2$ would be impolite.
106:091,07[A  ]| "Yes, it is very quiet," 
106:091,07['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=;
106:091,08[A  ]| "but we like$1$ that$6#2$."
106:091,09[B  ]| "Ah, you like$1$ that$6#2$," 
106:091,09['  ]| repeated Newman, slowly.
106:091,10[A  ]| "Besides, I have lived here all my life."
106:091,11[B  ]| "Lived here all your life," 
106:091,11['  ]| said Newman, in$4$ the same
106:091,12['  ]| way.
106:091,13[A  ]| "I was born here, and my father was born here before
106:091,14[A  ]| me, and my grandfather, and my great-grandfathers.
106:091,15[A  ]| Were they not, Valentin?" 
106:091,15['  ]| and she appealed to$4$ her
106:091,16['  ]| brother.
106:091,17[E  ]| "Yes, it is a family habit to$9$ be born here!" 
106:091,17['  ]| the young
106:091,18['  ]| man said, with a laugh, and rose and threw the remnant
106:091,19['  ]| of his cigarette into the fire, and then remained leaning
106:091,20['  ]| against the chimney-piece. An observer would have perceived
106:091,21['  ]| that$3$ he wished to$9$ take a better look at Newman,
106:091,22['  ]| whom he covertly examined, while he stood, stroking
106:091,23['  ]| his moustache.
106:091,24[B  ]| "Your house is tremendously old, then," 
106:091,24['  ]| said Newman.
106:091,25[A  ]| "How old is it, brother?" 
106:091,25['  ]| asked Madame*de*Cintre=.
106:091,26['  ]| 
106:091,27['  ]| The young man took the two candles from the mantel-shelf,
106:091,28['  ]| lifted one high in$4$ each hand, and looked up$5$ toward
106:091,29['  ]| the cornice of the room, above the chimney-piece. This
106:091,30['  ]| latter feature of the apartment was of white marble, and
106:091,31['  ]| in$4$ the familiar rococo style of the last century; but above
106:091,32['  ]| it was a panelling of an earlier date, quaintly carved,
106:091,33['  ]| painted white, and gilded here and there. The white had
106:091,34['  ]| turned to$4$ yellow, and the gilding was tarnished. On$4$ the
106:091,35['  ]| top the figures ranged themselves into a sort of shield,
106:091,36['  ]| on$4$ which$6#1$ an armorial device was cut. Above it, in$4$
106:091,37['  ]| relief, was a date ~~ 1627. 
106:091,37[E  ]| "There you have it," 
106:091,37['  ]| said
106:092,01['  ]| the young man. 
106:092,01[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is old or new, according to$4$
106:092,02[E  ]| your point of view."
106:092,03[B  ]| "Well, over here," 
106:092,03['  ]| said Newman, 
106:092,03[B  ]| "one's point of
106:092,04[B  ]| view gets shifted round considerably." 
106:092,04['  ]| And he threw
106:092,05['  ]| back his head and looked about the room. 
106:092,05[B  ]| "Your
106:092,06[B  ]| house is of a very curious style of architecture," 
106:092,06['  ]| he said.
106:092,07[E  ]| "Are you interested in$4$ architecture?" 
106:092,07['  ]| asked the young
106:092,08['  ]| man at the chimney-piece.
106:092,09[B  ]| "Well, I took the trouble, this summer," 
106:092,09['  ]| said
106:092,10['  ]| Newman, 
106:092,10[B  ]| "to$9$ examine ~~ as well as I can calculate ~
106:092,11[B  ]| some four hundred and seventy churches. Do you call
106:092,12[B  ]| that$6#2$ interested?"
106:092,13[E  ]| "Perhaps you are interested in$4$ theology," 
106:092,13['  ]| said the
106:092,14['  ]| young man.
106:092,15[B  ]| "Not particularly. Are you a Roman*Catholic,
106:092,16[B  ]| madam?" 
106:092,16['  ]| And he turned to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=.
106:092,17[A  ]| "Yes, sir," 
106:092,17['  ]| she answered, gravely.
106:092,18['  ]| Newman was struck with the gravity of her tone; he
106:092,19['  ]| threw back his head and began to$9$ look round the room
106:092,20['  ]| again. 
106:092,20[B  ]| "Had you never noticed that$6#2$ number up$4$ there?"
106:092,21['  ]| he presently asked.
106:092,22['  ]| She hesitated a moment, and then, 
106:092,22[A  ]| "In$4$ former years,"
106:092,23['  ]| she said.
106:092,24['  ]| Her brother had been watching Newman's movement.
106:092,25[E  ]| "Perhaps you would like$1$ to$9$ examine the house," 
106:092,25['  ]| he said.
106:092,26['  ]| Newman slowly brought down his eyes and looked at
106:092,27['  ]| him; he had a vague impression that$3$ the young man at
106:092,28['  ]| the chimney-piece was inclined to$4$ irony. He was a
106:092,29['  ]| handsome fellow, his face wore a smile, his moustachios
106:092,30['  ]| were curled up$5$ at the ends, and there was a little dancing
106:092,31['  ]| gleam in$4$ his eye. 
106:092,31@b   | "Damn his French impudence!"
106:092,32['  ]| Newman was on$4$ the point of saying to$4$ himself. 
106:092,32@b   | "What
106:092,33@b   | the deuce is he grinning at?" 
106:092,33['  ]| He glanced at Madame*de*Cintre=;
106:092,34['  ]| she was sitting with her eyes fixed on$4$ the
106:092,35['  ]| floor. She raised them, they met his, and she looked
106:092,36['  ]| at her brother. Newman turned again to$4$ this young
106:092,37['  ]| man and observed that$3$ he strikingly resembled his sister.
106:093,01['  ]| This was in$4$ his favour, and our hero's first impression of
106:093,02['  ]| the Count*Valentin, moreover, had been agreeable. His
106:093,03['  ]| mistrust expired, and he said he would be very glad to$9$
106:093,04['  ]| see the house.
106:093,05['  ]| The young man gave a frank laugh, and laid his hand
106:093,06['  ]| on$4$ one of the candlesticks. 
106:093,06[E  ]| "Good, good!" 
106:093,06['  ]| he
106:093,07['  ]| exclaimed. 
106:093,07[E  ]| "Come, then."
106:093,08['  ]| But Madame*de*Cintre= rose quickly and grasped his
106:093,09['  ]| arm. 
106:093,09[A  ]| "Ah, Valentin!" 
106:093,09['  ]| she said. 
106:093,09[A  ]| "What do you
106:093,10[A  ]| mean to$9$ do?"
106:093,11[E  ]| "To$9$ show Mr%*Newman the house. It will$1$ be very
106:093,12[E  ]| amusing."
106:093,13['  ]| She kept her hand on$4$ his arm and turned to$4$ Newman
106:093,14['  ]| with a smile. 
106:093,14[A  ]| "Do not let him take you," 
106:093,14['  ]| she said;
106:093,15[A  ]| "you will$1$ not find it amusing. It is a musty old house,
106:093,16[A  ]| like$4$ any other."
106:093,17[E  ]| "It is full of curious things," 
106:093,17['  ]| said the Count, resisting.
106:093,18[E  ]| "Besides, I want to$9$ do it; it is a rare chance."
106:093,19[A  ]| "You are very wicked, brother," 
106:093,19['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=
106:093,20['  ]| answered.
106:093,21[E  ]| "Nothing venture, nothing have!" 
106:093,21['  ]| cried the young
106:093,22['  ]| man. 
106:093,22[E  ]| "Will$1$ you come?"
106:093,23['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= stepped toward Newman, gently
106:093,24['  ]| clasping her hands and smiling softly. 
106:093,24[A  ]| "Would you not
106:093,25[A  ]| prefer my society, here, by$4$ my fire, to$4$ stumbling about
106:093,26[A  ]| dark passages after my brother?"
106:093,27[B  ]| "A hundred times!" 
106:093,27['  ]| said Newman. 
106:093,27[B  ]| "We will$1$ see
106:093,28['  ]| the house some other day."
106:093,29['  ]| The young man put down his candlestick with mock
106:093,30['  ]| solemnity, and shaking his head, 
106:093,30[E  ]| "Ah, you have defeated
106:093,31[E  ]| a great scheme, sir!" 
106:093,31['  ]| he said.
106:093,32[B  ]| "A scheme? I do not understand," 
106:093,32['  ]| said Newman.
106:093,33[E  ]| "You would have played your part in$4$ it all the better.
106:093,34[E  ]| Perhaps some day I shall have a chance to$9$ explain it."
106:093,35[A  ]| "Be quiet, and ring for$4$ the tea," 
106:093,35['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
106:093,36['  ]| 
106:093,37['  ]| The young man obeyed, and presently a servant
106:094,01['  ]| brought in$5$ the tea, placed the tray on$4$ a small table, and
106:094,02['  ]| departed. Madame*de*Cintre=, from her place, busied
106:094,03['  ]| herself with making it. She had but just begun when
106:094,04['  ]| the door was thrown open and a lady rushed in$5$, making
106:094,05['  ]| a loud rustling sound. She stared at Newman, gave
106:094,06['  ]| a little nod and a 
106:094,06[L  ]| "Monsieur!" 
106:094,06['  ]| and then quickly
106:094,07['  ]| approached Madame*de*Cintre= and presented her forehead
106:094,08['  ]| to$9$ be kissed. Madame*de*Cintre= saluted her, and
106:094,09['  ]| continued to$9$ make tea. The newcomer was young and
106:094,10['  ]| pretty, it seemed to$4$ Newman; she wore her bonnet and
106:094,11['  ]| cloak, and a train of royal proportions. She began to$9$
106:094,12['  ]| talk rapidly in$4$ French. 
106:094,12[L  ]| "Oh, give me some tea, my
106:094,13[L  ]| beautiful one, for$4$ the love of God! I am exhausted,
106:094,14[L  ]| mangled, massacred." 
106:094,14['  ]| Newman found himself quite
106:094,15['  ]| unable to$9$ follow her; she spoke much less distinctly
106:094,16['  ]| than M%*Nioche.
106:094,17[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is my sister-in-law," 
106:094,17['  ]| said the Count*Valentin,
106:094,18['  ]| leaning towards him.
106:094,19[B  ]| "She is very pretty," 
106:094,19['  ]| said Newman.
106:094,20[E  ]| "Exquisite," 
106:094,20['  ]| answered the young man, and this time,
106:094,21['  ]| again, Newman suspected him of irony.
106:094,22['  ]| His sister-in-law came round to$4$ the other side of the
106:094,23['  ]| fire with her cup of tea in$4$ her hand, holding it out at
106:094,24['  ]| arm's-length, so$3$ that$3$ she might not spill it on$4$ her dress,
106:094,25['  ]| and uttering little cries of alarm. She placed the cup
106:094,26['  ]| on$4$ the mantel-shelf and began to$9$ unpin her veil and pull
106:094,27['  ]| off her gloves, looking meanwhile at Newman.
106:094,28[E  ]| "Is there anything I can do for$4$ you, my dear lady?"
106:094,29['  ]| the Count*Valentin asked, in$4$ a sort of mock-caressing
106:094,30['  ]| tone.
106:094,31[L  ]| "Present Monsieur," 
106:094,31['  ]| said his sister-in-law.
106:094,32['  ]| The young man answered, 
106:094,32[E  ]| "Mr%*Newman!"
106:094,33[L  ]| "I can not curtsy to$4$ you, Monsieur, or I shall spill my
106:094,34[L  ]| tea," 
106:094,34['  ]| said the lady. 
106:094,34[L  ]| "So$3$ Claire receives strangers, like$4$
106:094,35[L  ]| that$6#2$?" 
106:094,35['  ]| she added in$4$ a low voice, in$4$ French, to$4$ her
106:094,36['  ]| brother-in-law.
106:094,37[E  ]| "Apparently!" 
106:094,37['  ]| he answered, with a smile. Newman
106:095,01['  ]| stood a moment, and then he approached Madame*de*Cintre=. 
106:095,02@b   | She looked up$5$ at him as if she were thinking
106:095,03@b   | of something to$9$ say. But she seemed to$9$ think of
106:095,04@b   | nothing; so$5#1$ she simply smiled. 
106:095,04['  ]| He sat down near her
106:095,05['  ]| and she handed him a cup of tea. For$4$ a few moments
106:095,06['  ]| they talked about that$6#2$, and meanwhile he looked at her.
106:095,07['  ]| He remembered what Mrs%*Tristram had told him of her
106:095,08['  ]| "perfection," and of her having, in$4$ combination, all the
106:095,09['  ]| brilliant things that$6#1$ he dreamed of finding. This made
106:095,10['  ]| him observe her not only without mistrust, but without
106:095,11['  ]| uneasy conjectures; the presumption, from the first
106:095,12['  ]| moment he looked at her, had been in$4$ her favour. And
106:095,13['  ]| yet, if she was beautiful, it was not a dazzling beauty.
106:095,14['  ]| She was tall, and moulded in$4$ long lines; she had thick,
106:095,15['  ]| fair hair, a wide forehead, and features with a sort of
106:095,16['  ]| harmonious irregularity. Her clear gray eyes were
106:095,17['  ]| strikingly expressive; they were both gentle and intelligent,
106:095,18['  ]| and Newman liked them immensely; but they
106:095,19['  ]| had not those depths of splendour ~~ those many-coloured
106:095,20['  ]| rays ~~ which$6#1$ illumine the brow of famous beauties.
106:095,21['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= was rather thin, and she looked
106:095,22['  ]| younger than she probably was. In$4$ her whole person
106:095,23['  ]| there was something both youthful and subdued, slender
106:095,24['  ]| and yet ample, tranquil yet shy; a mixture of immaturity
106:095,25['  ]| and repose, of innocence and dignity. 
106:095,25@b   | what had Tristram
106:095,26@b   | meant, 
106:095,26['  ]| Newman wondered, 
106:095,26@b   | by$4$ calling her proud? She
106:095,27@b   | was certainly not proud now, to$4$ him; or if she was, it
106:095,28@b   | was of no$2$ use, it was lost upon$4$ him; she must pile it up$5$
106:095,29@b   | higher if she expected him to$9$ mind it. She was a
106:095,30@b   | beautiful woman, and it was very easy to$9$ get on$5$ with
106:095,31@b   | her. Was she a countess, a \marquise\, a kind of historical
106:095,32@b   | formation? 
106:095,32['  ]| Newman, who$6#1$ had rarely heard these words
106:095,33['  ]| used, had never been at pains to$9$ attach any particular
106:095,34['  ]| image to$4$ them; but they occurred to$4$ him now, and
106:095,35['  ]| seemed charged with a sort of melodious meaning.
106:095,36['  ]| They signified something fair and softly bright, that$6#1$ had
106:095,37['  ]| easy motions and spoke very agreeably.
106:096,01[A  ]| "Have you many friends in$4$ Paris; do you go out?"
106:096,02['  ]| asked Madame*de*Cintre=, who$6#1$ had at last thought of
106:096,03['  ]| something to$9$ say.
106:096,04[B  ]| "Do you mean, do I dance, and all that$6#2$?"
106:096,05[A  ]| "Do you go \9dans 9le 9monde\, as we say?"
106:096,06[B  ]| "I have seen a good many people. Mrs%*Tristram
106:096,07[B  ]| has taken me about. I do whatever she tells me."
106:096,08[A  ]| "By$4$ yourself, you are not fond of amusements?"
106:096,09[B  ]| "Oh yes, of some sorts. I am not fond of dancing,
106:096,10[B  ]| and that$6#2$ sort of thing; I am too old and sober. But I
106:096,11[B  ]| want to$9$ be amused; I came to$4$ Europe for$4$ that$6#2$."
106:096,12[A  ]| "But you can be amused in$4$ American too."
106:096,13[B  ]| "I could not; I was always at work. But, after all,
106:096,14[B  ]| that$6#2$ was my amusement."
106:096,15['  ]| At this moment Madame*de*Bellegarde came back for$4$
106:096,16['  ]| another cup of tea, accompanied by$4$ the Count*Valentin.
106:096,17['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=, when she had served her, began to$9$
106:096,18['  ]| talk again with Newman, and recalling what he had
106:096,19['  ]| last said, 
106:096,19[A  ]| "In$4$ your own country you were very much
106:096,20[A  ]| occupied?" 
106:096,20['  ]| she asked.
106:096,21[B  ]| "I was in$4$ business. I have been in$4$ business since I
106:096,22[B  ]| was fifteen years old."
106:096,23[L  ]| "And what was your business?" 
106:096,23['  ]| asked Madame*de*Bellegarde,
106:096,24['  ]| who$6#1$ was decidedly not so$5#1$ pretty as Madame*de*Cintre=.
106:096,25['  ]| 
106:096,26[B  ]| "I have been in$4$ everything," 
106:096,26['  ]| said Newman. 
106:096,26[B  ]| "At
106:096,27[B  ]| one time I sold leather; at one time I manufactured
106:096,28[B  ]| wash-tubs."
106:096,29['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde made a little grimace.
106:096,30[L  ]| "Leather? I do not like$1$ that$6#2$. Wash-tubs are better.
106:096,31[L  ]| I prefer the smell of soap. I hope at least they made
106:096,32[L  ]| your fortune." 
106:096,32['  ]| She rattled this off with the air of a
106:096,33['  ]| woman who$6#1$ had the reputation of saying everything that$6#1$
106:096,34['  ]| came into her head, and with a strong French accent.
106:096,35['  ]| Newman had spoken with cheerful seriousness, but
106:096,36['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde's tone made him go on$5$, after a
106:096,37['  ]| meditative pause, with a certain light grimness of jocularity.
106:097,01[B  ]| "No$7$, I lost money on$4$ wash-tubs, but I came out
106:097,02[B  ]| pretty square on$4$ leather."
106:097,03[L  ]| "I have made up$5$ my mind, after all," 
106:097,03['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde,
106:097,04[L  ]| "that$3$ the great point is ~~ how do you
106:097,05[L  ]| call it? ~~ to$9$ come out square. I am on$4$ my knees to$4$
106:097,06[L  ]| money; I do not deny it. If you have it, I ask no$2$
106:097,07[L  ]| questions. For$4$ that$6#2$ I am a real democrat ~~ like$4$ you,
106:097,08[L  ]| Monsieur. Madame*de*Cintre= is very proud; but I find
106:097,09[L  ]| that$3$ one gets much more pleasure in$4$ this sad life if one
106:097,10[L  ]| does not look too close."
106:097,11[E  ]| "Just Heaven, dear madam, how you go at it," 
106:097,11['  ]| said
106:097,12['  ]| the Count*Valentin, lowering his voice.
106:097,13[L  ]| "He is a man one can speak to$4$, I suppose, since my
106:097,14[L  ]| sister receives him," 
106:097,14['  ]| the lady answered. 
106:097,14[L  ]| "Besides, it is
106:097,15[L  ]| very true; those are my ideas."
106:097,16[E  ]| "Ah, you call them ideas," 
106:097,16['  ]| murmured the young man.
106:097,17[A  ]| "But Mrs%*Tristram told me you had been in$4$ the
106:097,18[A  ]| army ~~ in$4$ your war," 
106:097,18['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
106:097,19[B  ]| "Yes, but that$6#2$ is not business!" 
106:097,19['  ]| said Newman.
106:097,20[E  ]| "Very true!" 
106:097,20['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde. 
106:097,20[E  ]| "Otherwise
106:097,21[E  ]| perhaps I should not be penniless."
106:097,22[B  ]| "Is it true," 
106:097,22['  ]| asked Newman in$4$ a moment, 
106:097,22[B  ]| "that$3$ you
106:097,23[B  ]| are so$5#1$ proud? I had already heard it."
106:097,24['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= smiled. 
106:097,24[A  ]| "Do you find me so$5#2$?"
106:097,25[B  ]| "Oh," 
106:097,25['  ]| said Newman, 
106:097,25[B  ]| "I am no$2$ judge. If you are
106:097,26[B  ]| proud with me, you will$1$ have to$9$ tell me. Otherwise I
106:097,27[B  ]| shall not know it."
106:097,28['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= began to$9$ laugh. 
106:097,28[A  ]| "That$6#2$ would be
106:097,29[A  ]| pride in$4$ a sad position!" 
106:097,29['  ]| she said.
106:097,30[B  ]| "It would be partly," 
106:097,30['  ]| Newman went on$5$, 
106:097,30[B  ]| "because I
106:097,31[B  ]| should not want to$9$ know it. I want you to$9$ treat me
106:097,32[B  ]| well."
106:097,33['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=, whose laugh had ceased, looked
106:097,34['  ]| at him with her head half averted, as if she feared what
106:097,35['  ]| he was going to$9$ say.
106:097,36[B  ]| "Mrs%*Tristram told you the literal truth," 
106:097,36['  ]| he went
106:097,37['  ]| on$5$; 
106:097,37[B  ]| "I want very much to$9$ know you. I did not come
106:098,01[B  ]| here simply to$9$ call to-day; I came in$4$ the hope that$3$ you
106:098,02[B  ]| might ask me to$9$ come again."
106:098,03[A  ]| "Oh, pray come often," 
106:098,03['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
106:098,04[B  ]| "But will$1$ you be at home?" 
106:098,04['  ]| Newman insisted. Even
106:098,05['  ]| to$4$ himself he seemed a trifle "pushing," but he was, in$4$
106:098,06['  ]| truth, a trifle excited.
106:098,07[A  ]| "I hope so$5#2$!" 
106:098,07['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
106:098,08['  ]| Newman got up$5$. 
106:098,08[B  ]| "Well, we shall see," 
106:098,08['  ]| he said,
106:098,09['  ]| smoothing his hat with his coat-cuff.
106:098,10[A  ]| "Brother," 
106:098,10['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, 
106:098,10[A  ]| "invite Mr%*Newman
106:098,11[A  ]| to$9$ come again."
106:098,12['  ]| The Count*Valentin looked at our hero from head to$4$
106:098,13['  ]| foot with his peculiar smile, in$4$ which$6#1$ impudence and
106:098,14['  ]| urbanity seemed perplexingly commingled. 
106:098,14[E  ]| "Are you a
106:098,15[E  ]| brave man?" 
106:098,15['  ]| he asked, eyeing him askance.
106:098,16[B  ]| "Well, I hope so$5#2$," 
106:098,16['  ]| said Newman.
106:098,17[E  ]| "I rather suspect so$5#2$. In$4$ that$6#2$ case, come again."
106:098,18[A  ]| "Ah, what an invitation!" 
106:098,18['  ]| murmured Madame*de*Cintre=, 
106:098,19['  ]| with something painful in$4$ her smile.
106:098,20[E  ]| "Oh, I want Mr%*Newman to$9$ come ~~ particularly,"
106:098,21['  ]| said the young man. 
106:098,21[E  ]| "It will$1$ give me great pleasure.
106:098,22[E  ]| I shall be desolate if I miss one of his visits. But I
106:098,23[E  ]| maintain he must be brave.  A stout heart, sir!" 
106:098,23['  ]| And
106:098,24['  ]| he offered Newman his hand.
106:098,25[B  ]| "I shall not come to$9$ see you; I shall come to$9$ see
106:098,26[B  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=," 
106:098,26['  ]| said Newman.
106:098,27[E  ]| "You will$1$ need all the more courage."
106:098,28[A  ]| "Ah, Valentin!" 
106:098,28['  ]| Said Madame*de*Cintre=, appealingly.
106:098,29[L  ]| "Decidedly," 
106:098,29['  ]| cried Madame*de*Bellegarde, 
106:098,29[L  ]| "I am
106:098,30[L  ]| the only person here capable of saying something polite!
106:098,31[L  ]| Come to$9$ see me; you will$1$ need no$2$ courage," 
106:098,31['  ]| she said.
106:098,32['  ]| Newman gave a laugh which$6#1$ was not altogether an
106:098,33['  ]| assent, and took his leave. Madame*de*Cintre= did not
106:098,34['  ]| take up$5$ her sister's challenge to$9$ be gracious, but she
106:098,35['  ]| looked with a certain troubled air at the retreating guest.
107:099,01['  ]| One evening, very late, about a week after his visit to$4$
107:099,02['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=, Newman's servant brought him a
107:099,03['  ]| card. It was that$6#2$ of young M%*de*Bellegarde. When,
107:099,04['  ]| a few moments later, he went to$9$ receive his visitor, he
107:099,05['  ]| found him standing in$4$ the middle of his great gilded
107:099,06['  ]| parlour and eyeing it from cornice to$4$ carpet. M%*de*Bellegarde's
107:099,07['  ]| face, it seemed to$4$ Newman, expressed a
107:099,08['  ]| sense of lively entertainment. 
107:099,08@b   | "What the devil is he
107:099,09@b   | laughing at now?" 
107:099,09['  ]| our hero asked himself. But he put
107:099,10['  ]| the question without acrimony, for$3$ he felt that$3$ Madame*de*Cintre='s
107:099,11['  ]| brother was a good fellow, and he had a
107:099,12['  ]| presentiment that$3$ 
107:099,12@b   | on$4$ this basis of good fellowship they
107:099,13@b   | were destined to$9$ understand each other. Only, if there
107:099,14@b   | was anything to$9$ laugh at, he wished to$9$ have a glimpse
107:099,15@b   | of it too.
107:099,16[E  ]| "To$9$ begin with," 
107:099,16['  ]| said the young man, as he extended
107:099,17['  ]| his hand, 
107:099,17[E  ]| "have I come too late?"
107:099,18[B  ]| "Too late for$4$ what?" 
107:099,18['  ]| asked Newman.
107:099,19[E  ]| "To$9$ smoke a cigar with you."
107:099,20[B  ]| "You would have to$9$ come early to$9$ do that$6#2$," 
107:099,20['  ]| said
107:099,21['  ]| Newman. 
107:099,21[B  ]| "I do not smoke."
107:099,22[E  ]| "Ah, you are a strong man!"
107:099,23[B  ]| "But I keep cigars," 
107:099,23['  ]| Newman added. 
107:099,23[B  ]| "Sit down."
107:099,24[E  ]| "Surely, I may not smoke here," 
107:099,24['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde.
107:099,25['  ]| 
107:099,26[B  ]| "What is the matter?  Is the room too small?"
107:099,27[E  ]| "It is too large. It is like$4$ smoking in$4$ a ball-room
107:099,28[E  ]| or a church."
107:099,29[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is what you were laughing at just now?"
107:099,30['  ]| Newman asked; 
107:099,30[B  ]| "the size of my room?"
107:099,31[E  ]| "It is not size only," 
107:099,31['  ]| replied M%*de*Bellegarde, 
107:099,31[E  ]| "but
107:099,32[E  ]| splendour, and harmony, and beauty of detail. It was
107:099,33[E  ]| the smile of admiration."
107:100,01['  ]| Newman looked at him a moment, and then, 
107:100,01[B  ]| "So$3$ it
107:100,02[B  ]| \is\ very ugly?" 
107:100,02['  ]| he inquired.
107:100,03[E  ]| "Ugly, my dear sir? It is magnificent."
107:100,04[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is the same thing, I suppose," 
107:100,04['  ]| said Newman.
107:100,05[B  ]| "Make yourself comfortable. Your coming to$9$ see me,
107:100,06[B  ]| I take it, is an act of friendship. You were not obliged
107:100,07[B  ]| to$9$. Therefore, if anything around here amuses you, it
107:100,08[B  ]| will$1$ be all in$4$ a pleasant way. Laugh as loud as you
107:100,09[B  ]| please; I like$1$ to$9$ see my visitors cheerful. Only, I must
107:100,10[B  ]| make this request: that$3$ you explain the joke to$4$ me as
107:100,11[B  ]| soon as you can speak. I do not want to$9$ lose anything
107:100,12[B  ]| myself."
107:100,13['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde stared, with a look of unresentful
107:100,14['  ]| perplexity. He laid his hand on$4$ Newman's sleeve and
107:100,15['  ]| seemed on$4$ the point of saying something, but he suddenly
107:100,16['  ]| checked himself, leaned back in$4$ his chair, and puffed at
107:100,17['  ]| his cigar. At last, however, breaking silence, 
107:100,17[E  ]| "Certainly,"
107:100,18['  ]| he said, 
107:100,18[E  ]| "my coming to$9$ see you is an act of
107:100,19[E  ]| friendship. Nevertheless, I was in$4$ a measure obliged
107:100,20[E  ]| to$9$ do so$5#2$. My sister asked me to$9$ come, and a request
107:100,21[E  ]| from my sister is, for$4$ me, a law. I was near you, and
107:100,22[E  ]| I observed lights in$4$ what I supposed were your rooms.
107:100,23[E  ]| It was not a ceremonious hour for$4$ making a call, but I
107:100,24[E  ]| was not sorry to$9$ do something that$6#1$ would show I was
107:100,25[E  ]| not performing a mere ceremony."
107:100,26[B  ]| "Well, here I am as large as life," 
107:100,26['  ]| said Newman,
107:100,27['  ]| extending his legs.
107:100,28[E  ]| "I do not know what you mean," 
107:100,28['  ]| the young man 
107:100,29['  ]| went on$5$, 
107:100,29[E  ]| "by$4$ giving me unlimited leave to$9$ laugh.
107:100,30[E  ]| Certainly I am a great laugher, and it is better to$9$ laugh
107:100,31[E  ]| too much than too little. But it is not in$4$ order that$3$ we
107:100,32[E  ]| may laugh together ~~ or separately ~~ that$3$ I have, I may
107:100,33[E  ]| say, sought your acquaintance. To$9$ speak with almost
107:100,34[E  ]| impudent frankness, you interest me!" 
107:100,34['  ]| All this was
107:100,35['  ]| uttered by$4$ M%*de*Bellegarde with the modulated smoothness
107:100,36['  ]| of the man of the world, and, in$4$ spite of his excellent
107:100,36['  ]| English, of the Frenchman; but Newman, at the same
107:101,01['  ]| time that$6#1$ he sat noting its harmonious flow, perceived
107:101,02['  ]| that$3$ it was not mere mechanical urbanity. 
107:101,02@b   | Decidedly,
107:101,03@b   | there was something in$4$ his visitor that$6#1$ he liked. 
107:101,03['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde
107:101,04['  ]| was a foreigner to$4$ his finger-tips, and if
107:101,05['  ]| Newman had met him on$4$ a Western prairie he would
107:101,06['  ]| have felt it proper to$9$ address him with a "How-d'ye-do,
107:101,07['  ]| Mosseer?" But there was something in$4$ his physiognomy
107:101,08['  ]| which$6#1$ seemed to$9$ cast a sort of aerial bridge over the
107:101,09['  ]| impassable gulf produced by$4$ difference of race. He was
107:101,10['  ]| below the middle height, and robust and agile in$4$ figure.
107:101,11['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde, Newman afterwards learned,
107:101,12['  ]| had a mortal dread of the robustness overtaking the
107:101,13['  ]| agility; he was afraid of growing stout; he was too
107:101,14['  ]| short, as he said, to$9$ afford a belly. He rode and fenced
107:101,15['  ]| and practised gymnastics with unremitting zeal, and if
107:101,16['  ]| you greeted him with a "How well you are looking!"
107:101,17['  ]| he started and turned pale. In$4$ your \well\ he read a 
107:101,18['  ]| grosser monosyllable. He had a round head, high above
107:101,19['  ]| the ears, a crop of hair at once dense and silky, a broad,
107:101,20['  ]| low forehead, a short nose, of the ironical and inquiring
107:101,21['  ]| rather than of the dogmatic or sensitive cast, and a
107:101,22['  ]| moustache as delicate as that$6#2$ of a page in$4$ a romance.
107:101,23['  ]| He resembled his sister not in$4$ feature, but in$4$ the expression
107:101,24['  ]| of his clear bright eye, completely void of introspection,
107:101,25['  ]| and in$4$ the way he smiled. The great point in$4$ his
107:101,26['  ]| face was that$3$ it was intensely alive ~~ frankly, ardently,
107:101,27['  ]| gallantly alive. The look of it was like$4$ a bell, of which$6#1$
107:101,28['  ]| the handle might have been in$4$ the young man's soul: at
107:101,29['  ]| a touch of the handle it rang with a loud silver sound.
107:101,30['  ]| There was something in$4$ his quick, light brown eye which$6#1$
107:101,31['  ]| assured you that$3$ he was not economising his consciousness.
107:101,32['  ]| He was not living in$4$ a corner of it to$9$ spare the
107:101,33['  ]| furniture of the rest. He was squarely encamped in$4$ the
107:101,34['  ]| centre, and he was keeping open house. When he
107:101,35['  ]| smiled, it was like$4$ the movement of a person who$6#1$ in$4$
107:101,36['  ]| emptying a cup turns it upside down: he gave you the
107:101,37['  ]| last drop of his jollity. He inspired Newman with
107:102,01['  ]| something of the same kindness that$6#1$ our hero used to$9$
107:102,02['  ]| feel in$4$ his earlier years for$4$ those of his companions who$6#1$
107:102,03['  ]| could perform strange and clever tricks ~~ make their
107:102,04['  ]| joints crack in$4$ queer places or whistle at the back of
107:102,05['  ]| their mouths.
107:102,06[E  ]| "My sister told me," 
107:102,06['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde continued,
107:102,07[E  ]| "that$3$ I ought to$9$ come and remove the impression that$6#1$
107:102,08[E  ]| I had taken such great pains to$9$ produce upon$4$ you; the
107:102,09[E  ]| impression that$3$ I am a lunatic. Did it strike you that$3$
107:102,10[E  ]| I behaved very oddly the other day?"
107:102,11[B  ]| "Rather so$5#2$," 
107:102,11['  ]| said Newman.
107:102,12[E  ]| "So$5#2$ my sister tells me." 
107"102,12['  ]| And M%*de*Bellegarde
107:102,13['  ]| watched his host for$4$ a moment through his smoke-wreaths.
107:102,14[E  ]| "If that$6#2$ is the case, I think we had better
107:102,15[E  ]| let it stand. I did not try to$9$ make you think I was a
107:102,16[E  ]| lunatic at all; on$4$ the contrary, I wanted to$9$ produce a
107:102,17[E  ]| favourable impression. But if, after all, I made a fool
107:102,18[E  ]| of myself, it was the intention of Providence. I should
107:102,19[E  ]| injure myself by$4$ protesting too much, for$3$ I should seem
107:102,20[E  ]| to$9$ set up$5$ a claim for$4$ wisdom which$6#1$, in$4$ the sequel of our
107:102,21[E  ]| acquaintance, I could by$4$ no$2$ means justify. Set me down
107:102,22[E  ]| as a lunatic with intervals of sanity."
107:102,23[B  ]| "Oh, I guess you know what you are about," 
107:102,23['  ]| said
107:102,24['  ]| Newman.
107:102,25[E  ]| "When I am sane, I am very sane; that$6#2$ I admit,"
107:102,26['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde answered. 
107:102,26[E  ]| "But I did not come here
107:102,27[E  ]| to$9$ talk about myself. I should like$1$ to$9$ ask you a few
107:102,28[E  ]| questions. You allow me?"
107:102,29[B  ]| "Give me a specimen," 
107:102,29['  ]| said Newman.
107:102,30[E  ]| "You live here all alone?"
107:102,31[B  ]| "Absolutely. With whom should I live?"
107:102,32[E  ]| "For$4$ the moment," 
107:102,32['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde, with a
107:102,33['  ]| smile, 
107:102,33[E  ]| "I am asking questions, not answering them.
107:102,34[E  ]| You have come to$4$ Paris for$4$ your pleasure?"
107:102,35['  ]| Newman was silent a while. Then, at last, 
107:102,35[B  ]| "Every*one
107:102,36[B  ]| asks me that$6#2$!" 
107:102,36['  ]| he said with his mild slowness. 
107:102,36[B  ]| "It
107:102,37[B  ]| sounds awfully foolish."
107:103,01[E  ]| "But at any rate you had a reason."
107:103,02[B  ]| "Oh, I came for$4$ my pleasure!" 
107"103,02['  ]| said Newman.
107:103,03[B  ]| "Though it is foolish, it is true."
107:103,04[E  ]| "And you are enjoying it?"
107:103,05['  ]| Like$4$ any other good American, Newman thought it
107:103,06['  ]| as well not to$9$ truckle to$4$ the foreigner. 
107:103,06[B  ]| "Oh, so-so,"
107:103,07['  ]| he answered.
107:103,08['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde puffed his cigar again in$4$ silence.
107:103,09[E  ]| "For$4$ myself," 
107:103,09['  ]| he said at last, 
107:103,09[E  ]| "I am entirely at your
107:103,10[E  ]| service. Anything I can do for$4$ you I shall be very
107:103,11[E  ]| happy to$9$ do. Call upon$4$ me at your convenience. Is
107:103,12[E  ]| there any*one you desire to$9$ know ~~ anything you wish to$9$
107:103,13[E  ]| see? It is a pity you should not enjoy Paris."
107:103,14[B  ]| "Oh, I do enjoy it!" 
107:103,14['  ]| said Newman, good-naturedly.
107:103,15[B  ]| "I am much obliged to$4$ you."
107:103,16[E  ]| "Honestly speaking," 
107:103,16['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde went on$5$,
107:103,17[E  ]| "there is something absurd to$4$ me in$4$ hearing myself
107:103,18[E  ]| make you these offers. They represent a great deal of
107:103,19[E  ]| good-will, but they represent little else. You are a
107:103,20[E  ]| successful man, and I am a failure, and it is a turning of
107:103,21[E  ]| the tables to$9$ talk as if I could lend you a hand."
107:103,22[B  ]| "In$4$ what way are you a failure?" 
107:103,22['  ]| asked Newman.
107:103,23[E  ]| "Oh, I am not a tragical failure!" 
107:103,23['  ]| cried the young
107:103,24['  ]| man, with a laugh. 
107:103,24[E  ]| "I have not fallen from a height,
107:103,25[E  ]| and my fiasco has made no$2$ noise. You, evidently, are
107:103,26[E  ]| a success. You have made a fortune, you have built up$5$
107:103,27[E  ]| an edifice, you are a financial, commercial power, you
107:103,28[E  ]| can travel about the world until you have found a soft
107:103,29[E  ]| spot, and lie down in$4$ it with the consciousness of having
107:103,30[E  ]| earned your rest. Is not that$6#2$ true? Well, imagine the
107:103,31[E  ]| exact reverse of all that$6#2$, and you have me. I have done
107:103,32[E  ]| nothing ~~ I can do nothing!"
107:103,33[B  ]| "Why not?"
107:103,34[E  ]| "It is a long story. Some day I will$1$ tell you. Meanwhile,
107:103,35[E  ]| I am right, eh? You are a success? You have
107:103,36[E  ]| made a fortune? It is none of my business, but, in$4$ short,
107:103,37[E  ]| you are rich?"
107:104,01[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is another thing that$6#1$ it sounds foolish to$9$ say,"
107:104,02['  ]| said Newman. 
107:104,02[B  ]| "Hang it, no$2$ man is rich!"
107:104,03[E  ]| "I have heard philosophers affirm," 
107:104,03['  ]| laughed M%*de*Bellegarde,
107:104,04[E  ]| "that$3$ no$2$ man was poor; but your formula
107:104,05[E  ]| strikes me as an improvement. As a general thing, I
107:104,06[E  ]| confess, I do not like$1$ successful people, and I find clever
107:104,07[E  ]| men who$6#1$ have made great fortunes very offensive. They
107:104,08[E  ]| tread on$4$ my toes; they make me uncomfortable. But
107:104,09[E  ]| as soon as I saw you, I said to$4$ myself, ""Ah, there is a 
107:104,10[E  ]| man with whom I shall get on$5$. He has the good-nature
107:104,11[E  ]| of success and none of the \9morgue\; he has not our confoundedly
107:104,12[E  ]| irritable French vanity."" In$4$ short, I took a
107:104,13[E  ]| fancy to$4$ you. We are very different, I am sure; I do not
107:104,14[E  ]| believe there is a subject on$4$ which$6#1$ we think or feel alike.
107:104,15[E  ]| But I rather think we shall get on$5$, for$3$ there is such a
107:104,16[E  ]| thing, you know, as being too different to$9$ quarrel."
107:104,17[B  ]| "Oh, I never quarrel," 
107:104,17['  ]| said Newman.
107:104,18[E  ]| "Never? Sometimes it is a duty ~~ or at least it is a
107:104,19[E  ]| pleasure. Oh, I have had two or three delicious quarrels
107:104,20[E  ]| in$4$ my day!" 
107:104,20['  ]| and M%*de*Bellegarde's handsome smile
107:104,21['  ]| assumed, at the memory of these incidents, an almost
107:104,22['  ]| voluptuous intensity.
107:104,23['  ]| With the preamble embodied in$4$ his share of the foregoing
107:104,24['  ]| fragment of dialogue, he paid our hero a long
107:104,25['  ]| visit; as the two men sat with their heels on$4$ Newman's
107:104,26['  ]| glowing hearth, they heard the small hours of the morning
107:104,27['  ]| striking larger from a far-off belfry. Valentin*de*Bellegarde
107:104,28['  ]| was, by$4$ his own confession, at all times a
107:104,29['  ]| great chatterer, and on$4$ this occasion he was evidently
107:104,30['  ]| in$4$ a particularly loquacious mood. It was a tradition
107:104,31['  ]| of his race that$3$ people of its blood always conferred a
107:104,32['  ]| favour by$4$ their smiles, and as his enthusiasms were as
107:104,33['  ]| rare as his civility was constant, he had a double reason
107:104,34['  ]| for$4$ not suspecting that$3$ his friendship could ever be importunate.
107:104,35['  ]| Moreover, the flower of an ancient stem as he
107:104,36['  ]| was, tradition (since I have used the word) had in$4$ his
107:104,37['  ]| temperament nothing of disagreeable rigidity. It was
107:105,01['  ]| muffled in$4$ sociability and urbanity, as an old dowager in$4$
107:105,02['  ]| her laces and strings of pearls. Valentin was what is
107:105,03['  ]| called in$4$ France a \9gentilhomme\, of the purest source, and
107:105,04['  ]| his rule of life, so$5#1$ far as it was definite, was to$9$ play the
107:105,05['  ]| part of a \9gentilhomme\. This, it seemed to$4$ him, was
107:105,06['  ]| enough to$9$ occupy comfortably a young man of ordinary
107:105,07['  ]| good parts. But all that$6#2$ he was he was by$4$ instinct and
107:105,08['  ]| not by$4$ theory, and the amiability of his character was so$5#1$
107:105,09['  ]| great that$3$ certain of the aristocratic virtues, which$6#1$ in$4$
107:105,10['  ]| some aspects seem rather brittle and trenchant, acquired
107:105,11['  ]| in$4$ his application of them an extreme geniality. In$4$ his
107:105,12['  ]| younger years he had been suspected of low tastes, and
107:105,13['  ]| his mother had greatly feared he would make a slip in$4$
107:105,14['  ]| the mud of the highway and bespatter the family shield.
107:105,15['  ]| He had been treated, therefore, to$4$ more than his share
107:105,16['  ]| of schooling and drilling, but his instructors had not
107:105,17['  ]| succeeded in$4$ mounting him upon$4$ stilts. They could not
107:105,18['  ]| spoil his safe spontaneity, and he remained the least
107:105,19['  ]| cautious and the most lucky of young nobles. He had
107:105,20['  ]| been tied with so$5#1$ short a rope in$4$ his youth that$3$ he had
107:105,21['  ]| now a mortal grudge against family discipline. He had
107:105,22['  ]| been known to$9$ say, within the limits of the family, that$3$,
107:105,23@e   | light-headed as he was, the honour of the name was safer
107:105,24@e   | in$4$ his hands than in$4$ those of some of its other members,
107:105,25@e   | and that$3$ if a day ever came to$9$ try it, they should see.
107:105,26['  ]| His talk was an odd mixture of almost boyish garrulity
107:105,27['  ]| and of the reserve and discretion of the man of the
107:105,28['  ]| world, and he seemed to$4$ Newman, as afterwards young
107:105,29['  ]| members of the Latin races often seemed to$4$ him, now
107:105,30['  ]| amusingly juvenile and now appallingly mature. 
107:105,31@b   | In$4$
107:105,31@b   | America, 
107:105,31['  ]| Newman reflected, 
107:105,31@b   | lads of twenty-five and
107:105,32@b   | thirty have old heads and young hearts, or at least young
107:105,33@b   | morals; here they have young heads and very aged
107:105,34@b   | hearts, morals the most grizzled and wrinkled.
107:105,35[E  ]| "What I envy you is your liberty," 
107:105,35['  ]| observed M%*de*Bellegarde,
107:105,36[E  ]| "your wide range, your freedom to$9$ come
107:105,37[E  ]| and go, your not having a lot of people, who$6#1$ take themselves
107:106,01[E  ]| awfully seriously, expecting something of you. I
107:106,02[E  ]| live," 
107:106,02['  ]| he added, with a sigh, 
107:016,02[E  ]| "beneath the eyes of my
107:106,03[E  ]| admirable mother."
107:106,04[B  ]| "It is your own fault; what is to$9$ hinder you ranging?"
107:106,05['  ]| said Newman.
107:106,06[E  ]| "There is a delightful simplicity in$4$ that$6#2$ remark!
107:106,07[E  ]| Everything is to$9$ hinder me. To$9$ begin with, I have not
107:106,08[E  ]| a penny."
107:106,09[B  ]| "I had not a penny when I began to$9$ range."
107:106,10[E  ]| "Ah, but your poverty was your capital. Being an
107:106,11[E  ]| American, it was impossible you should remain what
107:106,12[E  ]| you were born, and being born poor ~~ do I understand
107:106,13[E  ]| it? ~~ it was therefore inevitable that$3$ you should become
107:106,14[E  ]| rich. You were in$4$ a position that$6#1$ makes one's mouth
107:106,15[E  ]| water; you looked round you and saw a world full of
107:106,16[E  ]| things you had only to$9$ step up$5$ to$4$ and take hold of.
107:106,17[E  ]| When I was twenty, I looked around me and saw a world
107:106,18[E  ]| with everything ticketed ""Hands off!"" and the deuce of
107:106,19[E  ]| it was that$3$ the ticket seemed meant only for$4$ me. I
107:106,20[E  ]| could not go into business, I could not make money, because
107:106,21[E  ]| I was a Bellegarde. I could not go into politics,
107:106,22[E  ]| because I was a Bellegarde ~~ the Bellegardes do not recognise
107:106,23[E  ]| the Bonapartes. I could not go into literature,
107:106,24[E  ]| because I was a dunce. I could not marry a rich girl,
107:106,25[E  ]| because no$2$ Bellegarde had ever married a \9roturie`re\, and
107:106,26[E  ]| it was not proper that$3$ I should begin. We shall have
107:106,27[E  ]| to$9$ come to$4$ it yet. Marriageable heiresses, \9de 9notre 9bord\,
107:106,28[E  ]| are not to$9$ be had for$4$ nothing; it must be name for$4$
107:106,29[E  ]| name, and fortune for$4$ fortune. The only thing I could
107:106,30[E  ]| do was to$9$ go and fight for$4$ the Pope. That$6#2$ I did,
107:106,31[E  ]| punctiliously, and received an apostolic flesh-wound
107:106,32[E  ]| at Castelfidardo. It did neither the Holy*Father
107:106,33[E  ]| nor me any good, that$6#1$ I could see. Rome was
107:106,34[E  ]| doubtless a very amusing place in$4$ the days of Caligula,
107:106,35[E  ]| but it has sadly fallen off since. I passed three years
107:106,36[E  ]| in$4$ the Castle*of*St%*Angelo, and then came back to$4$
107:106,37[E  ]| secular life."
107:107,01[B  ]| "So$3$ you have no$2$ profession ~~ you do nothing?" 
107:017,01['  ]| said
107:107,02['  ]| Newman.
107:107,03[E  ]| "I do nothing! I am supposed to$9$ amuse myself, and,
107:107,04[E  ]| to$9$ tell the truth, I have amused myself. One can, if one
107:107,05[E  ]| knows how. But you can not keep it up$5$ for*ever. I am
107:107,06[E  ]| good for$4$ another five years, perhaps, but I foresee that$3$
107:107,07[E  ]| after that$6#2$ I shall lose my appetite. Then what shall I
107:107,08[E  ]| do? I think I shall turn monk. Seriously, I think I
107:107,09[E  ]| shall tie a rope round my waist and go into a monastery.
107:107,10[E  ]| It was an old custom, and the old customs were very
107:107,11[E  ]| good. People understood life quite as well as we do.
107:107,12[E  ]| They kept the pot boiling till it cracked, and then they
107:107,13[E  ]| put it on$4$ the shelf altogether."
107:107,14[B  ]| "Are you very religious?" 
107:107,14['  ]| asked Newman, in$4$ a tone
107:107,15['  ]| which$6#1$ gave the inquiry a grotesque effect.
107:107,16['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde evidently appreciated the comical
107:107,17['  ]| element in$4$ the question, but he looked at Newman a
107:107,18['  ]| moment with extreme soberness. 
107:107,18[E  ]| "I am a very good
107:107,19[E  ]| Catholic. I respect the Church. I adore the blessed
107:107,20[E  ]| Virgin. I fear the Devil."
107:107,21[B  ]| "Well, then," 
107:107,21['  ]| said Newman, 
107:107,21[B  ]| "you are very well
107:107,22[B  ]| fixed. You have got pleasure in$4$ the present and religion
107:107,23[B  ]| in$4$ the future; what do you complain of?"
107:107,24[E  ]| "It is a part of one's pleasure to$9$ complain. There is
107:107,25[E  ]| something in$4$ your own circumstances that$6#1$ irritates me.
107:107,26[E  ]| You are the first man I have ever envied. It is singular,
107:107,27[E  ]| but so$5#2$ it is. I have known many men who$6#1$, besides any
107:107,28[E  ]| factitious advantages that$6#1$ I may possess, had money and
107:107,29[E  ]| brains into the bargain; but somehow they have never
107:107,30[E  ]| disturbed my good-humour. But you have got something
107:107,31[E  ]| that$6#1$ I should have liked to$9$ have. It is not money,
107:107,32[E  ]| it is not even brains ~~ though no$2$ doubt yours are excellent.
107:107,33[E  ]| It is not your six feet of height, though I should have
107:107,34[E  ]| rather liked to$9$ be a couple of inches taller. It is a sort
107:107,35[E  ]| of air you have of being thoroughly at home in$4$ the world.
107:107,36[E  ]| When I was a boy, my father told me that$3$ it was by$4$
107:107,37[E  ]| such an air as that$6#2$ that$3$ people recognised a Bellegarde.
107:108,01[E  ]| He called my attention to$4$ it. He did not advise me to$9$
107:108,02[E  ]| cultivate it; he said that$3$ as we grew up$5$ it always came
107:108,03[E  ]| of itself. I supposed it had come to$4$ me, because I
107:108,04[E  ]| think I have always had the feeling. My place in$4$ life
107:108,05[E  ]| was made for$4$ me, and it seemed easy to$9$ occupy it. But
107:108,06[E  ]| you who$6#1$, as I understand it, have made your own place,
107:108,07[E  ]| you who$6#1$, as you told us the other day, have manufactured
107:108,08[E  ]| wash-tubs ~~ you strike me, somehow, as a man
107:108,09[E  ]| who$6#1$ stands at his ease, who$6#1$ looks at things from a height.
107:108,10[E  ]| I fancy you going about the world like$4$ a man travelling
107:108,11[E  ]| on$4$ a railroad in$4$ which$6#1$ he owns a large amount of stock.
107:108,12[E  ]| You make me feel as if I had missed something. What
107:108,13[E  ]| is it?"
107:108,14[B  ]| "It is the proud consciousness of honest toil ~~ of having
107:108,15[B  ]| manufactured a few wash-tubs," 
107:108,15['  ]| said Newman, at
107:108,16['  ]| once jocose and serious.
107:108,17[E  ]| "Oh no$7$; I have seen men who$6#1$ had done even more,
107:108,18[E  ]| men who$6#1$ had made not only wash-tubs but soap ~~ strong-smelling
107:108,19[E  ]| yellow soap, in$4$ great bars; and they never made
107:108,20[E  ]| me the least uncomfortable."
107:108,21[B  ]| "Then it is the privilege of being an American citizen,"
107:108,22['  ]| said Newman. 
107:108,22[B  ]| "That$6#2$ sets a man up$5$."
107:108,23[E  ]| "Possibly," 
107:108,23['  ]| rejoined M%*de*Bellegarde. 
107:108,23[E  ]| "But I am
107:108,24[E  ]| forced to$9$ say that$3$ I have seen a great many American
107:108,25[E  ]| citizens who$6#1$ did not seem at all set up$5$ or in$4$ the least
107:108,26[E  ]| like$4$ large stockholders. I never envied them. I rather
107:108,27[E  ]| think the thing is an accomplishment of your own."
107:108,28[B  ]| "Oh, come," 
107:108,28['  ]| said Newman, 
107:108,28[B  ]| "you will$1$ make me
107:108,29[B  ]| proud!"
107:108,30[E  ]| "No$7$, I shall not. You have nothing to$9$ do with
107:108,31[E  ]| pride, or with humility ~~ that$6#2$ is a part of this easy
107:108,32[E  ]| manner of yours. People are proud only when they
107:108,33[E  ]| have something to$9$ lose, and humble when they have
107:108,34[E  ]| something to$9$ gain."
107:108,35[B  ]| "I do not know what I have to$9$ lose," 
107:108,35['  ]| said Newman,
107:108,36[B  ]| "but I certainly have something to$9$ gain."
107:108,36[E  ]| "What is it?" 
107:108,36['  ]| asked his visitor.
107:109,01['  ]| Newman hesitated a while. 
107:109,01[B  ]| "I will$1$ tell you when I
107:109,02[B  ]| know you better."
107:109,03[E  ]| "I hope that$6#2$ will$1$ be soon! Then, if I can help you
107:109,04[E  ]| to$9$ gain it, I shall be happy."
107:109,05[B  ]| "Perhaps you may," 
107:109,05['  ]| said Newman.
107:109,06[E  ]| "Do not forget, then, that$3$ I am your servant," 
107:109,06['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde
107:109,07['  ]| answered; and shortly afterwards he took his
107:109,08['  ]| departure.
107:109,09['  ]| During the next three weeks Newman saw Bellegarde
107:109,10['  ]| several times, and without formally swearing an eternal
107:109,11['  ]| friendship the two men established a sort of comradeship.
107:109,12['  ]| To$4$ Newman, 
107:109,12@b   | Bellegarde was the ideal Frenchman, the
107:109,13@b   | Frenchman of tradition and romance, 
107:109,13['  ]| so$5#1$ far as our hero
107:109,14['  ]| was acquainted with these mystical influences. Gallant,
107:109,15['  ]| expansive, amusing, more pleased himself with the effect
107:109,16['  ]| he produced than those (even when they were well
107:109,17['  ]| pleased) for$4$ whom he produced it; a master of all the
107:109,18['  ]| distinctively social virtues, and a votary of all agreeable
107:109,19['  ]| sensations; a devotee of something mysterious and sacred
107:109,20['  ]| to$4$ which$6#1$ he occasionally alluded in$4$ terms more ecstatic
107:109,21['  ]| even than those in$4$ which$6#1$ he spoke of the last pretty
107:109,22['  ]| woman, and which$6#1$ was simply the beautiful though
107:109,23['  ]| somewhat superannuated image of \honour\; he was irresistibly
107:109,24['  ]| entertaining and enlivening; and he formed a
107:109,25['  ]| character to$4$ which$6#1$ Newman was as capable of doing
107:109,26['  ]| justice when he had once been placed in$4$ contact with it,
107:109,27['  ]| as he was unlikely, in$4$ musing upon$4$ the possible mixtures
107:109,28['  ]| of our human ingredients, mentally to$9$ have foreshadowed
107:109,29['  ]| it. Bellegarde did not in$4$ the least cause him to$9$ modify
107:109,30['  ]| his needful premise that$3$ 
107:109,30@b   | all Frenchmen are of a frothy
107:109,31@b   | and imponderable substance; 
107:109,31['  ]| he simply reminded him
107:109,32['  ]| that$3$ 
107:109,32@b   | light materials may be beaten up$5$ into a most agreeable
107:109,33@b   | compound. 
107:109,33['  ]| No$2$ two companions could be more
107:109,34['  ]| different, but their differences made a capital basis for$4$ a
107:109,35['  ]| friendship of which$6#1$ the distinctive characteristic was that$3$
107:109,36['  ]| it was extremely amusing to$4$ each.
107:109,37['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde lived in$4$ the basement of an old
107:110,01['  ]| house in$4$ the Rue*d'Anjou*St%*Honore=, and his small
107:110,02['  ]| apartments lay between the court of the house and an old
107:110,03['  ]| garden which$6#1$ spread itself behind it ~~ one of those large,
107:110,04['  ]| sunless, humid gardens into which$6#1$ you look unexpectingly
107:110,05['  ]| in$4$ Paris from back windows, wondering how among the
107:110,06['  ]| grudging habitations they find their space. When
107:110,07['  ]| Newman returned Bellegarde's visit, he hinted that$3$ 
107:110,07@b   | \his\
107:110,08@b   | lodging was at least as much a laughing matter as his
107:110,09@b   | own. 
107:110,09['  ]| But its oddities were of a different cast from those
107:110,10['  ]| of our hero's gilded saloons on$4$ the Boulevard*Haussmann:
107:110,11['  ]| the place was low, dusky, contracted, and
107:110,12['  ]| crowded with curious bric-a=-brac. Bellegarde, penniless
107:110,13['  ]| patrician as he was, was an insatiable collector, and his
107:110,14['  ]| walls were covered with rusty arms and ancient panels
107:110,15['  ]| and platters, his doorways draped in$4$ faded tapestries, his
107:110,16['  ]| floors muffled in$4$ the skins of beasts. Here and there
107:110,17['  ]| was one of those uncomfortable tributes to$4$ elegance in$4$
107:110,18['  ]| which$6#1$ the upholster's art, in$4$ France, is so$5#1$ prolific; a
107:110,19['  ]| curtained recess with a sheet of looking-glass in$4$ which$6#1$,
107:110,20['  ]| among the shadows, you could see nothing; a divan on$4$
107:110,21['  ]| which$6#1$, for$4$ its festoons and furbelows, you could not sit:
107:110,22['  ]| a fireplace draped, flounced, and frilled to$4$ the complete
107:110,23['  ]| exclusion of fire. The young man's possessions were in$4$
107:110,24['  ]| picturesque disorder, and his apartment was pervaded by$4$
107:110,25['  ]| the odour of cigars, mingled with perfumes more inscrutable.
107:110,26['  ]| Newman thought it a damp, gloomy place to$9$ live
107:110,27['  ]| in$4$, and was puzzled by$4$ the obstructive and fragmentary
107:110,28['  ]| character of the furniture.
107:110,29['  ]| Bellegarde, according to$4$ the custom of his country,
107:110,30['  ]| talked very generously about himself, and unveiled the
107:110,31['  ]| mysteries of his private history with an unsparing hand.
107:110,32['  ]| Inevitably, he had a vast deal to$9$ say about women, and
107:110,33['  ]| he used frequently to$9$ indulge in$4$ sentimental and ironical
107:110,34['  ]| apostrophes to$4$ these authors of his joys and woes. 
107:110,34[E  ]| "Oh,
107:110,35[E  ]| the women, the women, and the things they have made
107:110,36[E  ]| me do!" 
107:110,36['  ]| he would exclaim with a lustrous eye. 
107:110,36[E  ]| "\9C'est
107:110,37[E  ]| 9e=gal\, of all the follies and stupidities I have committed
107:111,01[E  ]| for$4$ them I would not have missed one!" 
107:111,01['  ]| On$4$ this subject
107:111,02['  ]| Newman maintained an habitual reserve; to$9$ expatiate
107:111,03['  ]| largely upon$4$ it had always seemed to$4$ him a proceeding
107:111,04['  ]| vaguely analogous to$4$ the cooing of pigeons and the chatterings
107:111,05['  ]| of monkeys, and even inconsistent with a fully-developed
107:111,06['  ]| human character. But Bellegarde's confidences
107:111,07['  ]| greatly amused him, and rarely displeased him, for$3$ the
107:111,08['  ]| generous young Frenchman was not a cynic. 
107:111,08[E  ]| "I really
107:111,09[E  ]| think," 
107:111,09['  ]| he had once said, 
107:111,09[E  ]| "that$3$ I am not more depraved
107:111,10[E  ]| than most of my contemporaries. They are tolerably
107:111,11['  ]| depraved, my contemporaries!" 
107:111,11['  ]| He said wonderfully
107:111,12['  ]| pretty things about his female friends, and, numerous
107:111,13['  ]| and various as they had been, declared that$3$, 
107:111,13@e   | on$4$ the whole,
107:111,14@e   | there was more good in$4$ them than harm. 
107:111,14[E  ]| "But you are
107:111,15[E  ]| not to$9$ take that$6#2$ as advice," 
107:111,15['  ]| he added. 
107:111,15[E  ]| "As an authority
107:111,16[E  ]| I am very untrustworthy. I am prejudiced in$4$ their
107:111,17[E  ]| favour; I am an \idealist\!" 
107:111,17['  ]| Newman listened to$4$ him with
107:111,18['  ]| his impartial smile, and was glad, for$4$ his own sake, that$3$
107:111,19['  ]| he had fine feelings; but he mentally repudiated the
107:111,20['  ]| idea of a Frenchman having discovered any merit in$4$ the
107:111,21['  ]| amiable sex which$6#1$ he himself did not suspect. M%*de*Bellegarde,
107:111,22['  ]| however, did not confine his conversation to$4$
107:111,23['  ]| the autobiographical channel; he questioned our hero
107:111,24['  ]| largely as to$4$ the events of his own life, and Newman
107:111,25['  ]| told him some better stories than any that$6#1$ Bellegarde
107:111,26['  ]| carried in$4$ his budget. He narrated his career, in$4$ fact,
107:111,27['  ]| from the beginning, through all its variations, and whenever
107:111,28['  ]| his companion's credulity, or his habits of gentility,
107:111,29['  ]| appeared to$9$ protest, it amused him to$9$ heighten the colour
107:111,30['  ]| of the episode. Newman had sat with Western humorists
107:111,31['  ]| in$4$ knots, round cast-iron stoves, and seen "tall" stories
107:111,32['  ]| grow taller without toppling over, and his own imagination
107:111,33['  ]| had learned the trick of piling up$5$ consistent
107:111,34['  ]| wonders. Bellegarde's regular attitude at last became
107:111,35['  ]| that$6#2$ of laughing self-defence; to$9$ maintain his reputation
107:111,36['  ]| as an all-knowing Frenchman, he doubted of everything,
107:111,37['  ]| wholesale. The result of this was that$3$ Newman found
107:112,01['  ]| It impossible to$9$ convince him of certain time-honoured
107:112,02['  ]| verities.
107:112,03[E  ]| "But the details do not matter," 
107:112,03['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde.
107:112,04[E  ]| "You have evidently had some surprising adventures;
107:112,05[E  ]| you have seen some strange sides of life, you have revolved
107:112,06[E  ]| to*and*fro over a whole continent as I walk up$4$ and
107:112,07[E  ]| down the Boulevard. You are a man of the world with
107:112,08[E  ]| a vengeance! You have spent some deadly dull hours,
107:112,09[E  ]| and you have done some extremely disagreeable things:
107:112,10[E  ]| you have shovelled sand, as a boy, for$4$ supper, and you
107:112,11[E  ]| have eaten roast dog in$4$ a gold-digger's camp. You have
107:112,12[E  ]| stood casting up$5$ figures for$4$ ten hours at a time, and you
107:112,13[E  ]| have sat through Methodist sermons for$4$ the sake of looking
107:112,14[E  ]| at a pretty girl in$4$ another pew. All that$6#2$ is rather
107:112,15[E  ]| stiff, as we say. But at any rate you have done something
107:112,16[E  ]| and you are something; you have used your will$0$
107:112,17[E  ]| and you have made your fortune. You have not stupefied
107:112,18[E  ]| yourself with debauchery, and you have not mortgaged
107:112,19[E  ]| your fortune to$4$ social conveniencies. You take things
107:112,20[E  ]| easily, and you have fewer prejudices even than I, who$6#1$
107:112,21[E  ]| pretend to$9$ have none, but who$6#1$ in$4$ reality have three or
107:112,22[E  ]| four. Happy man, you are strong and you are free.
107:112,23[E  ]| But what the deuce," 
107:112,23['  ]| demanded the young man in$4$ conclusion,
107:112,24[E  ]| "do you propose to$9$ do with such advantages?
107:112,25[E  ]| Really to$9$ use them you need a better world than this.
107:112,26[E  ]| There is nothing worth your while here."
107:112,27[B  ]| "Oh, I think there is something," 
107:112,27['  ]| said Newman.
107:112,28[E  ]| "What is it?"
107:112,29[B  ]| "Well," 
107:112,29['  ]| murmured Newman, 
107:112,29[B  ]| "I will$1$ tell you some
107:112,30[B  ]| other time!"
107:112,31['  ]| In$4$ this way our hero delayed from day to$4$ day broaching
107:112,32['  ]| a subject which$6#1$ he had very much at heart. Meanwhile,
107:112,33['  ]| however, he was growing practically familiar with
107:112,34['  ]| it; in$4$ other words, he had called again, three times, on$4$
107:112,35['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=. On$4$ only two of these occasions had
107:112,36['  ]| he found her at home, and on$4$ each of them she had other
107:112,37['  ]| visitors. Her visitors were numerous and extremely
107:113,01['  ]| loquacious, and they exacted much of their hostess's
107:113,02['  ]| attention. She found time, however, to$9$ bestow a little
107:113,03['  ]| of it on$4$ Newman, in$4$ an occasional vague smile, the very
107:113,04['  ]| vagueness of which$6#1$ pleased him, allowing him as it did
107:113,05['  ]| to$9$ fill it out mentally, both at the time and afterwards,
107:113,06['  ]| with such meanings as most pleased him. He sat by$4$
107:113,07['  ]| without speaking, looking at the entrances and exits, the
107:113,08['  ]| greetings and chatterings, of Madame*de*Cintre='s visitors.
107:113,09['  ]| He felt 
107:113,09@b   | as if he were at the play, and as if his own
107:113,10@b   | speaking would be an interruption; sometimes he wished
107:113,11@b   | he had a book to$9$ follow the dialogue; he half expected
107:113,12@b   | to$9$ see a woman in$4$ a white cap and pink ribbons come
107:113,13@b   | and offer him one for$4$ two francs. 
107:113,13['  ]| Some of the ladies
107:113,14['  ]| looked at him very hard ~~ or very soft, as you please;
107:113,15['  ]| others seemed profoundly unconscious of his presence.
107:113,16['  ]| The men only looked at Madame*de*Cintre=. This was
107:113,17['  ]| inevitable; for$3$ whether one called her beautiful or not,
107:113,18['  ]| she entirely occupied and filled one's vision, just as an
107:113,19['  ]| agreeable sound fills one's ear. Newman had but twenty
107:113,20['  ]| distinct words with her, but he carried away an impression
107:113,21['  ]| to$4$ which$6#1$ solemn promises could not have given a
107:113,22['  ]| higher value. 
107:113,22@b   | She was part of the play that$6#1$ he was seeing
107:113,23@b   | acted, quite as much as her companions; but how
107:113,24@b   | she filled the stage, and how much better she did it!
107:113,25['  ]| Whether she rose or seated herself; whether she went
107:113,26['  ]| with her departing friends to$4$ the door and lifted up$5$ the
107:113,27['  ]| heavy curtain as they passed out, and stood an instant
107:113,28['  ]| looking after them and giving them the last nod; or
107:113,29['  ]| whether she leaned back in$4$ her chair with her arms
107:113,30['  ]| crossed and her eyes resting, listening and smiling; she
107:113,31['  ]| gave Newman the feeling that$3$ 
107:113,31@b   | he should like$1$ to$9$ have her
107:113,32@b   | always before him, moving slowly to$8$ and fro along the
107:113,33@b   | whole scale of expressive hospitality. If it might be \to$4$\
107:113,34@b   | him, it would be well; if it might be \for$4$\ him, it would
107:113,35@b   | be still better! She was so$5#1$ tall and yet so$5#1$ light, so$5#1$
107:113,36@b   | active and yet so$5#1$ still, so$5#1$ elegant and yet so$5#1$ simple, so$5#1$
107:113,37@b   | frank and yet so$5#1$ mysterious! It was the mystery ~~ it
107:114,01@b   | was what she was off the stage, as it were ~~ 
107:114,01['  ]| that$6#1$ interested
107:114,02['  ]| Newman most of all. He could not have told you what
107:114,03['  ]| warrant he had for$4$ talking about mysteries; if it had
107:114,04['  ]| been his habit to$9$ express himself in$4$ poetic figures he
107:114,05['  ]| might have said that$3$ in$4$ observing Madame*de*Cintre= he
107:114,06['  ]| seemed to$9$ see the vague circle which$6#1$ sometimes accompanies
107:114,07['  ]| the partly-filled disc of the moon. 
107:114,07@b   | It was not
107:114,08@b   | that$3$ she was reserved; on$4$ the contrary, she was as frank
107:114,09@b   | as flowing water. 
107:114,09['  ]| But he was sure 
107:114,09@b   | she had qualities
107:114,10@b   | which$6#1$ she herself did not suspect.
107:114,11['  ]| He had abstained for$4$ several reasons from saying some
107:114,12['  ]| of these things to$4$ Bellegarde. One reason was that$3$ before
107:114,13['  ]| proceeding to$4$ any act he was always circumspect, conjectural,
107:114,14['  ]| contemplative; he had little eagerness, as became
107:114,15['  ]| a man who$6#1$ felt that$3$ whenever he really began to$9$ move he
107:114,16['  ]| walked with long steps. And then it simply pleased him
107:114,17['  ]| not to$9$ speak ~~ it occupied him, it excited him. But one
107:114,18['  ]| day Bellegarde had been dining with him, at a restaurant,
107:114,19['  ]| and they had sat long over their dinner. On$4$ rising from
107:114,20['  ]| it, Bellegarde proposed that$3$, to$9$ help them through the
107:114,21['  ]| rest of the evening, they should go and see Madame*Dandelard.
107:114,22['  ]| Madame*Dandelard was a little Italian lady
107:114,23['  ]| who$6#1$ had married a Frenchman who$6#1$ proved to$9$ be a rake
107:114,24['  ]| and a brute and the torment of her life. Her husband
107:114,25['  ]| had spent all her money, and then, lacking the means of
107:114,26['  ]| obtaining more expensive pleasures, had taken, in$4$ his
107:114,27['  ]| duller hours, to$4$ beating her. She had a blue spot somewhere,
107:114,28['  ]| which$6#1$ she showed to$4$ several persons, including
107:114,29['  ]| Bellegarde. She had obtained a separation from her
107:114,30['  ]| husband, collected the scraps of her fortune (they were
107:114,31['  ]| very meagre), and come to$9$ live in$4$ Paris, where she was
107:114,32['  ]| staying at a \9ho^tel*garni\. She was always looking for$4$ an
107:114,33['  ]| apartment, and visiting inquiringly those of other people.
107:114,34['  ]| She was very pretty, very childlike, and she made very
107:114,35['  ]| extraordinary remarks. Bellegarde had made her acquaintance,
107:114,36['  ]| and the source of his interest in$4$ her was,
107:114,37['  ]| according to$4$ his own declaration, a curiosity as to$4$ what
107:115,01['  ]| would become of her. 
107:115,01[E  ]| "She is poor, she is pretty, and
107:115,02[E  ]| she is silly," 
107:115,02['  ]| he said; 
107:115,02[E  ]| "it seems to$4$ me she can go only
107:115,03[E  ]| one way. It is a pity, but it can not be helped. I will$1$
107:115,04[E  ]| give her six months. She has nothing to$9$ fear from me,
107:115,05[E  ]| but I am watching the process. I am curious to$9$ see just
107:115,06[E  ]| how things will$1$ go. Yes, I know what you are going
107:115,07[E  ]| to$9$ say; this horrible Paris hardens one's heart. But it
107:115,08[E  ]| quickens one's wits, and it ends by$4$ teaching one a refinement 
107:115,09[E  ]| of observation! to$9$ see this little woman's little
107:115,10[E  ]| drama play itself out, now, is, for$4$ me, an intellectual
107:115,11[E  ]| pleasure."
107:115,12[B  ]| "If she is going to$9$ throw herself away," 
107:115,12['  ]| Newman had
107:115,13['  ]| said, 
107:115,13[B  ]| "you ought to$9$ stop her."
107:115,14[E  ]| "Stop her? How stop her?"
107:115,15[B  ]| "Talk to$4$ her; give her some good advice."
107:115,16['  ]| Bellegarde laughed. 
107:115,16[E  ]| "Heaven deliver us both!
107:115,17[E  ]| Imagine the situation! Go and advise her yourself."
107:115,18['  ]| It was after this that$3$ Newman had gone with Bellegarde
107:115,19['  ]| to$9$ see Madame*Dandelard. When they came
107:115,20['  ]| away, Bellegarde reproached his companion. 
107:115,20[E  ]| "Where
107:115,21[E  ]| was your famous advice!" 
107:115,21['  ]| he asked. 
107:115,21[E  ]| "I did not hear a
107:115,22[E  ]| word of it."
107:115,23[B  ]| "Oh, I give it up$5$," 
107:115,23['  ]| said Newman, simply.
107:115,24[E  ]| "Then you are as bad as I!" 
107:115,24['  ]| said Bellegarde.
107:115,25[B  ]| "No$7$, because I do not take an ""intellectual pleasure""
107:115,26[B  ]| in$4$ her prospective adventures. I do not in$4$ the least want
107:115,27[B  ]| to$9$ see her going down hill. I had rather look the other
107:115,28[B  ]| way. But why," 
107:115,28['  ]| he asked, in$4$ a moment, 
107:115,28[B  ]| "do not you
107:115,29[B  ]| get your sister to$9$ go and see her?"
107:115,30['  ]| Bellegarde stared. 
107:115,30[E  ]| "Go and see Madame*Dandelard 
107:115,31[E  ]| ~~ my sister?"
107:115,32[B  ]| "She might talk to$4$ her to$4$ very good purpose."
107:115,33['  ]| Bellegarde shook his head with sudden gravity. 
107:115,33[E  ]| "My
107:115,34[E  ]| sister can not see that$6#2$ sort of person. Madame*Dandelard
107:115,35[E  ]| is nothing at all; they would never meet."
107:115,36[B  ]| "I should think," 
107:115,36['  ]| said Newman, 
107:115,36[B  ]| "that$3$ your sister
107:115,37[B  ]| might see whom she pleased." 
107:115,37['  ]| And he privately resolved
107:116,01['  ]| that$3$, 
107:116,01@b   | after he knew her a little better, he would
107:116,02@b   | ask Madame*de*Cintre= to$9$ go and talk to$4$ the foolish little
107:116,03@b   | Italian lady.
107:116,04['  ]| After his dinner with Bellegarde, on$4$ the occasion I
107:116,05['  ]| have mentioned, he demurred to$4$ his companion's proposal
107:116,06['  ]| that$3$ they should go again and listen to$4$ Madame*Dandelard
107:116,07['  ]| describe her sorrows and her bruises. 
107:116,07[B  ]| "I have
107:116,08[B  ]| something better in$4$ mind," 
107:116,08['  ]| he said; 
107:116,08[B  ]| "come home with
107:116,09[B  ]| me and finish the evening before my fire."
107:116,10['  ]| Bellegarde always welcomed the prospect of a long
107:116,11['  ]| stretch of conversation, and before long the two men sat
107:116,12['  ]| watching the great glaze which$6#1$ scattered its scintillations
107:116,13['  ]| over the high adornments of Newman's ballroom.
108:116,01[B  ]| "Tell me something about your sister," 
108:116,01['  ]| Newman began,
108:116,02['  ]| abruptly.
108:116,03['  ]| Bellegarde turned and gave him a quick look. 
108:116,03[E  ]| "Now
108:116,04[E  ]| that$3$ I think of it, you have never yet asked me a question
108:116,05[E  ]| about her."
108:116,06[B  ]| "I know that$6#2$ very well."
108:116,07[E  ]| "If it is because you do not trust me, you are very
108:116,08[E  ]| right," 
108:116,08['  ]| said Bellegarde. 
108:116,08[E  ]| "I can not talk of her rationally.
108:116,09[E  ]| I admire her too much."
108:116,10[B  ]| "Talk of her as you can," 
108:116,10['  ]| rejoined Newman. 
108:116,10[B  ]| "Let
108:116,11[B  ]| yourself go."
108:116,12[E  ]| "Well, we are very good friends; we are such a brother
108:116,13[E  ]| and sister as have not been seen since Orestes and Electra.
108:116,14[E  ]| You have seen her; you know what she is: tall, thin,
108:116,15[E  ]| light, imposing, and gentle, half a \9grande*dame\ and half
108:116,16[E  ]| an angel; a mixture of pride and humility, of the eagle
108:116,17[E  ]| and the dove. She looks like$4$ a statue which$6#1$ had failed
108:116,18[E  ]| as stone, resigned itself to$4$ its grave defects, and come to$4$
108:117,01[E  ]| life as flesh and blood, to$9$ wear white capes and long
108:117,02[E  ]| trains. All I can say is that$3$ she really possesses every
108:117,03[E  ]| merit that$6#1$ her face, her glance, her smile, the tone of
108:117,04[E  ]| her voice, lead you to$9$ expect; it is saying a great deal.
108:117,05[E  ]| As a general thing, when a woman seems very charming,
108:117,06[E  ]| I should say ""Beware!"" But in$4$ proportion as Claire
108:117,07[E  ]| seems charming you may fold your arms and let yourself
108:117,08[E  ]| float with the current; you are safe. She is so$5#1$ good!
108:117,09[E  ]| I have never seen a woman half so$5#1$ perfect or so$5#1$ complete.
108:117,10[E  ]| She has everything; that$6#2$ is all I can say about her.
108:117,11[E  ]| There!" 
108:117,11['  ]| Bellegarde concluded: 
108:117,11[E  ]| "I told you I should
108:117,12[E  ]| rhapsodise."
108:117,13['  ]| Newman was silent a while, as if he were turning over
108:117,14['  ]| his companion's words. 
108:117,14[B  ]| "She is very good, eh?" 
108:117,14['  ]| he
108:117,15['  ]| repeated at last.
108:117,16[E  ]| "Divinely good!"
108:117,17[B  ]| "Kind, charitable, gentle, generous?"
108:117,18[E  ]| "Generosity itself; kindness double-distilled!"
108:117,19[B  ]| "Is she clever?"
108:117,20[E  ]| "She is the most intelligent woman I know. Try her,
108:117,21[E  ]| some day, with something difficult, and you will$1$ see."
108:117,22[B  ]| "Is she fond of admiration?"
108:117,23[E  ]| "\9Parbleu\!" 
108:117,23['  ]| cried Bellegarde; 
108:117,23[E  ]| "What woman is not?"
108:117,24[B  ]| "Ah, when they are too fond of admiration they commit
108:117,25[B  ]| all kinds of follies to$9$ get it."
108:117,26[E  ]| "I did not say she was too fond!" 
108:117,26['  ]| Bellegard exclaimed.
108:117,27[E  ]| "Heaven forbid I should say anything so$5#1$
108:117,28[E  ]| idiotic. She is not \too\ anything! If I were to$9$ say she
108:117,29[E  ]| was ugly, I should not mean she was too ugly. She is
108:117,30[E  ]| fond of pleasing, and if you are pleased she is grateful.
108:117,31[E  ]| If you are not pleased, she lets it pass and thinks the
108:117,32[E  ]| worse neither of you nor of herself. I imagine, though,
108:117,33[E  ]| she hopes the saints in$4$ heaven are, for$3$ I am sure she is
108:117,34[E  ]| incapable of trying to$9$ please by$4$ any means of which$6#1$ they
108:117,35[E  ]| would disapprove."
108:117,36[B  ]| "Is she grave or gay?" 
108:117,36['  ]| asked Newman.
108:117,37[E  ]| "She is both; not alternately, for$3$ she is always the
108:118,01[E  ]| same. There is gravity in$4$ her gaiety, and gaiety in$4$ her
108:118,02[E  ]| gravity. But there is no$2$ reason why she should be particularly
108:118,03[E  ]| gay."
108:118,04[B  ]| "Is she unhappy?"
108:118,05[E  ]| "I will$1$ not say that$6#2$, for$3$ unhappiness is according as one
108:118,06[E  ]| takes things, and Claire takes them according to$4$ some
108:118,07[E  ]| receipt communicated to$4$ her by$4$ the Blessed*Virgin in$4$ a
108:118,08[E  ]| vision. To$9$ be unhappy is to$9$ be disagreeable, which$6#1$, for$4$
108:118,09[E  ]| her, is out of the question. So$3$ she has arranged her
108:118,10[E  ]| circumstances so$3$ as to$9$ be happy in$4$ them."
108:118,11[B  ]| "She is a philosopher," 
108:118,11['  ]| said Newman.
108:118,12[E  ]| "No$7$, she is simply a very nice woman."
108:118,13[B  ]| "Her circumstances, at any rate, have been disagreeable?"
108:118,14[B  ]| 
108:118,15['  ]| Bellegarde hesitated a moment ~~ a thing he very rarely
108:118,16['  ]| did. 
108:118,16[E  ]| "Oh, my dear fellow, if I go into the history of
108:118,17[E  ]| my family I shall give you more than you bargain for$4$."
108:118,18[B  ]| "No$7$, on$4$ the contrary, I bargain for$4$ that$6#2$," 
108:118,18['  ]| said Newman.
108:118,19['  ]| 
108:118,20[E  ]| "We shall have to$9$ appoint a special se=ance, then,
108:118,21[E  ]| beginning early. Suffice it for$4$ the present that$3$ Claire
108:118,22[E  ]| has not slept on$4$ roses. She made, at eighteen, a marriage
108:118,23[E  ]| that$6#1$ was expected to$9$ be brilliant, but that$6#1$ turned out
108:118,24[E  ]| like$4$ a lamp that$6#1$ goes out; all smoke and bad smell. M%*de*Cintre= 
108:118,25[E  ]| was sixty years old, and an odious old gentleman.
108:118,26[E  ]| He lived, however, but a short time, and after
108:118,27[E  ]| his death his family pounced upon$4$ his money, brought a
108:118,28[E  ]| lawsuit against his widow, and pushed things very hard.
108:118,29[E  ]| Their case was a good one, for$3$ M%*de*Cintre=, who$6#1$ had
108:118,30[E  ]| been trustee for$4$ some of his relatives, appeared to$9$ have
108:118,31[E  ]| been guilty of some very irregular practices. In$4$ the
108:118,32[E  ]| course of the suit some revelations were made as to$4$ his
108:118,33[E  ]| private history which$6#1$ my sister found so$5#1$ displeasing that$3$
108:118,34[E  ]| she ceased to$9$ defend herself, and washed her hands of the
108:118,35[E  ]| property. This required some pluck, for$3$ she was between
108:118,36[E  ]| two fires, her husband's family opposing her and her own
108:118,37[E  ]| family forcing her. My mother and my brother wished 
108:119,01[E  ]| her to$9$ cleave to$4$ what they regarded as her rights. But
108:119,02[E  ]| she resisted firmly, and at last bought her freedom ~
108:119,03[E  ]| obtained my mother's assent to$4$ dropping the suit at the
108:119,04[E  ]| price of a promise."
108:119,05[B  ]| "What was the promise?"
108:119,06[E  ]| "To$9$ do anything else, for$4$ the next ten years, that$6#1$ was
108:119,07[E  ]| asked of her ~~ anything, that$6#2$ is, but marry."
108:119,08[B  ]| "She had disliked her husband very much?"
108:119,09[E  ]| "No*one knows how much!"
108:119,10[B  ]| "The marriage had been made in$4$ your horrible French
108:119,11[B  ]| way," 
108:119,11['  ]| Newman continued, 
108:119,11[B  ]| "made by$4$ the two families
108:119,12[B  ]| without her having any voice?"
108:119,13[E  ]| "It was a chapter for$4$ a novel. She saw M%*de*Cintre=
108:119,14[E  ]| for$4$ the first time a month before the wedding, after everything,
108:119,15[E  ]| to$4$ the minutest detail, had been arranged. She
108:119,16[E  ]| turned white when she looked at him, and white she
108:119,17[E  ]| remained till her wedding-day. The evening before the
108:119,18[E  ]| ceremony she swooned away, and she spent the whole
108:119,19[E  ]| night in$4$ sobs. My mother sat holding her two hands,
108:119,20[E  ]| and my brother walked up$4$ and down the room. I declared
108:119,21[E  ]| it was revolting, and told my sister publicly that$3$
108:119,22[E  ]| if she would refuse downright, I would stand by$4$ her. I
108:119,23[E  ]| was told to$9$ go about my business, and she became
108:119,24[E  ]| Comtesse*de*Cintre=."
108:119,25[B  ]| "Your brother," 
108:119,25['  ]| said Newman, reflectively, 
108:119,25[B  ]| "must be
108:119,26[B  ]| a very nice young man."
108:119,27[E  ]| "He is very nice, though he is not young. He is
108:119,28[E  ]| upwards of fifty; fifteen years my senior. He has been
108:119,29[E  ]| a father to$4$ my sister and me. He is a very remarkable
108:119,30[E  ]| man; he has the very best manners in$4$ France. He is extremely
108:119,31[E  ]| clever; indeed he is very learned. He is writing
108:119,32[E  ]| a history of The*Princesses*of*France*who*never*Married."
108:119,33['  ]| This was said by$4$ Bellegarde with extreme gravity, looking
108:119,34['  ]| straight at Newman, and with an eye that$6#1$ betokened
108:119,35['  ]| no$2$ mental reservation; or that$6#1$, at least, almost betokened
108:119,36['  ]| none.
108:119,37['  ]| Newman perhaps discovered there what little there
108:120,01['  ]| was, for$3$ he presently said: 
108:120,01[B  ]| "You do not love your
108:120,02[B  ]| brother."
108:120,03[E  ]| "I beg your pardon," 
108:120,03['  ]| said Bellegarde, ceremoniously;
108:120,04[E  ]| "well-bred people always love their brothers."
108:120,05[B  ]| "Well, I do not love him, then!" 
108:120,05['  ]| Newman answered.
108:120,06[E  ]| "Wait till you know him!" 
108:120,06['  ]| rejoined Bellegarde, and
108:120,07['  ]| this time he smiled.
108:120,08[B  ]| "Is your mother also very remarkable?" 
108:120,08['  ]| Newman
108:120,09['  ]| asked, after a pause.
108:120,10[E  ]| "For$4$ my mother," 
108:120,10['  ]| said Bellegarde, now with intense
108:120,11['  ]| gravity, 
108:120,11[E  ]| "I have the highest admiration. She is a very
108:120,12[E  ]| extraordinary woman. You cannot approach her without
108:120,13[E  ]| perceiving it."
108:120,14[B  ]| "She is the daughter, I believe, of an English nobleman."
108:120,15[B  ]| 
108:120,16[E  ]| "Of the Earl*of*St%*Dunstan's."
108:120,17[B  ]| "Is the Earl*of*St%*Dunstan's a very old family?"
108:120,18[E  ]| "So-so; the sixteenth century. It is on$4$ my father's
108:120,19[E  ]| side that$3$ we go back ~~ back, back, back. The family
108:120,20[E  ]| antiquaries themselves lose breath. At last they stop,
108:120,21[E  ]| panting and fanning themselves, somewhere in$4$ the ninth
108:120,22[E  ]| century, under Charlemagne. That$6#2$ is where we begin."
108:120,23[B  ]| "There is no$2$ mistake about it?" 
108:120,23['  ]| said Newman.
108:120,24[E  ]| "I am sure I hope not. We have been mistaken at
108:120,25[E  ]| least for$4$ several centuries."
108:120,26[B  ]| "And you have always married into old families?"
108:120,27[E  ]| "As a rule; though in$4$ so$5#1$ long a stretch of time there
108:120,28[E  ]| have been some exceptions. Three or four Bellegardes,
108:120,29[E  ]| in$4$ the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, took wives
108:120,30[E  ]| out of the \9bourgeoisie\ ~~ married lawyers' daughters."
108:120,31[B  ]| "A lawyer's daughter; that$6#2$ is very bad, is it?" 
108:120,31['  ]| asked
108:120,32['  ]| Newman.
108:120,33[E  ]| "Horrible! one of us, in$4$ the Middle*Ages, did better:
108:120,34[E  ]| he married a beggar-maid, like$4$ King*Cophetua. That$6#2$
108:120,35[E  ]| was really better; it was like$4$ marrying a bird or a 
108:120,36[E  ]| monkey; one did not have to$9$ think about her family at
108:120,36[E  ]| all. Our women have always done well; they have never
108:121,01[E  ]| even gone into the \9petite 9noblesse\. There is, I believe,
108:121,02[E  ]| not a case on$4$ record of a misalliance among the women."
108:121,03['  ]| Newman turned this over a while, and then at last he
108:121,04['  ]| said: 
108:121,04[B  ]| "You offered, the first time you came to$9$ see me,
108:121,05[B  ]| to$9$ render me any service you could. I told you that$3$
108:121,06[B  ]| some time I would mention something you might do.
108:121,07[B  ]| Do you remember?"
108:121,08[E  ]| "Remember? I have been counting the hours."
108:121,09[B  ]| "Very well; here is your chance. Do what you can
108:121,10[B  ]| to$9$ make your sister think well of me."
108:121,11['  ]| Bellegarde stared, with a smile. 
108:121,11[E  ]| "Why, I am sure she
108:121,12[E  ]| thinks as well of you as possible, already."
108:121,13[B  ]| "An opinion founded on$4$ seeing me three or four times.
108:121,14[B  ]| That$6#2$ is putting me off with very little. I want something
108:121,15[B  ]| more. I have been thinking of it a good deal, and at
108:121,16[B  ]| last I have decided to$9$ tell you. I should like$1$ very much
108:121,17[B  ]| to$9$ marry Madame*de*Cintre=."
108:121,18['  ]| Bellegarde had been looking at him with quickened
108:121,19['  ]| expectancy, and with the smile with which$6#1$ he had
108:121,20['  ]| greeted Newman's allusion to$4$ his promised request. At
108:121,21['  ]| this last announcement he continued to$9$ gaze; but his
108:121,22['  ]| smile went through two or three curious phases. It felt,
108:121,23['  ]| apparently, a momentary impulse to$9$ broaden; but this
108:121,24['  ]| it immediately checked. Then it remained for$4$ some
108:121,25['  ]| instants taking counsel with itself, at the end of which$6#1$ it
108:121,26['  ]| decreed a retreat. It slowly effaced itself and left a look
108:121,27['  ]| of seriousness modified by$4$ the desire not to$9$ be rude.
108:121,28['  ]| Extreme surprise had come into the Count*Valentin's
108:121,29['  ]| face; but he had reflected that$3$ 
108:121,29@e   | it would be uncivil to$9$
108:121,30@e   | leave it there. And yet, what the deuce was he to$9$ do with
108:121,31@e   | it? 
108:121,31['  ]| He got up$5$, in$4$ his agitation, and stood before the
108:121,32['  ]| chimney-piece, still looking at Newman. He was a
108:121,33['  ]| longer time thinking what to$9$ say than one would have
108:121,34['  ]| expected.
108:121,35[B  ]| "If you can not render me the service I ask," 
108:121,35['  ]| said Newman,
108:121,36[B  ]| "say it out!"
108:121,37[E  ]| "Let me hear it again, distinctly," 
108:121,37['  ]| said Bellegarde.
108:122,01[E  ]| "It is very important, you know. I shall plead your
108:122,02[E  ]| cause with my sister, because you want ~~ you want to$9$
108:122,03[E  ]| marry her? That$6#2$ is it, eh?"
108:122,05[B  ]| "Oh, I do not say plead my cause, exactly; I shall try
108:122,06[B  ]| and do that$6#2$ myself. But say a good word for$4$ me, now
108:122,07[B  ]| and then ~~ let her know that$3$ you think well of me."
108:122,08['  ]| At this Bellegarde gave a little light laugh.
108:122,09[B  ]| "What I want chiefly, after all," 
108:122,09['  ]| Newman went on$5$,
108:122,10[B  ]| "is just to$9$ let you know what I have in$4$ mind. I suppose
108:122,11[B  ]| that$6#2$ is what you expect, is not it? I want to$9$ do what is
108:122,12[B  ]| customary over here. If there is anything particular to$9$ be
108:122,13[B  ]| done, let me know, and I will$1$ do it. I would not for$4$ the
108:122,14[B  ]| world approach Madame*de*Cintre= without all the proper
108:122,15[B  ]| forms. If I ought to$9$ go and tell your mother, why, I
108:122,16[B  ]| will$1$ go and tell her. I will$1$ go and tell your brother,
108:122,17[B  ]| even. I will$1$ go and tell any*one you please. As I do not
108:122,18[B  ]| know any*one else, I begin by$4$ telling you. But that$6#2$, if
108:122,19[B  ]| it is a social obligation, is a pleasure as well."
108:122,20[E  ]| "Yes, I see ~~ I see," 
108:122,20['  ]| said Bellegarde, lightly stroking
108:122,21['  ]| his chin. 
108:122,21[E  ]| "You have a very right feeling about it, but
108:122,22[E  ]| I am glad you have begun with me." 
108:122,22['  ]| He paused,
108:122,23['  ]| hesitated, and then turned away and walked slowly the
108:122,24['  ]| length of the room. Newman got up$5$ and stood leaning
108:122,25['  ]| against the mantel-shelf, with his hands in$4$ his pockets,
108:122,26['  ]| watching Bellegarde's promenade. The young Frenchman
108:122,27['  ]| came back and stopped in$4$ front of him. 
108:122,27[E  ]| "I give
108:122,28[E  ]| it up$5$," 
108:122,28['  ]| he said; 
108:122,28[E  ]| "I will$1$ not pretend I am not surprised.
108:122,29[E  ]| I am ~~ hugely! \Ouf\! It is a relief."
108:122,30[B  ]| "That$6#2$ sort of news is always a surprise," 
108:122,30['  ]| said Newman.
108:122,31[B  ]| "No$2$ matter what you have done, people are never prepared.
108:122,32[B  ]| But if you are so$5#1$ surprised, I hope at least you
108:122,33[B  ]| are pleased."
108:122,34[E  ]| "Come!" 
108:122,34['  ]| said Bellegarde. 
108:122,34[E  ]| "I am going to$9$ be
108:122,35[E  ]| tremendously frank. I do not know whether I am pleased
108:122,36[E  ]| or horrified."
108:122,37[B  ]| "If you are pleased, I shall be glad," 
108:122,37['  ]| said Newman,
108:122,38[B  ]| "and I shall be ~~ encouraged. If you are horrified, I
108:123,01[B  ]| shall be sorry, but I shall not be discouraged. You must
108:123,02[B  ]| make the best of it."
108:123,03[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is quite right ~~ that$6#2$ is your only possible
108:123,04[E  ]| attitude. You are perfectly serious?"
108:123,05[B  ]| "Am I a Frenchman, that$3$ I should not be?" 
108:123,05['  ]| asked
108:123,06['  ]| Newman. 
108:123,06[B  ]| "But why is it, by*the*by, that$3$ you should
108:123,07[B  ]| be horrified?"
108:123,08['  ]| Bellegarde raised his hand to$4$ the back of his head and
108:123,09['  ]| rubbed his hair quickly up$5$ and down, thrusting out the
108:123,10['  ]| tip of his tongue as he did so$5#2$. 
108:123,10[E  ]| "Why, you are not
108:123,11[E  ]| noble, for$4$ instance," 
108:123,11['  ]| he said.
108:123,12[B  ]| "The devil I am not!" 
108:123,12['  ]| exclaimed Newman.
108:123,13[E  ]| "Oh," 
108:123,13['  ]| said Bellegarde, a little more seriously, 
108:123,13[E  ]| "I
108:123,14[E  ]| did not know you had a title."
108:123,15[B  ]| "A title? What do you mean by$4$ a title?" 
108:123,15['  ]| asked
108:123,16['  ]| Newman. 
108:123,16[B  ]| "A count, a duke, a marquis? I do not
108:123,17[B  ]| know anything about that$6#2$, I do not know who$6#1$ is and who$6#1$
108:123,18[B  ]| is not. But I say I am noble. I do not exactly know
108:123,19[B  ]| what you mean by$4$ it, but it is a fine word and a fine idea;
108:123,20[B  ]| I put in$4$ a claim to$4$ it."
108:123,21[E  ]| "But what have you to$9$ show, my dear fellow; what
108:123,22[E  ]| proofs?"
108:123,23[B  ]| "Anything you please! But you do not suppose I am
108:123,24[B  ]| going to$9$ undertake to$9$ prove that$3$ I am noble? It is for$4$
108:123,25[B  ]| you to$9$ prove the contrary."
108:123,26[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is easily done. You have manufactured wash-tubs."
108:123,27[E  ]| 
108:123,28['  ]| Newman stared a moment. 
108:123,28[B  ]| "Therefore I am not
108:123,29[B  ]| noble? I do not see it. Tell me something I have \not\
108:123,30[B  ]| done ~~ something I cannot do."
108:123,31[E  ]| "You cannot marry a woman like$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=
108:123,32[E  ]| for$4$ the asking."
108:123,33[B  ]| "I believe you mean," 
108:123,33['  ]| said Newman, slowly, 
108:123,33[B  ]| "that$3$ I
108:123,34[B  ]| am not good enough."
108:123,35[E  ]| "Brutally speaking ~~ yes!"
108:123,36['  ]| Bellegarde had hesitated a moment, and while he hesitated
108:123,37['  ]| Newman's attentive glance had grown somewhat
108:124,01['  ]| eager. In$4$ answer to$4$ these last words he for$4$ a moment
108:124,02['  ]| said nothing. He simply blushed a little. Then he
108:124,03['  ]| raised his eyes to$4$ the ceiling and stood looking at one of 
108:124,04['  ]| the rosy cherubs that$6#1$ was painted upon$4$ it. 
108:124,04[B  ]| "Of course
108:124,05[B  ]| I do not expect to$9$ marry any women for$4$ the asking," 
108:124,05['  ]| he
108:124,06['  ]| said at last; 
108:124,06[B  ]| "I expect first to$9$ make myself acceptable to$4$
108:124,07[B  ]| her. She must like$1$ me, to$9$ begin with. But that$3$ I am
108:124,08[B  ]| not good enough to$9$ make a trial is rather a surprise."
108:124,09['  ]| Bellegarde wore a look of mingled perplexity, sympathy,
108:124,10['  ]| and amusement. 
108:124,10[E  ]| "You should not hesitate, then,
108:124,11[E  ]| to$9$ go up$5$ to-morrow and ask a duchess to$9$ marry you!"
108:124,12[B  ]| "Not if I thought she would suit me. But I am very
108:124,13[B  ]| fastidious; she might not at all."
108:124,14['  ]| Bellegarde's amusement began to$9$ prevail. 
108:124,14[E  ]| "And you
108:124,15[E  ]| should be surprised if she refused you?"
108:124,16['  ]| Newman hesitated a moment. 
108:124,16[B  ]| "It sounds conceited
108:124,17[B  ]| to$9$ say Yes; but, nevertheless, I think I should. For$3$ I
108:124,18[B  ]| should make a very handsome offer."
108:124,19[E  ]| "What would it be?"
108:124,20[B  ]| "Everything she wishes. If I get hold of a woman
108:124,21[B  ]| that$6#1$ comes up$5$ to$4$ my standard, I shall think nothing too 
108:124,22[B  ]| good for$4$ her. I have been a long time looking, and I
108:124,23[B  ]| find such women are rare. To$9$ combine the qualities I
108:124,24[B  ]| require seems to$9$ be difficult, but when the difficulty is
108:124,25[B  ]| vanquished it deserves a reward. My wife shall have a
108:124,26[B  ]| good position, and I am not afraid to$9$ say that$3$ I shall be
108:124,27[B  ]| a good husband."
108:124,28[E  ]| "And these qualities that$6#1$ you require ~~ what are
108:124,29[E  ]| they?"
108:124,30[B  ]| "Goodness, beauty, intelligence, a fine education,
108:124,31[B  ]| personal elegance ~~ everything, in$4$ a word, that$6#1$ makes a
108:124,32[B  ]| splendid woman."
108:124,33[E  ]| "And noble birth, evidently," 
108:124,33['  ]| said Bellegarde.
108:124,34[B  ]| "Oh, throw that$6#2$ in$5$, by$4$ all means, if it is there. The
108:124,35[B  ]| more the better!"
108:124,36[E  ]| "And my sister seems to$4$ you to$9$ have all these
108:124,37[E  ]| things?"
108:125,01[B  ]| "She is exactly what I have been looking for$4$. She
108:125,02[B  ]| is my dream realised."
108:125,03[E  ]| "And you would make her a very good husband?"
108:125,04[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is what I wanted you to$9$ tell her."
108:125,05['  ]| Bellegarde laid his hand on$4$ his companion's arm a
108:125,06['  ]| moment, looked at him with his head on$4$ one side, from
108:125,07['  ]| head to$4$ foot, and then, with a loud laugh, and shaking
108:125,08['  ]| the other hand in$4$ the air, turned away. He walked
108:125,09['  ]| again the length of the room, and again he came back and
108:125,10['  ]| stationed himself in$4$ front of Newman. 
108:125,10[E  ]| "All this is very
108:125,11[E  ]| interesting ~~ it is very curious. In$4$ what I said just now
108:125,12[E  ]| I was speaking, not for$4$ myself, but for$4$ my traditions,
108:125,13[E  ]| my superstitions. For$4$ myself, really, your proposal
108:125,14[E  ]| tickles me. It startled me at first, but the more I think
108:125,15[E  ]| of it the more I see in$4$ it. It is no$2$ use attempting to$9$ explain
108:125,16[E  ]| anything; you will$1$ not understand me. After all, I
108:125,17[E  ]| do not see why you need; it is no$2$ great loss."
108:125,18[B  ]| "Oh, if there is anything more to$9$ explain, try it; I
108:125,19[B  ]| want to$9$ proceed with my eyes open. I will$1$ do my best
108:125,20[B  ]| to$9$ understand."
108:125,21[E  ]| "No$7$," 
108:125,21['  ]| said Bellegarde, 
108:125,21[E  ]| "It is disagreeable to$4$ me; I
108:125,22[E  ]| give it up$5$. I liked you the first time I saw you, and I
108:125,23[E  ]| will$1$ abide by$4$ that$6#2$. It would be quite odious for$4$ me to$9$
108:125,24[E  ]| come talking to$4$ you as if I could patronise you. I have
108:125,25[E  ]| told you before that$3$ I envy you; \9vous 9m'imposez\, as we say.
108:125,26[E  ]| I did not know you much until within five minutes. So$3$
108:125,27[E  ]| we will$1$ let things go, and I will$1$ say nothing to$4$ you that$6#1$,
108:125,28[E  ]| if our positions were reversed, you would not say to$4$ me."
108:125,29['  ]| I do not know whether, in$4$ renouncing the mysterious
108:125,30['  ]| opportunity to$4$ which$6#1$ he alluded, Bellegarde felt that$3$ he
108:125,31['  ]| was doing something very generous. If so$5#2$, he was not
108:125,32['  ]| rewarded; his generosity was not appreciated. Newman
108:125,33['  ]| quite failed to$9$ recognise the young Frenchman's power
108:125,34['  ]| to$9$ wound his feelings, and he had now no$2$ sense of escaping
108:125,35['  ]| or coming off easily. He did not thank his companion
108:125,36['  ]| even with a glance. 
108:125,36[B  ]| "My eyes are open, though,"
108:125,37['  ]| he said, 
108:125,37[B  ]| "so$5#1$ far as that$3$ you have practically told me that$3$
108:126,01[B  ]| your family and your friends will$1$ turn up$5$ their noses at
108:126,02[B  ]| me. I have never thought much about the reasons that$6#1$
108:126,03[B  ]| make it proper for$4$ people to$9$ turn up$5$ their noses, and so$3$
108:126,04[B  ]| I can only decide the question off-hand. Looking at it
108:126,05[B  ]| in$4$ that$6#2$ way, I can not see anything in$4$ it. I simply think,
108:126,06[B  ]| if you want to$9$ know, that$3$ I am as good as the best. Who$6#1$
108:126,07[B  ]| the best are, I do not pretend to$9$ say. I have never
108:126,08[B  ]| thought much about that$6#2$ either. To$9$ tell the truth, I
108:126,09[B  ]| have always had rather a good opinion of myself; a man
108:126,10[B  ]| who$6#1$ is successful can not help it. But I will$1$ admit that$3$ I
108:126,11[B  ]| was conceited. What I do not say Yes to$4$ is that$3$ I do not
108:126,12[B  ]| stand high ~~ as high as any*one else. This is a line of
108:126,13[B  ]| speculation I should not have chosen, but you must remember
108:126,14[B  ]| you began it yourself. I should never have
108:126,15[B  ]| dreamed that$3$ I was on$4$ the defensive, or that$3$ I had to$9$
108:126,16[B  ]| justify myself but if your people will$1$ have it so$5#2$, I will$1$
108:126,17[B  ]| do my best."
108:126,18[E  ]| "But you offered, a while ago, to$9$ make your court, as
108:126,19[E  ]| we say, to$4$ my mother and my brother."
108:126,20[B  ]| "Damn it!" 
108:126,20['  ]| cried Newman, 
108:126,20[B  ]| "I want to$9$ be polite."
108:126,21[E  ]| "Good!" 
108:126,21['  ]| rejoined Bellegarde; 
108:126,21[E  ]| "this will$1$ go far, it will$1$
108:126,22[E  ]| be very entertaining. Excuse my speaking of it in$4$ that$6#2$
108:126,23[E  ]| cold-blooded fashion, but the matter must, of necessity,
108:126,24[E  ]| be for$4$ me something of a spectacle. It is positively exciting.
108:126,25[E  ]| But apart from that$6#2$ I sympathise with you, and
108:126,26[E  ]| I shall be actor, so$5#1$ far as I can, as well as spectator.
108:126,27[E  ]| You are a capital fellow; I believe in$4$ you and I back
108:126,28[E  ]| you. The simple fact that$3$ you appreciate my sister will$1$
108:126,29[E  ]| serve as the proof I was asking for$4$. All men are equal
108:126,30[E  ]| ~~ especially men of taste!"
108:126,31[B  ]| "Do you think," 
108:126,31['  ]| asked Newman, presently, 
108:126,31[B  ]| "that$3$
108:126,32[B  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= is determined not to$9$ marry?"
108:126,33[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is my impression. But that$6#2$ is not against you;
108:126,34[E  ]| it is for$4$ you to$9$ make her change her mind."
108:126,35[B  ]| "I am afraid it will$1$ be hard," 
108:126,35['  ]| said Newman, gravely.
108:126,36[E  ]| "I do not think it will$1$ be easy. In$4$ a general way, I
108:126,37[E  ]| do not see why a widow should ever marry again. She
108:127,01[E  ]| has gained the benefits of matrimony ~~ freedom and consideration
108:127,02[E  ]| ~~ and she has got rid of the drawbacks. Why
108:127,03[E  ]| should she put her head into the noose again? Her usual
108:127,04[E  ]| motive is ambition; if a man can offer her a great position,
108:127,05[E  ]| make her a princess or an ambassadress, she may
108:127,06[E  ]| think the compensation sufficient."
108:127,07[B  ]| "And ~~ in$4$ that$6#2$ way ~~ is Madame*de*Cintre= ambitious?"
108:127,08[B  ]| 
108:127,09[E  ]| "Who$6#2$ knows?" 
108:127,09['  ]| said Bellegarde, with a profound
108:127,10['  ]| shrug. 
108:127,10[E  ]| "I do not pretend to$9$ say all that$6#1$ she is or all
108:127,11[E  ]| that$6#1$ she is not. I think she might be touched by$4$ the
108:127,12[E  ]| prospect of becoming the wife of a great man. But in$4$ a
108:127,13[E  ]| certain way, I believe, whatever she does will$1$ be the
108:127,14[E  ]| \improbable\. Do not be too confident, but do not absolutely
108:127,15[E  ]| doubt. Your best chance for$4$ success will$1$ be precisely
108:127,16[E  ]| in$4$ being, to$4$ her mind, unusual, unexpected, original.
108:127,17[E  ]| Do not try to$9$ be any*one else; be simply yourself, out
108:127,18[E  ]| and out. Something or other can not fail to$9$ come of it;
108:127,19[E  ]| I am very curious to$9$ see what."
108:127,20[B  ]| "I am much obliged to$4$ you for$4$ your advice," 
108:127,20['  ]| said
108:127,21['  ]| Newman. 
108:127,21[B  ]| "And," 
108:127,21['  ]| he added, with a smile, 
108:127,21[B  ]| "I am
108:127,22[B  ]| glad, for$4$ your sake, I am going to$9$ be so$5#1$ amusing."
108:127,23[E  ]| "It will$1$ be more than amusing," 
108:127,23['  ]| said Bellegarde;
108:127,24[E  ]| "it will$1$ be inspiring. I look at it from my point of
108:127,25[E  ]| view, and you from yours. After all, anything for$4$ a
108:127,26[E  ]| change! And only yesterday I was yawning so$5#2$ as to$9$
108:127,27[E  ]| dislocate my jaw, and declaring that$3$ there was nothing
108:127,28[E  ]| new under the sun! If it is not new to$9$ see you come
108:127,29[E  ]| into the family as a suitor, I am very much mistaken.
108:127,30[E  ]| Let me say that$6#2$, my dear fellow; I will$1$ not call it anything
108:127,31[E  ]| else, bad or good; I will$1$ simply call it \new\."
108:127,32['  ]| And overcome with a sense of the novelty thus foreshadowed,
108:127,33['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde threw himself into a
108:127,34['  ]| deep arm chair before the fire, and with a fixed intense
108:127,35['  ]| smile seemed to$9$ read a vision of it in$4$ the flame of the
108:127,36['  ]| logs. After a while he looked up$5$. 
108:127,36[E  ]| "Go ahead, my
108:127,37[E  ]| boy; you have my good wishes," 
108:127,37['  ]| he said. 
108:127,37[E  ]| "But it is
108:128,01[E  ]| really a pity you do not understand me; that$3$ you do not
108:128,02[E  ]| know just what I am doing."
108:128,03[B  ]| "Oh," 
108:128,03['  ]| said Newman, laughing, 
108:128,03[B  ]| "do not do anything
108:128,04[B  ]| wrong. Leave me to$4$ myself rather, or defy me out and
108:128,05[B  ]| out. I would not lay any load on$4$ your conscience."
108:128,06['  ]| Bellegarde sprang up$5$ again; he was evidently excited,
108:128,07['  ]| there was a warmer spark even than usual in$4$ his eye.
108:128,08[E  ]| "You never will$1$ understand ~~ you never will$1$ know," 
108:128,08['  ]| he
108:128,09['  ]| said; 
108:128,09[E  ]| "and if you succeed, and I turn out to$9$ have helped
108:128,10[E  ]| you, you will$1$ never be grateful, not as I shall deserve
108:128,11[E  ]| you should be. You will$1$ be an excellent fellow always,
108:128,12[E  ]| but you will$1$ not be grateful. But it does not matter, for$3$
108:128,13[E  ]| I shall get my own fun out of it." 
108:128,13['  ]| And he broke into
108:128,14['  ]| an extravagant laugh. 
108:128,14[E  ]| "You look puzzled," 
108:128,14['  ]| he added;
108:128,15[E  ]| "you look almost frightened."
108:128,16[B  ]| "It \is\ a pity," 
108:128,16['  ]| said Newman, 
108:128,16[B  ]| "that$3$ I do not understand
108:128,17[B  ]| you. I shall lose some very good jokes."
108:128,18[E  ]| "I told you, you remember, that$3$ we were very strange
108:128,19[E  ]| people," 
108:128,19['  ]| Bellegarde went on$5$. 
108:128,19[E  ]| "I give you warning
108:128,20[E  ]| again. We are! My mother is strange, my brother is
108:128,21[E  ]| strange, and I verily believe that$3$ I am stranger than
108:128,22[E  ]| either. You will$1$ even find my sister a little strange.
108:128,23[E  ]| Old trees have crooked branches, old houses have queer
108:128,24[E  ]| cracks, old races have odd secrets. Remember that$3$ we
108:128,25[E  ]| are eight hundred years old!"
108:128,26[B  ]| "Very good," 
108:128,26['  ]| said Newman; 
108:128,26[B  ]| "that$6#2$ is the sort of thing
108:128,27[B  ]| I came to$4$ Europe for$4$. You come into my programme."
108:128,28[E  ]| "\9Touchez-la`\, then," 
108:128,28['  ]| said Bellegarde, putting out his
108:128,29['  ]| hand. 
108:128,29[E  ]| "It is a bargain; I accept you, I espouse your
108:128,30[E  ]| cause. It is because I like$1$ you, in$4$ a great measure; but
108:128,31[E  ]| that$6#2$ is not the only reason." 
108:128,31['  ]| And he stood holding
108:128,32['  ]| Newman's hand and looking at him askance.
108:128,33[B  ]| "What is the other one?"
108:128,34[E  ]| "I am in$4$ the Opposition. I dislike some*one else."
108:128,35[B  ]| "Your brother?" 
108:128,35['  ]| asked Newman, in$4$ his unmodulated
108:128,36['  ]| voice.
108:128,37['  ]| Bellegarde laid his finger upon$4$ his lips with a whispered
108:129,01['  ]| \hush\! 
108:129,01[E  ]| "Old races have strange secrets!"
108:129,01['  ]| he
108:129,02['  ]| said. 
108:129,02[E  ]| "Put yourself into motion; come and see my
108:129,03[E  ]| sister, and be assured of my sympathy!" 
108:129,03['  ]| And on$4$ this
108:129,04['  ]| he took his leave.
108:129,05['  ]| Newman dropped into a chair before his fire, and sat
108:129,06['  ]| a long time staring into the blaze.
109:129,01['  ]| He went to$9$ see Madame*de*Cintre= the next day, and
109:129,02['  ]| was informed by$4$ the servant that$3$ 
109:129,02@x   | she was at home. 
109:129,02['  ]| He
109:129,03['  ]| passed as usual up$4$ the large cold staircase, and through
109:129,04['  ]| a spacious vestibule above, where the walls seemed all
109:129,05['  ]| composed of small door-panels, touched with long-faded
109:129,06['  ]| gilding; whence he was ushered into the sitting-room in$4$
109:129,07['  ]| which$6#1$ he had already been received. It was empty, and
109:129,08['  ]| the servant told him that$3$ 
109:129,08@x   | Madame*la*Comtesse would
109:129,09@x   | presently appear. 
109:129,09['  ]| He had time, while he waited, to$9$
109:129,10['  ]| wonder 
109:129,10@b   | whether Bellegarde had seen his sister since the
109:129,11@b   | evening before, and whether in$4$ this case he had spoken
109:129,12@b   | to$4$ her of their talk. In$4$ this case Madame*de*Cintre='s
109:129,13@b   | receiving him was an encouragement. 
109:129,13['  ]| He felt a certain
109:129,14['  ]| trepidation as he reflected that$3$ 
109:129,14@b   | she might come in$5$ with
109:129,15@b   | the knowledge of his supreme admiration and of the project
109:129,16@b   | he had built upon$4$ it in$4$ her eyes; 
109:129,16['  ]| but the feeling was
109:129,17['  ]| not disagreeable. 
109:129,17@b   | Her face could wear no$2$ look that$6#1$
109:129,18@b   | would make it less beautiful, and 
109:129,18['  ]| he was sure beforehand
109:129,19['  ]| that$3$, 
109:129,19@b   | however she might take the proposal he had in$4$
109:129,20@b   | reserve, she would not take it in$4$ scorn or in$4$ irony. 
109:129,20['  ]| He
109:129,21['  ]| had a feeling that$3$ 
109:129,21@b   | if she could only read the bottom of
109:129,22@b   | his heart, and measure the extent of his good-will toward
109:129,23@b   | her, she would be entirely kind.
109:129,24['  ]| She came in$5$ at last, after so$5#1$ long an interval that$3$ he
109:129,25['  ]| wondered 
109:129,25@b   | whether she had been hesitating. 
109:129,25['  ]| She smiled
109:130,01['  ]| with her usual frankness, and held out her hand; she
109:130,02['  ]| looked at him straight with her soft and luminous eyes,
109:130,03['  ]| and said, without a tremor in$4$ her voice, that$3$ 
109:130,03@a   | she was
109:130,04@a   | glad to$9$ see him, and that$3$ she hoped he was well. 
109:130,04['  ]| He
109:130,05['  ]| found in$4$ her what he had found before ~~ that$6#2$ faint perfume
109:130,06['  ]| of a personal shyness worn away by$4$ contact with
109:130,07['  ]| the world, but the more perceptible the more closely you
109:130,08['  ]| approached her. This lingering diffidence seemed to$9$
109:130,09['  ]| give a peculiar value to$4$ what was definite and assured
109:130,10['  ]| in$4$ her manner; it made it seem like$4$ an accomplishment,
109:130,11['  ]| a beautiful talent, something that$6#1$ one might compare to$4$
109:130,12['  ]| an exquisite touch in$4$ a pianist. It was, in$4$ fact, Madame*de*Cintre='s
109:130,13['  ]| "authority," as they say of artists, that$6#1$
109:130,14['  ]| especially impressed and fascinated Newman; he always
109:130,15['  ]| came back to$4$ the feeling that$3$ 
109:130,15@b   | when he should complete
109:130,16@b   | himself by$4$ taking a wife, that$6#2$ was the way he should like$1$
109:130,17@b   | his wife to$9$ interpret him to$4$ the world. The only
109:130,18@b   | trouble, indeed, was that$3$ when the instrument was so$5#1$
109:130,19@b   | perfect it seemed to$9$ interpose too much between you and
109:130,20@b   | the genius that$6#1$ used it. 
109:130,20['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= gave Newman
109:130,21['  ]| the sense of an elaborate education, of her having passed
109:130,22['  ]| through mysterious ceremonies and processes of culture
109:130,23['  ]| in$4$ her youth, of her having been fashioned and made
109:130,24['  ]| flexible to$4$ certain exalted social needs. All this, as I
109:130,25['  ]| have affirmed, made her seem rare and precious ~~ a very
109:130,26['  ]| expensive article, as he would have said, and one which$6#1$
109:130,27['  ]| a man with an ambition to$9$ have everything about him of
109:130,28['  ]| the best would find it highly agreeable to$9$ possess. But
109:130,29['  ]| looking at the matter with an eye to$4$ private felicity,
109:130,30['  ]| Newman wondered 
109:130,30@b   | where, in$4$ so$5#1$ exquisite a compound,
109:130,31@b   | nature and art showed their dividing line. Where did
109:130,32@b   | the special intention separate from the habit of good
109:130,33@b   | manners? Where did urbanity end and sincerity begin?
109:130,34['  ]| Newman asked himself these questions even while he
109:130,35['  ]| stood ready to$9$ accept the admired object in$4$ all its complexity;
109:130,36['  ]| he felt that$3$ he could do so$5#2$ in$4$ profound security,
109:130,37['  ]| and examine its mechanism afterwards, at leisure.
109:131,01[B  ]| "I am very glad to$9$ find you alone," 
109:131,01['  ]| he said. 
109:131,01[B  ]| "You
109:131,02[B  ]| know I have never had such good luck before."
109:131,03[A  ]| "But you have seemed before very well contented
109:131,04[A  ]| with your luck," 
109:131,04['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
109:131,04[A  ]| "You have
109:131,05[A  ]| sat and watched my visitors with an air of quiet amusement.
109:131,06[A  ]| What have you thought of them?"
109:131,07[B  ]| "Oh, I have thought the ladies were very elegant and
109:131,08[B  ]| very graceful, and wonderfully quick at repartee. But
109:131,09[B  ]| what I have chiefly thought has been that$3$ they only help
109:131,10[B  ]| me to$9$ admire you." 
109:131,10['  ]| This was not gallantry on$4$ Newman's
109:131,11['  ]| part ~~ an art in$4$ which$6#1$ he was quite unversed. It
109:131,12['  ]| was simply the instinct of the practical man, who$6#1$ had
109:131,13['  ]| quite made up$5$ his mind what he wanted, and was now
109:131,14['  ]| beginning to$9$ take active steps to$9$ obtain it.
109:131,15['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= started slightly, and raised her eyebrows;
109:131,16['  ]| she had evidently not expected so$5#1$ fervid a compliment. 
109:131,17[A  ]| "Oh, in$4$ that$6#2$ case," 
109:131,17['  ]| she said, with a laugh,
109:131,18[A  ]| "your finding me alone is not good luck for$4$ me. I
109:131,19[A  ]| hope some*one will$1$ come in$5$ quickly."
109:131,20[B  ]| "I hope not," 
109:131,20['  ]| said Newman. 
109:131,200B  ]| "I have something
109:131,21[B  ]| particular to$9$ say to$4$ you. Have you seen your brother?"
109:131,22[A  ]| "Yes, I saw him an hour ago."
109:131,23[B  ]| "Did he tell you that$3$ he had seen me last night?"
109:131,24[A  ]| "He said so$5#2$."
109:131,25[B  ]| "And did he tell you what we had talked about?"
109:131,26['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= hesitated a moment. As Newman
109:131,27['  ]| asked these questions she had grown a little pale, as if
109:131,28['  ]| she regarded what was coming as necessary, but not as
109:131,29['  ]| agreeable. 
109:131,29[A  ]| "Did you give him a message to$4$ me?" 
109:131,29['  ]| she
109:131,30['  ]| asked.
109:131,31[B  ]| "It was not exactly a message ~~ I asked him to$9$ render
109:131,32[B  ]| me a service."
109:131,33[A  ]| "The service was to$9$ sing your praises, was it not?"
109:131,34['  ]| And she accompanied this question with a little smile, as
109:131,35['  ]| if to$9$ make it easier to$4$ herself.
109:131,36[B  ]| "Yes, that$6#2$ is what it really amounts to$4$," 
109:131,36['  ]| said Newman.
109:131,37[B  ]| "Did he sing my praises?"
109:132,01[A  ]| "He spoke very well of you. But when I know that$3$
109:132,02[A  ]| it was by$4$ your special request, of course I must take his
109:132,03[A  ]| eulogy with a grain of salt."
109:132,04[B  ]| "Oh, that$6#2$ makes no$2$ difference," 
109:132,04['  ]| said Newman.
109:132,05[B  ]| "Your brother would not have spoken well of me
109:132,06[B  ]| unless he believed what he was saying. He is too
109:132,07[B  ]| honest for$4$ that$6#2$."
109:132,08[A  ]| "Are you very deep?" 
109:132,08['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
109:132,09[A  ]| "Are you trying to$9$ please me by$4$ praising my brother?
109:132,10[A  ]| I confess it is a good way."
109:132,11[B  ]| "For$4$ me, any way that$6#1$ succeeds will$1$ be good. I
109:132,12[B  ]| will$1$ praise your brother all day, if that$6#2$ will$1$ help me.
109:132,13[B  ]| He is a noble little fellow. He has made me feel, in$4$
109:132,14[B  ]| promising to$9$ do what he can to$9$ help me, that$3$ I can
109:132,15[B  ]| depend upon$4$ him."
109:132,16[A  ]| "Do not make too much of that$6#2$," 
109:132,16['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
109:132,17[A  ]| "He can help you very little."
109:132,18[B  ]| "Of course I must work my way myself. I know
109:132,19[B  ]| that$6#2$ very well; I only want a chance to$9$. In$4$ consenting
109:132,20[B  ]| to$9$ see me, after what he told you, you almost seem to$9$
109:132,21[B  ]| be giving me a chance."
109:132,22[A  ]| "I am seeing you," 
109:132,22['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, slowly
109:132,23['  ]| and gravely, 
109:132,23[A  ]| "because I promised my brother I would."
109:132,24[B  ]| "Blessings on$4$ your brother's head!" 
109:132,24['  ]| cried Newman.
109:132,25[B  ]| "What I told him last evening was this: that$3$ I admired
109:132,26[B  ]| you more than any woman I had even seen, and that$3$ I
109:132,27[B  ]| should like$1$ immensely to$9$ make you my wife." 
109:132,27['  ]| He
109:132,28['  ]| uttered these words with great directness and firmness,
109:132,29['  ]| and without any sense of confusion. He was full of
109:132,30['  ]| his idea, he had completely mastered it, and he seemed
109:132,31['  ]| to$9$ look down on$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=, with all her gathered
109:132,32['  ]| elegance, from the height of his bracing good conscience.
109:132,33['  ]| It is probably that$3$ this particular tone and manner were
109:132,34['  ]| the very best he could have hit upon$4$. Yet the light,
109:132,35['  ]| just visibly forced smile with which$6#1$ his companion had
109:132,36['  ]| listened to$4$ him died away, and she sat looking at him
109:132,37['  ]| with her lips parted and her face as solemn as a tragic
109:133,01['  ]| mask. There was evidently something very painful to$4$
109:133,02['  ]| her in$4$ the scene to$4$ which$6#1$ he was subjecting her, and yet
109:133,03['  ]| her impatience of it found no$2$ angry voice. Newman
109:133,04['  ]| wondered whether he was hurting her; he could not
109:133,05['  ]| imagine why the liberal devotion he meant to$9$ express
109:133,06['  ]| should be disagreeable. He got up$5$ and stood before
109:133,07['  ]| her, leaning one hand on$4$ the chimney-piece. 
109:133,07[B  ]| "I know
109:133,08[B  ]| I have seen you very little to$9$ say this," 
109:133,08['  ]| he said, 
109:133,08[B  ]| "so$5#1$
109:133,09[B  ]| little that$3$ it may make what I say seem disrespectful.
109:133,10[B  ]| That$6#2$ is my misfortune! I could have said it the first
109:133,11[B  ]| time I saw you. Really, I had seen you before; I had
109:133,12[B  ]| seen you in$4$ imagination; you seemed almost an old
109:133,13[B  ]| friend. So$3$ what I say is not mere gallantry and compliments
109:133,14[B  ]| and nonsense ~~ I can not talk that$6#2$ way, I do not
109:133,15[B  ]| know how, and I would not to$4$ you if I could. It is as
109:133,16[B  ]| serious as such words can be. I feel as if I knew you
109:133,17[B  ]| and knew what a beautiful admirable woman you are.
109:133,18[B  ]| I shall know better, perhaps, some day, but I have a
109:133,19[B  ]| general notion now. You are just the woman I have
109:133,20[B  ]| been looking for$4$, except that$3$ you are far more perfect.
109:133,21[B  ]| I will$1$ not make any protestations and vows, but you can
109:133,22[B  ]| trust me. It is very soon, I know, to$9$ say all this; it is
109:133,23[B  ]| almost offensive. But why not gain time if one can?
109:133,24[B  ]| And if you want time to$9$ reflect ~~ of course you do ~~ the
109:133,25[B  ]| sooner you begin the better for$4$ me. I do not know what
109:133,26[B  ]| you think of me; but there is no$2$ great mystery about
109:133,27[B  ]| me; you see what I am. Your brother told me that$3$ 
109:133,28[B  ]| my antecedents and occupations were against me; that$3$
109:133,29[B  ]| your family stands somehow on$4$ a higher level than I do.
109:133,30[B  ]| That$6#2$ is an idea which$6#1$, of course, I do not understand
109:133,31[B  ]| and do not accept. But you do not care anything about
109:133,32[B  ]| that$6#2$. I can assure you that$3$ I am a very solid fellow,
109:133,33[B  ]| and that$3$ if I give my mind to$4$ it I can arrange things so$3$
109:133,34[B  ]| that$3$ in$4$ a very few years I shall not need to$9$ waste time
109:133,35[B  ]| in$4$ explaining who$6#1$ I am and what I am. You will$1$
109:133,36[B  ]| decide for$4$ yourself whether you like$1$ me or not. What
109:133,37[B  ]| there is you see before you. I honestly believe I have
109:134,01[B  ]| no$2$ hidden vices or nasty tricks. I am kind, kind, kind!
109:134,02[B  ]| Everything that$6#1$ a man can give a woman I will$1$ give
109:134,03[B  ]| you. I have a large fortune, a very large fortune; some
109:134,04[B  ]| day, if you will$1$ allow me, I will$1$ go into details. If you
109:134,05[B  ]| want brilliancy, everything in$4$ the way of brilliancy that$6#1$
109:134,06[B  ]| money can give you, you shall have. And as regards
109:134,07[B  ]| anything you may give up$5$, do not take for$4$ granted too
109:134,08[B  ]| much that$3$ it's place cannot be filled. Leave that$6#2$ to$4$ me;
109:134,09[B  ]| I will$1$ take care of you; I shall know what you need.
109:134,10[B  ]| Energy and ingenuity can arrange everything. I am a
109:134,11[B  ]| strong man! There, I have said what I had on$4$ my
109:134,12[B  ]| heart! It was better to$9$ get it off. I am very sorry if
109:134,13[B  ]| it is disagreeable to$4$ you; but think how much better it
109:134,14[B  ]| is that$3$ things should be clear. Do not answer me now,
109:134,15[B  ]| if you do not wish it. Think about it; think about it as
109:134,16[B  ]| slowly as you please. Of course I have not said, I can not
109:134,17[B  ]| say, half I mean, especially about my admiration for$4$
109:134,18[B  ]| you. But take a favourable view of me; it will$1$ only
109:134,19[B  ]| be just."
109:134,20['  ]| During this speech, the longest that$6#1$ Newman had ever
109:134,21['  ]| made, Madame*de*Cintre= kept her gaze fixed upon$4$ him,
109:134,22['  ]| and it expanded at the last into a sort of fascinated stare.
109:134,23['  ]| When he ceased speaking she lowered her eyes and sat
109:134,24['  ]| for$4$ some moments looking down and straight before her.
109:134,25['  ]| Then she slowly rose to$4$ her feet, and a pair of exceptionally
109:134,26['  ]| keen eyes would have perceived that$3$ she was trembling
109:134,27['  ]| a little in$4$ the movement. She still looked extremely
109:134,28['  ]| serious. 
109:134,28[A  ]| "I am very much obliged to$4$ you for$4$
109:134,29[A  ]| your offer," 
109:134,29['  ]| she said. 
109:134,29[A  ]| "It seems very strange, but I
109:134,30[A  ]| am glad you spoke without waiting any longer. It is
109:134,31[A  ]| better the subject should be dismissed. I appreciate all
109:134,32[A  ]| you say; you do me great honour. But I have decided
109:134,33[A  ]| not to$9$ marry."
109:134,34[B  ]| "Oh, do not say that$6#2$!" 
109:134,34['  ]| cried Newman, in$4$ a tone
109:134,35['  ]| absolutely \9naif\ from its pleading and caressing cadence.
109:134,36['  ]| She had turned away, and it made her stop a moment
109:134,37['  ]| with her back to$4$ him. 
109:134,37[B  ]| "Think better of that$6#2$. You
109:135,01[B  ]| are too young, too beautiful, too much made to$9$ be happy
109:135,02[B  ]| and to$9$ make others happy. If you are afraid of losing
109:135,03[B  ]| your freedom, I can assure you that$3$ this freedom here,
109:135,04[B  ]| this life you now lead, is a dreary bondage to$4$ what I
109:135,05[B  ]| will$1$ offer you. You shall do things that$6#1$ I do not think
109:135,06[B  ]| you will$1$ have ever thought of. I will$1$ take you to$9$ live anywhere
109:135,07[B  ]| in$4$ the wide world that$6#1$ you propose. Are you
109:135,08[B  ]| unhappy? You give me a feeling that$3$ you \are\ unhappy.
109:135,09[B  ]| You have no$2$ right to$9$ be, or to$9$ be made so$5#2$. Let me
109:135,10[B  ]| come in$5$ and put an end to$4$ it."
109:135,11['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= stood there a moment longer,
109:135,12['  ]| looking away from him. If she was touched by$4$ the
109:135,13['  ]| way he spoke, the thing was conceivable. His voice,
109:135,14['  ]| always very mild and interrogative, gradually became as
109:135,15['  ]| soft and as tenderly argumentative as if he had been
109:135,16['  ]| talking to$4$ a much-loved child. He stood watching her,
109:135,17['  ]| and she presently turned round again, but this time she
109:135,18['  ]| did not look at him, and she spoke with a quietness in$4$
109:135,19['  ]| which$6#1$ there was a visible trace of effort.
109:135,20[A  ]| "There are a great many reasons why I should not
109:135,21[A  ]| marry," 
109:135,21['  ]| she said, 
109:135,21[A  ]| "more than I can explain to$4$ you. As
109:135,22[A  ]| for$4$ my happiness, I am very happy. Your offer seems
109:135,23[A  ]| strange to$4$ me, for$4$ more reasons, also, than I can say.
109:135,24[A  ]| Of course you have a perfect right to$9$ make it. But I
109:135,25[A  ]| cannot accept it ~~ it is impossible. Please never speak
109:135,26[A  ]| of this matter again. If you cannot promise me this, I
109:135,27[A  ]| must ask you not to$9$ come back."
109:135,28[B  ]| "Why is it impossible?" 
109:135,28['  ]| Newman demanded. 
109:135,28[B  ]| "You
109:135,29[B  ]| may think it is, at first, without its really being so$5#2$. I
109:135,30[B  ]| did not expect you to$9$ be pleased at first,, but I do believe
109:135,31[B  ]| that$3$ if you will$1$ think of it a good while, you may be
109:135,32[B  ]| satisfied."
109:135,33[A  ]| "I do not know you," 
109:135,33['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
109:135,34[A  ]| "Think how little I know you."
109:135,35[B  ]| "Very little, of course, and therefore I do not ask for$4$
109:135,36[B  ]| your ultimatum on$4$ the spot. I only ask you not to$9$ say
109:135,37[B  ]| No$7$, and to$9$ let me hope. I will$1$ wait as long as you
109:136,01[B  ]| desire. Meanwhile you can see more of me and know
109:136,02[B  ]| me better, look at me as a possible husband ~~ as a
109:136,03[B  ]| candidate ~~ and make up$5$ your mind."
109:136,04['  ]| Something was going on$5$, rapidly, in$4$ Madame*de*Cintre='s
109:136,05['  ]| thoughts; she was weighing a question there,
109:136,06['  ]| beneath Newman's eyes, weighing it and deciding it.
109:136,07[A  ]| "From the moment I do not very respectfully beg you to$9$
109:136,08[A  ]| leave the house and never return," 
109:136,08['  ]| she said, 
109:136,08[A  ]| "I listen to$4$
109:136,09[A  ]| you, I seem to$9$ give you hope. I \have\ listened to$4$ you ~
109:136,10[A  ]| against my judgment. It is because you are eloquent.
109:136,11[A  ]| If I had been told this morning that$3$ I should consent to$9$
109:136,12[A  ]| consider you as a possible husband, I should have
109:136,13[A  ]| thought my informant a little crazy. I \am\ listening to$4$
109:136,14[A  ]| you, you see!" 
109:136,14['  ]| And she threw her hands out for$4$ a
109:136,15['  ]| moment and let them drop with a gesture in$4$ which$6#1$ there
109:136,16['  ]| was just the slightest expression of appealing weakness.
109:136,17[B  ]| "Well, as far as saying goes, I have said everything,"
109:136,18['  ]| said Newman. 
109:136,18[B  ]| "I believe in$4$ you, without restriction,
109:136,19[B  ]| and I think all the good of you that$6#1$ it is possible to$9$
109:136,20[B  ]| think of a human creature. I firmly believe that$3$ in$4$
109:136,21[B  ]| marrying me you will$1$ be \safe\. As I said just now," 
109:136,21['  ]| he
109:136,22['  ]| went on$5$ with a smile, 
109:136,22[B  ]| "I have no$2$ bad ways. I can \do\ 
109:136,23[B  ]| so$5#1$ much for$4$ you. And if you are afraid that$3$ I am not
109:136,24[B  ]| what you have been accustomed to$4$, not refined and
109:136,25[B  ]| delicate and punctilious, you may easily carry that$6#2$ too
109:136,26[B  ]| far. I \am\ delicate! You shall see!"
109:136,27['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= walked some distance away, and
109:136,28['  ]| paused before a great plant, an azalea, which$6#1$ was
109:136,29['  ]| flourishing in$4$ a porcelain tub before her window. She
109:136,30['  ]| plucked off one of the flowers and, twisting it in$4$ her
109:136,31['  ]| fingers, retraced her steps. Then she sat down in$4$
109:136,32['  ]| silence, and her attitude seemed to$9$ be a consent that$3$
109:136,33['  ]| Newman should say more.
109:136,34[B  ]| "Why should you say it is impossible you should
109:136,35[B  ]| marry?" 
109:136,35['  ]| he continued. 
109:136,35[B  ]| "The only thing that$6#1$ could
109:136,36[B  ]| make it really impossible would be your being already
109:136,37[B  ]| married. Is it because you have been unhappy in$4$ marriage?
109:137,01[B  ]| That$6#2$ is all the more reason. Is it because your
109:137,02[B  ]| family exert a pressure upon$4$ you, interfere with you,
109:137,03[B  ]| annoy you? That$6#2$ is still another reason: you ought to$9$
109:137,04[B  ]| be perfectly free, and marriage will$1$ make you so$5#2$. I
109:137,05[B  ]| do not say anything against your family ~~ understand
109:137,06[B  ]| that$6#2$!" 
109:137,06['  ]| added Newman, with an eagerness which$6#1$ might
109:137,07['  ]| have made a perspicacious observer smile. 
109:137,07[B  ]| "What ever
109:137,08[B  ]| way you feel toward them is the right way, and anything
109:137,09[B  ]| that$6#1$ you should wish me to$9$ do to$9$ make myself agreeable
109:137,10[B  ]| to$4$ them I will$1$ do as well as I know how. Depend upon$4$
109:137,11[B  ]| that$6#2$!"
109:137,12['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= rose again and came toward the
109:137,13['  ]| fireplace, near which$6#1$ Newman was standing. The expression
109:137,14['  ]| of pain and embarrassment had passed out of
109:137,15['  ]| her face, and it was illuminated with something which$6#1$,
109:137,16['  ]| this time at least, Newman need not have been perplexed
109:137,17['  ]| whether to$9$ attribute to$4$ habit or to$4$ intention, to$4$ art or to$4$
109:137,18['  ]| nature. She had the air of a woman who$6#1$ had stepped
109:137,19['  ]| across the frontier of friendship and, looking round her,
109:137,20['  ]| finds the region vast. A certain checked and controlled
109:137,21['  ]| exaltation seemed mingled with the usual level radiance
109:137,22['  ]| of her glance. 
109:137,22[A  ]| "I will$1$ not refuse to$9$ see you again," 
109:137,22['  ]| she
109:137,23['  ]| said, 
109:137,23[A  ]| "because much of what you have said has given
109:137,24[A  ]| me pleasure. But I will$1$ see you only on$4$ this condition:
109:137,25[A  ]| that$3$ you say nothing more in$4$ the same way for$4$ a long
109:137,26[A  ]| time."
109:137,27[B  ]| "For$4$ how long?"
109:137,28[A  ]| "For$4$ six months. It must be a solemn promise."
109:137,29[B  ]| "Very well; I promise."
109:137,30[A  ]| "Good-bye, then," 
109:137,30['  ]| she said, and extended her hand.
109:137,31['  ]| He held it a moment, as if he were going to$9$ say
109:137,32['  ]| something more. But he only looked at her; then he
109:137,33['  ]| took his departure.
109:137,34['  ]| That$6#2$ evening, on$4$ the Boulevard, he met Valentin*de*Bellegarde.
109:137,35['  ]| After they had exchanged greetings, Newman
109:137,36['  ]| told him that$3$ he had seen Madame*de*Cintre= a few
109:137,37['  ]| hours before.
109:138,01[E  ]| "I know it," 
109:138,01['  ]| said Bellegarde. 
109:138,01[E  ]| "I dined in$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite=."
109:138,02['  ]| And then, for$4$ some moments, both
109:138,03['  ]| men were silent. Newman wished to$9$ ask Bellegarde
109:138,04['  ]| what visible impression his visit had made, and the
109:138,05['  ]| Count*Valentin had a question of his own. Bellegarde
109:138,06['  ]| spoke first.
109:138,07[E  ]| "It is none of my business, but what the deuce did
109:138,08[E  ]| you say to$4$ my sister?"
109:138,09[B  ]| "I am willing to$9$ tell you," 
109:138,09['  ]| said Newman, 
109:138,09[B  ]| "that$3$ I
109:138,10[B  ]| made her an offer of marriage."
109:138,11[E  ]| "Already!" 
109:138,11['  ]| And the young man gave a whistle.
109:138,12[E  ]| " ""Time is money!"" Is that$6#2$ what you say in$4$ America?
109:138,13[E  ]| And Madame*de*Cintre=?" 
109:138,13['  ]| he added, with an interrogative
109:138,14['  ]| inflection.
109:138,15[B  ]| "She did not accept my offer."
109:138,16[E  ]| "She could not, you know, in$4$ that$6#2$ way."
109:138,17[B  ]| "But I am to$9$ see her again," 
109:138,17['  ]| said Newman.
109:138,18[E  ]| "Oh, the strangeness of woman!" 
109:138,18['  ]| exclaimed Bellegarde.
109:138,19['  ]| Then he stopped, and held Newman off at
109:138,20['  ]| arm's length. 
109:138,20[E  ]| "I look at you with respect!" 
109:138,20['  ]| he exclaimed.
109:138,21[E  ]| "You have achieved what we call a personal
109:138,22[E  ]| success! Immediately, now, I must present you to$4$ my
109:138,23[E  ]| brother."
109:138,24[B  ]| "Whenever you please!" 
109:138,24['  ]| said Newman.
110:138,01['  ]| Newman continued to$9$ see his friends the Tristrams with
110:138,02['  ]| a good deal of frequency, though, if you had listened to$4$
110:138,03['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram's account of the matter, you would have
110:138,04['  ]| supposed that$3$ they had been cynically repudiated for$4$ the
110:138,05['  ]| sake of grander acquaintance. 
110:138,05[I  ]| "We were all very well
110:138,06[I  ]| so$5#1$ long as we had no$2$ rivals ~~ we were better than nothing.
110:138,07[I  ]| But now that$3$ you have become the fashion, and have
110:139,01[I  ]| your pick every day of three invitations to$4$ dinner, we
110:139,02[I  ]| are tossed into the corner. I am sure it is very good of
110:139,03[I  ]| you to$9$ come and see us once a month; I wonder you
110:139,04[I  ]| do not send us your cards in$4$ an envelope. When you do,
110:139,05[I  ]| pray have them with black edges; it will$1$ be for$4$ the
110:139,06[I  ]| death of my last illusion." 
110:139,06['  ]| It was in$4$ this incisive strain
110:139,07['  ]| that$3$ Mrs%*Tristram moralised over Newman's so-called
110:139,08['  ]| neglect, which$6#1$ was in$4$ reality a most exemplary constancy. 
110:139,09['  ]| Of course she was joking, but there was always
110:139,10['  ]| something ironical in$4$ her jokes, as there was always
110:139,11['  ]| something jocular in$4$ her gravity.
110:139,12[B  ]| "I know no$2$ better proof that$3$ I have treated you very
110:139,13[B  ]| well," 
110:139,13['  ]| Newman had said, 
110:139,13[B  ]| "than the fact that$3$ you make
110:139,14[B  ]| so$5#1$ free with my character. Familiarity breeds contempt;
110:139,15[B  ]| I have made myself too cheap. If I had a little proper
110:139,16[B  ]| pride I would stay away a while, and when you asked
110:139,17[B  ]| me to$4$ dinner say I was going to$4$ the Princess*Borealska's.
110:139,18[B  ]| But I have not any pride where my pleasure is concerned,
110:139,19[B  ]| and to$9$ keep you in$4$ the humour to$9$ see me ~~ if you must
110:139,20[B  ]| see me only to$9$ call me bad names ~~ I will$1$ agree to$4$ anything
110:139,21[B  ]| you choose; I will$1$ admit that$3$ I am the biggest
110:139,22[B  ]| snob in$4$ Paris." 
110:139,22['  ]| Newman, in$4$ fact, had declined an
110:139,23['  ]| invitation personally given by$4$ the Princess*Borealska, an
110:139,24['  ]| inquiring Polish lady to$4$ whom he had been presented,
110:139,25['  ]| on$4$ the ground that$3$ on$4$ that$6#2$ particular day he always dined
110:139,26['  ]| at Mrs%*Tristram's; and it was only a tenderly perverse
110:139,27['  ]| theory of his hostess of the Avenue*d'Ie=na that$3$ he was
110:139,28['  ]| faithless to$4$ his early friendships. She needed the theory
110:139,29['  ]| to$9$ explain a certain moral irritation by$4$ which$6#1$ she was
110:139,30['  ]| often visited; though, if this explanation was unsound, a
110:139,31['  ]| deeper analyst than I must give the right one. Having
110:139,32['  ]| launched our hero upon$4$ the current which$6#1$ was bearing
110:139,33['  ]| him so$5#1$ rapidly along, she appeared but half pleased at
110:139,34['  ]| its swiftness. She had succeeded too well; she had
110:139,35['  ]| played her game too cleverly, and she wished to$9$ mix up$5$
110:139,36['  ]| the cards. Newman had told her, in$4$ due season, that$3$
110:139,37['  ]| her friend was "satisfactory." The epithet was not
110:140,01['  ]| romantic, but Mrs%*Tristram had no$2$ difficulty in$4$ perceiving
110:140,02['  ]| that$3$, in$4$ essentials, the feeling which$6#1$ lay beneath
110:140,03['  ]| it was. Indeed, the mild expansive brevity with which$6#1$
110:140,04['  ]| it was uttered, and a certain look, at once appealing and
110:140,05['  ]| inscrutable, that$6#1$ issued from Newman's half-closed eyes as
110:140,06['  ]| he leaned his head against the back of his chair, seemed
110:140,07['  ]| to$4$ her the most eloquent attestation of a mature sentiment
110:140,08['  ]| that$6#1$ she had ever encountered. Newman was,
110:140,09['  ]| according to$4$ the French phrase, only abounding in$4$ her
110:140,10['  ]| own sense, but his temperate raptures exerted a singular
110:140,11['  ]| effect upon$4$ that$6#2$ ardour which$6#1$ she herself had so$5#1$ freely
110:140,12['  ]| manifested a few months before. She now seemed
110:140,13['  ]| inclined to$9$ take a purely critical view of Madame*de*Cintre=,
110:140,14['  ]| and wished to$9$ have it understood that$3$ she did
110:140,15['  ]| not in$4$ the least answer for$4$ her being a compendium of
110:140,16['  ]| all the virtues. 
110:140,16[I  ]| "No$2$ woman was ever so$5#1$ good as that$6#2$
110:140,17[I  ]| woman seems," 
110:140,17['  ]| she said. 
100:140,17[I  ]| "Remember what Shakespeare
110:140,18[I  ]| calls Desdemona: ""a supersubtle Venetian."" Madame*de*Cintre=
110:140,19[I  ]| is a supersubtle Parisian. She is a charming
110:140,20[I  ]| woman, and she has five hundred merits; but you had
110:140,21[I  ]| better keep that$6#2$ in$4$ mind." 
110:140,21['  ]| Was Mrs%*Tristram simply
110:140,22['  ]| finding out that$3$ she was jealous of her dear friend on$4$ the
110:140,23['  ]| other side of the Seine, and that$3$ in$4$ undertaking to$9$ provide
110:140,24['  ]| Newman with an ideal wife she had counted too
110:140,25['  ]| much on$4$ her own disinterestedness? We may be permitted
110:140,26['  ]| to$9$ doubt it. The inconsistent little lady of the
110:140,27['  ]| Avenue*d'Ie=na had an insuperable need of changing her
110:140,28['  ]| place, intellectually. She had a lively imagination, and
110:140,29['  ]| she was capable, at certain times, of imagining the direct
110:140,30['  ]| reverse of her most cherished beliefs, with a vividness
110:140,31['  ]| more intense than that$6#2$ of conviction. She got tired of
110:140,32['  ]| thinking aright; but there was no$2$ serious harm in$4$ it, as
110:140,33['  ]| she got equally tired of thinking wrong. In$4$ the midst
110:140,34['  ]| of her mysterious perversities she had admirable flashes
110:140,35['  ]| of justice. One of these occurred when Newman related
110:140,36['  ]| to$4$ her that$3$ he had made a formal proposal to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=.
110:140,37['  ]| He repeated in$4$ a few words what he had
110:141,01['  ]| said, and in$4$ a great many what she had answered. Mrs%*Tristram
110:141,02['  ]| listened with extreme interest.
110:141,03[B  ]| "But after all," 
110:141,03['  ]| said Newman, 
110:141,03[B  ]| "there is nothing to$9$
110:141,04[B  ]| congratulate me upon$4$. It is not a triumph."
110:141,05[I  ]| "I beg your pardon," 
110:141,05['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram; 
100:141,05[I  ]| "it is a
110:141,06[I  ]| great triumph. It is a great triumph that$3$ she did not
110:141,07[I  ]| silence you at the first word, and request you never to$9$
110:141,08[I  ]| speak to$4$ her again."
110:141,09[B  ]| "I do not see that$6#2$," 
110:141,09['  ]| observed Newman.
110:141,10[I  ]| "Of course you do not; Heaven forbid you should!
110:141,11[I  ]| When I told you to$9$ go your own way and do what
110:141,12[I  ]| came into your head, I had no$2$ idea you would go over
110:141,13[I  ]| the ground so$5#1$ fast. I never dreamed you would offer
110:141,14[I  ]| yourself after five or six morning calls. As yet, what
110:141,15[I  ]| had you done to$9$ make her like$1$ you? You had simply
110:141,16[I  ]| sat ~~ not very straight ~~ and stared at her. But she does
110:141,17[I  ]| like$1$ you."
110:141,18[B  ]| "That$6#2$ remains to$9$ be seen."
110:141,19[I  ]| "No$7$, that$6#2$ is proved. What will$1$ come of it remains
110:141,20[I  ]| to$9$ be seen. That$3$ you should propose to$9$ marry her,
110:141,21[I  ]| without more ado, could never have come into her head.
110:141,22[I  ]| You can form very little idea of what passed through her
110:141,23[I  ]| mind as you spoke; if she ever really marries you, the
110:141,24[I  ]| affair will$1$ be characterised by$4$ the usual justice of all
110:141,25[I  ]| human things towards women. You will$1$ think you take
110:141,26[I  ]| generous views of her; but you will$1$ never begin to$9$
110:141,27[I  ]| know through what a strange sea of feeling she passed
110:141,28[I  ]| before she accepted you. As she stood there in$4$ front of
110:141,29[I  ]| you the other day she plunged into it. She said, ""Why
110:141,30[I  ]| not?"" to$4$ something which$6#1$, a few hours earlier, had been
110:141,31[I  ]| inconceivable. She turned about on$4$ a thousand gathered
110:141,32[I  ]| prejudices and traditions as on$4$ a pivot, and looked where
110:141,33[I  ]| she had never looked hitherto. When I think of it ~
110:141,34[I  ]| when I think of Claire*de*Cintre= and all that$6#1$ she represents,
110:141,35[I  ]| there seems to$4$ me something very fine in$4$ it.
110:141,36[I  ]| When I recommended you to$9$ try your fortune with her
110:141,37[I  ]| I of course thought well of you, and in$4$ spite of your sins
110:142,01[I  ]| I think so$5#2$ still. But I confess I do not see quite what
110:142,02[I  ]| you are and what you have done, to$9$ make such a woman
110:142,03[I  ]| do this sort of thing for$4$ you."
110:142,04[B  ]| "Oh, there is something very fine in$4$ it!" 
110:142,04['  ]| said Newman,
110:142,05['  ]| with a laugh, repeating her words. He took an
110:142,06['  ]| extreme satisfaction in$4$ hearing that$3$ there was something
110:142,07['  ]| fine in$4$ it. He had not the least doubt of it himself, but
110:142,08['  ]| he had already begun to$9$ value the world's admiration of
110:142,09['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=, as adding to$4$ the prospective glory of
110:142,10['  ]| possession.
110:142,11['  ]| It was immediately after this conversation that$3$ Valentin*de*Bellegarde
110:142,12['  ]| came to$9$ conduct his friend to$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite=
110:142,13['  ]| to$9$ present him to$4$ the other members of his
110:142,14['  ]| family. 
110:142,14[E  ]| "You are already introduced," 
110:142,14['  ]| he said, 
110:142,14[E  ]| "and
110:142,15[E  ]| you have begun to$9$ be talked about. My sister has mentioned
110:142,16[E  ]| your successive visits to$4$ my mother, and it was an
110:142,17[E  ]| accident that$3$ my mother was present at none of them.
110:142,18[E  ]| I have spoken of you as an American of immense wealth,
110:142,19[E  ]| and the best fellow in$4$ the world, who$6#1$ is looking for$4$
110:142,20[E  ]| something very superior in$4$ the way of a wife."
110:142,21[B  ]| "Do you suppose," 
110:142,21['  ]| asked Newman, 
110:142,21[B  ]| "that$3$ Madame*de*Cintre=
110:142,22[B  ]| has related to$4$ your mother the last conversation
110:142,23[B  ]| I had with her?"
110:142,24[E  ]| "I am very certain that$3$ she has not; she will$1$ keep
110:142,25[E  ]| her own counsel. Meanwhile you must make your way
110:142,26[E  ]| with the rest of the family. Thus much is known about
110:142,27[E  ]| you; you have made a great fortune in$4$ trade; you are a
110:142,28[E  ]| little eccentric; and you frankly admire our dear Claire.
110:142,29[E  ]| My sister-in-law, whom you remember seeing in$4$ Madame*de*Cintre='s
110:142,30[E  ]| sitting-room, took, it appears, a fancy to$4$ you;
110:142,31[E  ]| she has described you as having \9beaucoup 9de 9cachet\. My
110:142,32[E  ]| mother, therefore, is curious to$9$ see you."
110:142,33[B  ]| "She expects to$9$ laugh at me, eh?" 
110:142,33['  ]| said Newman.
110:142,34[E  ]| "She never laughs. If she does not like$1$ you, do not
110:142,35[E  ]| hope to$9$ purchase favour by$4$ being amusing. Take warning
110:142,36[E  ]| by$4$ me!"
110:142,37['  ]| This conversation took place in$4$ the evening, and half
110:143,01['  ]| an hour later Valentin ushered his companion into an
110:143,02['  ]| apartment of the house of the Rue*de*l'Universite= into
110:143,03['  ]| which$6#1$ he had not yet penetrated, the salon of the dowager
110:143,04['  ]| Marquise*de*Bellegarde. It was a vast high room, with
110:143,05['  ]| elaborate and ponderous mouldings, painted a whitish
110:143,06['  ]| gray, along the upper portion of the walls and the ceiling;
110:143,07['  ]| with a great deal of faded and carefully-repaired
110:143,08['  ]| tapestry in$4$ the doorways and chair-backs; a Turkey
110:143,09['  ]| carpet in$4$ light colours, still soft and deep, in$4$ spite of
110:143,10['  ]| great antiquity, on$4$ the floor; and portraits of each of
110:143,11['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde's children, at the age of ten, suspended 
110:143,12['  ]| against an old screen of red silk. The room was
110:143,13['  ]| illumined, exactly enough for$4$ conversation, by$4$ half a
110:143,14['  ]| dozen candles, placed in$4$ odd corners, at a great distance
110:143,15['  ]| apart. In$4$ a deep armchair, near the fire, sat an old
110:143,16['  ]| lady in$4$ black; at the other end of the room another
110:143,17['  ]| person was seated at the piano, playing a very expressive
110:143,18['  ]| waltz. In$4$ this latter person Newman recognised the
110:143,19['  ]| young Marquise*de*Bellegarde.
110:143,20['  ]| Valentin presented his friend, and Newman walked up$5$
110:143,21['  ]| to$4$ the old lady by$4$ the fire and shook hands with her.
110:143,22['  ]| He received a rapid impression of a white, delicate, aged
110:143,23['  ]| face, with a high forehead, a small mouth, and a pair of
110:143,24['  ]| cold blue eyes which$6#1$ had kept much of the freshness of
110:143,25['  ]| youth. Madame*de*Bellegarde looked hard at him, and
110:143,26['  ]| returned his hand-shake with a sort of British positiveness
110:143,27['  ]| which$6#1$ reminded him that$3$ she was the daughter of the
110:143,28['  ]| Earl*of*St%*Dunstan's. Her daughter-in-law stopped
110:143,29['  ]| playing and gave him an agreeable smile. Newman sat
110:143,30['  ]| down and looked about him, while Valentin went and
110:143,31['  ]| kissed the hand of the young Marquise.
110:143,32[C  ]| "I ought to$9$ have seen you before," 
110:143,32['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
110:143,33[C  ]| "You have paid several visits to$4$ my
110:143,34[C  ]| daughter."
110:143,35[B  ]| "Oh yes," 
110:143,35['  ]| said Newman, smiling; 
110:143,35[B  ]| "Madame*de*Cintre=
110:143,36[B  ]| and I are old friends by$4$ this time."
110:143,37[C  ]| "You have gone fast," 
110:143,37['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
110:144,01[B  ]| "Not so$5#1$ fast as I should like$1$," 
110:144,01['  ]| said Newman, bravely.
110:144,02[C  ]| "Oh, you are very ambitious," 
110:144,02['  ]| answered the old lady.
110:144,03[B  ]| "Yes, I confess I am," 
110:144,03['  ]| said Newman, smiling.
110:144,04['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde looked at him with her cold
110:144,05['  ]| fine eyes, and he returned her gaze, reflecting that$3$ 
110:144,05@b   | she
110:144,06@b   | was a possible adversary, and trying to$9$ take her measure.
110:144,07['  ]| Their eyes remained in$4$ contact for$4$ some moments. Then
110:144,08['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde looked away, and without smiling:
110:144,09[C  ]| "I am very ambitious too," 
110:144,09['  ]| she said.
110:144,10['  ]| Newman felt that$3$ 
110:144,10@b   | taking her measure was not easy;
110:144,11@b   | she was a formidable, inscrutable little woman. She
110:144,12@b   | resembled her daughter, and yet she was utterly unlike
110:144,13@b   | her. 
110:144,13['  ]| The colouring in$4$ Madame*de*Cintre= was the same,
110:144,14['  ]| and the high delicacy of her brow and nose was hereditary.
110:144,15['  ]| But her face was a larger and freer copy, and her mouth
110:144,16['  ]| in$4$ especial a happy divergence from that$6#2$ conservative
110:144,17['  ]| orifice, a little pair of lips at once plump and pinched,
110:144,18['  ]| that$6#1$ looked, when closed, as if they could not open
110:144,19['  ]| wider than to$9$ swallow a gooseberry or to$9$ emit an "Oh
110:144,20['  ]| dear no$7$!" which$6#1$ probably had been thought to$9$ give the
110:144,21['  ]| finishing touch to$4$ the aristocratic prettiness of the Lady*Emmeline*Atheling
110:144,22['  ]| as represented, forty years before, in$4$
110:144,23['  ]| several Books*of*Beauty. 
110:144,23@b   | Madame*de*Cintre='s face had,
110:144,24['  ]| to$4$ Newman's eye, 
110:144,24@b   | a range of expression as delightfully
110:144,25@b   | vast as the wind-streaked, cloud-flecked distance on$4$
110:144,26@b   | a Western prairie. But her mother's white, intense,
110:144,27@b   | respectable countenance, with its formal gaze, and its
110:144,28@b   | circumscribed smile, suggested a document signed and
110:144,29@b   | sealed; a thing of parchment, ink, and ruled lines.
110:144,30@b   | "She is a woman of conventions and proprieties," 
110:144,30['  ]| he
110:144,31['  ]| said to$4$ himself as he looked at her; 
100:144,31@b   | "her world is the
110:144,32@b   | world of things immutably decreed. But how she is at
110:144,33@b   | home in$4$ it, and what a paradise she finds it! She walks
110:144,34@b   | about in$4$ it as if it were a blooming park, a Garden*of*Eden;
110:144,35@b   | and when she sees ""This is genteel,"" or ""This is
110:144,36@b   | improper,"" written on$4$ a milestone she stops ecstatically,
110:144,37@b   | as if she were listening to$4$ a nightingale or smelling a
110:145,01@b   | rose." 
110:145,01['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde wore a little black velvet
110:145,02['  ]| hood tied under her chin, and she was wrapped in$4$ an
110:145,03['  ]| old black cashmere shawl.
110:145,04[C  ]| "You are an American?" 
110:145,04['  ]| she said presently. 
110:145,04[C  ]| "I
110:145,05[C  ]| have seen several Americans."
110:145,06[B  ]| "There are several in$4$ Paris," 
110:145,06['  ]| said Newman, jocosely.
110:145,07[C  ]| "Oh, really?" 
110:145,07['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde. 
110:145,07[C  ]| "It 
110:145,08[C  ]| was in$4$ England I saw these, or somewhere else; not in$4$
110:145,09[C  ]| Paris. I think it must have been in$4$ the Pyrenees, many
110:145,10[C  ]| years ago. I am told your ladies are very pretty. One
110:145,11[C  ]| of these ladies was very pretty! such a wonderful complexion!
110:145,12[C  ]| She presented me a note of introduction from
110:145,13[C  ]| some*one ~~ I forget whom ~~ and she sent with it a note
110:145,14[C  ]| of her own. I kept her letter a long time afterwards, it
110:145,15[C  ]| was so$5#1$ strangely expressed. I used to$9$ know some of the
110:145,16[C  ]| phrases by$4$ heart. But I have forgotten them now, it is
110:145,17[C  ]| so$5#1$ many years ago. Since then I have seen no$2$ more
110:145,18[C  ]| Americans. I think my daughter-in-law has; she is a
110:145,19[C  ]| great gad-about, she sees every*one."
110:145,20['  ]| At this the younger lady came rustling forward, pinching
110:145,21['  ]| in$5$ a very slender waist, and casting idly preoccupied
110:145,22['  ]| glances over the front of her dress, which$6#1$ was apparently
110:145,23['  ]| designed for$4$ a ball. She was, in$4$ a singular way, at once
110:145,24['  ]| ugly and pretty; she had protuberant eyes, and lips that$6#1$
110:145,25['  ]| were strangely red. She reminded Newman of his friend,
110:145,26['  ]| Mademoiselle*Nioche; 
110:145,26@b   | this was what that$6#2$ much-obstructed
110:145,27@b   | young lady would have liked to$9$ be. 
110:145,27['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde
110:145,28['  ]| walked behind her at a distance, hopping about to$9$
110:145,29['  ]| keep off the far-spreading train of her dress.
110:145,30[E  ]| "You ought to$9$ show more of your shoulders behind,"
110:145,31['  ]| he said, very gravely. 
110:145,31[E  ]| "You might as well wear a 
110:145,32[E  ]| standing ruff as such a dress as that$6#2$."
110:145,33['  ]| The young woman turned her back to$4$ the mirror over
110:145,34['  ]| the chimney-piece, and glanced behind her, to$9$ verify
110:145,35['  ]| Valentin's assertion. The mirror descended low, and
110:145,36['  ]| yet it reflected nothing but a large unclad flesh surface.
110:145,37['  ]| The young Marquise put her hands behind her and gave 
110:146,01['  ]| a downward pull to$4$ the waist of her dress. 
110:146,01[L  ]| "Like$4$ that$6#2$,
110:146,02[L  ]| you mean?" 
110:146,02['  ]| she asked.
110:146,03[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is a little better," 
110:146,03['  ]| said Bellegarde, in$4$ the same
110:146,04['  ]| tone, 
110:146,04[E  ]| "but it leaves a good deal to$9$ be desired."
110:146,05[L  ]| "Oh, I never go to$4$ extremes," 
110:146,05['  ]| said his sister-in-law.
110:146,06['  ]| And then, turning to$4$ Madame*de*Bellegarde: 
110:146,06[L  ]| "What 
110:146,07[L  ]| were you calling me just now, Madame?"
110:146,08[C  ]| "I called you a gad-about," 
110:146,08['  ]| said the old lady. 
110:146,08[C  ]| "But
110:146,09[C  ]| I might call you something else too."
110:146,10[L  ]| "A gad-about? What an ugly word! What does it
110:146,11[L  ]| mean?"
110:146,12[B  ]| "A very beautiful person," 
110:146,12['  ]| Newman ventured to$9$ say,
110:146,13['  ]| seeing that$3$ it was in$4$ French.
110:146,14[L  ]| "That$6#2$ is a pretty compliment but a bad translation,"
110:146,15['  ]| said the young Marquise. And then, looking at him a
110:146,16['  ]| moment: 
110:146,16[L  ]| "Do you dance?"
110:146,17[B  ]| "Not a step."
110:146,18[L  ]| "You are very wrong," 
110:146,18['  ]| she said, simply. And with
110:146,19['  ]| another look at her back in$4$ the mirror she turned away.
110:146,20[C  ]| "Do you like$1$ Paris?" 
110:146,20['  ]| asked the old lady, who$6#1$ was apparently
110:146,21['  ]| wondering what was the proper way to$9$ talk
110:146,22['  ]| to$4$ an American.
110:146,23[B  ]| "Yes, rather," 
110:146,23['  ]| said Newman. And then he added,
110:146,24['  ]| with a friendly intonation: 
110:146,24[B  ]| "Do not you?"
110:146,25[C  ]| "I can not say I know it. I know my house ~~ I know
110:146,26[C  ]| my friends ~~ I do not know Paris."
110:146,27[B  ]| "Oh, you lose a great deal," 
110:146,27['  ]| said Newman, sympathetically.
110:146,28['  ]| 
110:146,29['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde stared; it was presumably the
110:146,30['  ]| first time she had been condoled with on$4$ her losses.
110:146,31[C  ]| "I am content with what I have," 
110:146,31['  ]| she said, with
110:146,32['  ]| dignity.
110:146,33['  ]| Newman's eyes, at this moment, were wandering round
110:146,34['  ]| the room, which$6#1$ struck him as rather sad and shabby;
110:146,35['  ]| passing from the high casements, with their small thickly-framed
110:146,36['  ]| panes, to$4$ the sallow tints of two or three portraits
110:146,37['  ]| in$4$ pastel, of the last century, which$6#1$ hung between them.
110:147,01['  ]| He ought obviously to$9$ have answered that$3$ the contentment
110:147,02['  ]| of his hostess was quite natural ~~ she had a great
110:147,03['  ]| deal; but the idea did not occur to$4$ him during the pause
110:147,04['  ]| of some moments which$6#1$ followed.
110:147,05[E  ]| "Well, my dear mother," 
110:147,05['  ]| said Valentin, coming and
110:147,06['  ]| leaning against the chimney-piece, 
110:147,06[E  ]| "What do you think
110:147,07[E  ]| of my dear friend Newman? Is he not the excellent
110:147,08[E  ]| fellow I told you?"
110:147,09[C  ]| "My acquaintance with Mr%*Newman has not gone
110:147,10[C  ]| very far," 
110:147,10['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde. 
110:147,10[C  ]| "I can as yet
110:147,11[C  ]| only appreciate his great politeness."
110:147,12[E  ]| "My mother is a great judge of these matters," 
110:147,12['  ]| said
110:147,13['  ]| Valentin to$4$ Newman. 
110:147,13[E  ]| "If you have satisfied her it is a
110:147,14[E  ]| triumph."
110:147,15[B  ]| "I hope I shall satisfy you some day," 
110:147,15['  ]| said Newman,
110:147,16['  ]| looking at the old lady. 
110:147,16[B  ]| "I have done nothing
110:147,17[B  ]| yet."
110:147,18[C  ]| "You must not listen to$4$ my son; he will$1$ bring you
110:147,19[C  ]| into trouble. He is a sad scatterbrain."
110:147,20[B  ]| "Oh, I like$1$ him ~~ I like$1$ him," 
110:147,20['  ]| said Newman, genially.
110:147,21[C  ]| "He amuses you, eh?"
110:147,22[B  ]| "Yes, perfectly."
110:147,23[C  ]| "Do you hear that$6#2$, Valentin?" 
110:147,23['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
110:147,24[C  ]| "You amuse Mr%*Newman."
110:147,25[E  ]| "Perhaps we shall all come to$4$ that$6#2$," 
110:147,25['  ]| Valentin
110:147,26['  ]| exclaimed.
110:147,27[C  ]| "You must see my other son," 
110:147,27['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
110:147,28[C  ]| "He is much better than this one. But
110:147,29[C  ]| he will$1$ not amuse you."
110:147,30[E  ]| "I do not know ~~ I do not know!" 
110:147,30['  ]| murmured Valentin,
110:147,31['  ]| reflectively. 
110:147,31[E  ]| "But we shall very soon see. Here comes
110:147,32[E  ]| \9Monsieur 9mon 9fre`re\."
110:147,33['  ]| The door had just opened to$9$ give ingress to$4$ a gentleman
110:147,34['  ]| who$6#1$ stepped forward, and whose face Newman
110:147,35['  ]| remembered. He had been the author of our hero's
110:147,36['  ]| discomfiture the first time he tried to$9$ present himself to$4$
110:147,37['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=. Valentin*de*Bellegarde went to$9$
110:148,01['  ]| meet his brother, looked at him a moment, and then,
110:148,02['  ]| taking him by$4$ the arm, led him up$5$ to$4$ Newman.
110:148,03[E  ]| "This is my excellent friend Mr%*Newman," 
110:148,03['  ]| he said
110:148,04['  ]| very blandly. 
110:148,04[E  ]| "You must know him."
110:148,05[D  ]| "I am delighted to$9$ know Mr%*Newman," 
110:148,05['  ]| said the
110:148,06['  ]| Marquis, with a low bow, but without offering his hand.
110:148,07@b   | "He is the old woman at second-hand," 
110:148,07['  ]| Newman
110:148,08['  ]| said to$4$ himself, as he returned M%*de*Bellegarde's greeting.
110:148,09['  ]| And this was the starting-point of a speculative
110:148,10['  ]| theory, in$4$ his mind, that$3$ 
110:148,10@b   | the late Marquis had been a
110:148,11@b   | very amiable foreigner, with an inclination to$9$ take life
110:148,12@b   | easily 
110:148,12['  ]| and a sense that$3$ 
110:148,12@b   | it was difficult for$4$ the husband of
110:148,13@b   | the stilted little lady by$4$ the fire to$9$ do so$5#2$. But if he had
110:148,14@b   | taken little comfort in$4$ his wife he had taken much in$4$ his
110:148,15@b   | two younger children, who$6#1$ were after his own heart,
110:148,16@b   | while Madame*de*Bellegarde had paired with her eldest-born.
110:148,17@b   | 
110:148,18[D  ]| "My brother has spoken to$4$ me of you," 
110:148,18['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde;
110:148,19[D  ]| "and as you are also acquainted with my
110:148,20[D  ]| sister, it was time we should meet." 
110:148,20['  ]| He turned to$4$ his
110:148,21['  ]| mother and gallantly bent over her hand, touching it
110:148,22['  ]| with his lips, and then he assumed an attitude before the
110:148,23['  ]| chimney-piece. With his long lean face, his high-bridged
110:148,24['  ]| nose, and his small opaque eyes, he looked much like$4$ an
110:148,25['  ]| Englishman. His whiskers were fair and glossy, and he
110:148,26['  ]| had a large dimple, of unmistakable British origin, in$4$
110:148,27['  ]| the middle of his handsome chin. He was "distinguished"
110:148,28['  ]| to$4$ the tips of his polished nails, and there was
110:148,29['  ]| not a movement of his fine perpendicular person that$6#1$
110:148,30['  ]| was not noble and majestic. Newman had never yet
110:148,31['  ]| been confronted with such an incarnation of the art of
110:148,32['  ]| taking oneself seriously; he felt a sort of impulse to$9$ step
110:148,33['  ]| backward, as you do to$9$ get a view of a great facade.
110:148,34[L  ]| "Urbain," 
110:148,34['  ]| said young Madame*de*Bellegarde, who$6#1$
110:148,35['  ]| had apparently been waiting for$4$ her husband to$9$ take her
110:148,36['  ]| to$4$ her ball, 
110:148,36[L  ]| "I call your attention to$4$ the fact that$3$ I am
110:148,37[L  ]| dressed."
110:149,01[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is a good idea," 
110:149,01['  ]| murmured Valentin.
110:149,02[D  ]| "I am at your orders, my dear friend," 
110:149,02['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde.
110:149,03[D  ]| "Only, you must allow me first the pleasure
110:149,04[D  ]| of a little conversation with Mr%*Newman."
110:149,05[B  ]| "Oh, if you are going to$4$ a party, do not let me keep
110:149,06[B  ]| you," 
110:149,06['  ]| objected Newman. 
110:149,06[B  ]| "I am very sure we shall
110:149,07[B  ]| meet again. Indeed, if you would like$1$ to$9$ converse with
110:149,08[B  ]| me I will$1$ gladly name an hour." 
110:149,08['  ]| He was eager to$9$ make
110:149,09['  ]| it known that$3$ he would readily answer all questions and
110:149,10['  ]| satisfy all exactions.
110:149,11['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde stood in$4$ a well-balanced position
110:149,12['  ]| before the fire, caressing one of his fair whiskers with one
110:149,13['  ]| of his white hands, and looking at Newman, half askance,
110:149,14['  ]| with eyes from which$6#1$ a particular ray of observation made
110:149,15['  ]| its way through a general meaningless smile. 
110:149,15[D  ]| "It is
110:149,16[D  ]| very kind of you to$9$ make such an offer," 
110:149,16['  ]| he said. 
110:149,16[D  ]| "If I
110:149,17[D  ]| am not mistaken, your occupations are such as to$9$ make
110:149,18[D  ]| your time precious. You are in$4$ ~~ a ~~ as we say, \9dans 9les
110:149,19[D  ]| 9affaires\."
110:149,20[B  ]| "In$4$ business, you mean? Oh no$7$, I have thrown
110:149,21[B  ]| business overboard for$4$ the present. I am ""loafing,"" as
110:149,22[B  ]| \we\ say. My time is quite my own."
110:149,23[D  ]| "Ah, you are taking a holiday," 
110:149,23['  ]| rejoined M%*de*Bellegarde.
110:149,24[D  ]| " ""Loafing."" Yes, I have heard that$6#2$ expression."
110:149,25[C  ]| "Mr%*Newman is American," 
110:149,25['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
110:149,26['  ]| 
110:149,27[E  ]| "My brother is a great ethnologist," 
110:149,27['  ]| said Valentin.
110:149,28[B  ]| "An ethnologist?" 
110:149,28['  ]| said Newman. 
100:149,28[B  ]| "Ah, you collect
110:149,29[B  ]| negroes' skulls, and that$6#2$ sort of thing."
110:149,30['  ]| The Marquis looked hard at his brother, and began to$9$
110:149,31['  ]| caress his other whisker. Then, turning to$4$ Newman,
110:149,32['  ]| with sustained urbanity: 
110:149,31[D  ]| "You are travelling for$4$ your
110:149,33[D  ]| pleasure?" 
110:149,33['  ]| he asked.
110:149,34[B  ]| "Oh, I am knocking about to$9$ pick up$5$ one thing and
110:149,35[B  ]| another. Of course I get a good deal of pleasure out of 
110:149,36[B  ]| it."
110:149,37[D  ]| "What especially interests you?" 
110:149,37['  ]| inquired the Marquis.
110:150,01[B  ]| "Well, everything interests me," 
110:150,01['  ]| said Newman. 
110:150,01[B  ]| "I
110:150,02[B  ]| am not particular. Manufactures are what I care most
110:150,03[B  ]| about."
110:150,04[D  ]| "That$6#2$ has been your specialty?"
110:150,05[B  ]| "I can not say I have had any specialty. My specialty
110:150,06[B  ]| has been to$9$ make the largest possible fortune in$4$ the
110:150,07[B  ]| shortest possible time." 
110:150,07['  ]| Newman made this last remark
110:150,08['  ]| very deliberately; he wished to$9$ open the way, if it were
110:150,09['  ]| necessary, to$4$ an authoritative statement of his means.
110:150,10['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde laughed agreeably. 
110:150,10[D  ]| "I hope you
110:150,11[D  ]| have succeeded," 
110:150,11['  ]| he said.
110:150,12[B  ]| "Yes, I have made a fortune in$4$ a reasonable time.
110:150,13[B  ]| I am not so$5#1$ old, you see."
110:150,14[D  ]| "Paris is a very good place to$9$ spend a fortune. I
110:150,15[D  ]| wish you great enjoyment of yours." 
110:150,15['  ]| And M%*de*Bellegarde
110:150,16['  ]| drew forth his gloves and began to$9$ put them on$5$.
110:150,17['  ]| Newman for$4$ a few moments watched him sliding his
110:150,18['  ]| white hands into the white kid, and as he did so$5#2$ his
110:150,19['  ]| feelings took a singular turn. M%*de*Bellegarde's good
110:150,20['  ]| wishes seemed to$9$ descend out of the white expanse of his
110:150,21['  ]| sublime serenity with the soft scattered movement of a
110:150,22['  ]| shower of snow-flakes. Yet Newman was not irritated;
110:150,23['  ]| he did not feel that$3$ he was being patronised; he was
110:150,24['  ]| conscious of no$2$ especial impulse to$9$ introduce a discord
110:150,25['  ]| into so$5#1$ noble a harmony. Only he felt himself suddenly
110:150,26['  ]| in$4$ personal contact with the forces with which$6#1$ his friend
110:150,27['  ]| Valentin had told him that$3$ he would have to$9$ contend,
110:150,28['  ]| and he became sensible of their intensity. He wished to$9$
110:150,29['  ]| make some answering manifestations, to$9$ stretch himself
110:150,30['  ]| out at his own length, to$9$ sound a note at the uttermost
110:150,31['  ]| end of \his\ scale. It must be added that$3$ if this impulse
110:150,32['  ]| was not vicious or malicious, it was by$4$ no$2$ means void of
110:150,33['  ]| humorous expectancy. Newman was quite as ready to$9$
110:150,34['  ]| give play to$4$ that$6#2$ loosely-adjusted smile of his, if his hosts
110:150,35['  ]| should happen to$9$ be shocked, as he was far from deliberately
110:150,36['  ]| planning to$9$ shock them.
110:150,37[B  ]| "Paris is a very good place for$4$ idle people," 
110:150,37['  ]| he said,
110:151,01[B  ]| "or it is a very good place if your family has been settled
110:151,02[B  ]| here for$4$ a long time, and you have made acquaintances
110:151,03[B  ]| and got your relations round you; or if you have got a
110:151,04[B  ]| big house like$4$ this, and a wife and children and mother
110:151,05[B  ]| and sister, and everything comfortable. I do not like$1$ that$6#2$
110:151,06[B  ]| way of living all in$4$ rooms next door to$4$ each other. But
110:151,07[B  ]| I am not an idler. I try to$9$ be, but I can not manage it;
110:151,08[B  ]| it goes against the grain. My business habits are too
110:151,09[B  ]| deep-seated. Then, I have not any house to$9$ call my own,
110:151,10[B  ]| or anything in$4$ the way of a family. My sisters are five
110:151,11[B  ]| thousand miles away, my mother died when I was a
110:151,12[B  ]| youngster, and I have not any wife; I wish I had! So$3$,
110:151,13[B  ]| you see, I do not exactly know what to$9$ do with myself.
110:151,14[B  ]| I am not fond of books, as you are, sir, and I get tired
110:151,15[B  ]| of dining out and going to$4$ the opera. I miss my business
110:151,16[B  ]| activity. You see I began to$9$ earn my living when I was
110:151,17[B  ]| almost a baby, and until a few months ago I have never
110:151,18[B  ]| had my hand off the plough. Elegant leisure comes hard."
110:151,19['  ]| This speech was followed by$4$ a profound silence of
110:151,20['  ]| some moments on$4$ the part of Newman's entertainers.
110:151,21['  ]| Valentin stood looking at him fixedly, with his hands in$4$
110:151,22['  ]| his pockets, and then he slowly, with a half-sidling
110:151,23['  ]| motion, went out of the room. The Marquis continued
110:151,24['  ]| to$9$ draw on$4$ his gloves and to$9$ smile benignantly.
110:151,25[C  ]| "You began to$9$ earn your living when you were a
110:151,26[C  ]| mere baby?" 
110:151,26['  ]| said the Marquise.
110:151,27[B  ]| "Hardly more ~~ a small boy."
110:151,28[D  ]| "You say you are not fond of books," 
110:151,28['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde;
110:151,29[D  ]| "but you must do yourself the justice to$9$
110:151,30[D  ]| remember that$3$ your studies were interrupted early."
110:151,31[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is very true; on$4$ my tenth birthday I stopped
110:151,32[B  ]| going to$4$ school. I thought it was a grand way to$9$ keep
110:151,33[B  ]| it. But I picked up$5$ some information afterwards," 
110:151,33['  ]| said
110:151,34['  ]| Newman, reassuringly.
110:151,35[C  ]| "You have some sisters?" 
110:151,35['  ]| asked old Madame*de*Bellegarde.
110:151,36['  ]| 
110:151,37[B  ]| "Yes, two sisters. Splendid women!"
110:152,01[C  ]| "I hope that$3$ for$4$ them the hardships of life commenced
110:152,02[C  ]| less early."
110:152,03[B  ]| "They married very early, if you call that$6#2$ a hardship,
110:152,04[B  ]| as girls do in$4$ our Western country. One of them is
110:152,05[B  ]| married to$4$ the owner of the largest india-rubber house in$4$
110:152,06[B  ]| the West."
110:152,07[C  ]| "Ah, you make houses also of india-rubber?" 
110:152,07['  ]| inquired
110:152,08['  ]| the Marquise.
110:152,09[L  ]| "You can stretch them as your family increases," 
110:152,09['  ]| said
110:152,10['  ]| young Madame*de*Bellegarde, who$6#1$ was muffling herself
110:152,11['  ]| in$4$ a long white shawl.
110:152,12['  ]| Newman indulged in$4$ a burst of hilarity, and explained
110:152,13['  ]| that$3$ the house in$4$ which$6#1$ his brother-in-law lived was a
110:152,14['  ]| large wooden structure, but that$3$ he manufactured and
110:152,15['  ]| sold india-rubber on$4$ a colossal scale.
110:152,16[L  ]| "My children have some little india-rubber shoes
110:152,17[L  ]| which$6#1$ they put on$5$ when they go to$9$ play in$4$ the Tuileries
110:152,18[L  ]| in$4$ damp weather," 
110:152,18['  ]| said the young Marquise. 
110:152,18[L  ]| "I wonder
110:152,19[L  ]| whether your brother-in-law made them?"
110:152,20[B  ]| "Very likely," 
110:152,20['  ]| said Newman; 
110:152,20[B  ]| "if he did, you may
110:152,21[B  ]| be very sure that$3$ they are well made."
110:152,22[D  ]| "Well, you must not be discouraged," 
110:152,22['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde,
110:152,23['  ]| with vague urbanity.
110:152,24[B  ]| "Oh, I do not mean to$9$ be. I have a project which$6#1$
110:152,25[B  ]| gives me plenty to$9$ think about, and that$6#2$ is an occupation."
110:152,26['  ]| And then Newman was silent a moment, hesitating,
110:152,27['  ]| yet thinking rapidly; he wished to$9$ make his point,
110:152,28['  ]| and yet to$9$ do so$5#2$ forced him to$9$ speak out in$4$ a way that$6#1$
110:152,29['  ]| was disagreeable to$4$ him. 
110:152,29[B  ]| "Nevertheless," 
110:152,29['  ]| he continued,
110:152,30['  ]| addressing himself to$4$ old Madame*de*Bellegarde, 
110:152,30[B  ]| "I
110:152,31[B  ]| will$1$ tell you my project; perhaps you can help me. I
110:152,32[B  ]| want to$9$ take a wife."
110:152,33[C  ]| "It is a very good project, but I am no$2$ matchmaker,"
110:152,34['  ]| said the old lady.
110:152,35['  ]| Newman looked at her an instant, and then, with
110:152,36['  ]| perfect sincerity: 
110:152,36[B  ]| "I should have thought you were," 
110:152,36['  ]| he
110:152,37['  ]| declared.
110:153,01['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde appeared to$9$ think him too
110:153,02['  ]| sincere. She murmured something sharply in$4$ French,
110:153,03['  ]| and fixed her eyes on$4$ her son. At this moment the door
110:153,04['  ]| of the room was thrown open, and with a rapid step
110:153,05['  ]| Valentin reappeared.
110:153,06[E  ]| "I have a message for$4$ you," 
110:153,06['  ]| he said to$4$ his sister-in-law.
110:153,07[E  ]| "Claire bids me to$9$ request you not to$9$ start for$4$
110:153,08[E  ]| your ball. She will$1$ go with you."
110:153,09[L  ]| "Claire will$1$ go with us!" 
110:153,09['  ]| cried the young Marquise.
110:153,10[L  ]| "\9En 9voila`, 9du 9nouveau\!"
110:153,11[E  ]| "She has changed her mind; she decided half an
110:153,12[E  ]| hour ago, and she is sticking the last diamond into her
110:153,13[E  ]| hair!" 
110:153,13['  ]| said Valentin.
110:153,14[C  ]| "What has taken possession of my daughter?" 
110:153,14['  ]| demanded
110:153,15['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde, sternly. 
110:153,15[C  ]| "She has not
110:153,16[C  ]| been into the world these three years. Does she take
110:153,17[C  ]| such a step at half an hour's notice and without consulting
110:153,18[C  ]| me?"
110:153,19[E  ]| "She consulted me, dear mother, five minutes since,"
110:153,20['  ]| said Valentin, 
110:153,20[E  ]| "and I told her that$3$ such a beautiful
110:153,21[E  ]| woman ~~ she is beautiful, you will$1$ see ~~ had no$2$ right to$9$
110:153,22[E  ]| bury herself alive."
110:153,23[D  ]| "You should have referred Claire to$4$ her mother, my
110:153,24[D  ]| brother," 
110:153,24['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde, in$4$ French. 
110:153,24[D  ]| "This is
110:153,25[D  ]| very strange."
110:153,26[E  ]| "I refer her to$4$ the whole company!" 
110:153,26['  ]| said Valentin.
110:153,27[E  ]| "Here she comes!" 
110:153,27['  ]| and he went to$4$ the open door, met
110:153,28['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= on$4$ the threshold, took her by$4$ the hand,
110:153,29['  ]| and led her into the room. She was dressed in$4$ white;
110:153,30['  ]| but a long blue cloak, which$6#1$ hung almost to$4$ her feet,
110:153,31['  ]| was fastened across her shoulders by$4$ a silver clasp. She
110:153,32['  ]| had tossed it back, however, and her long white arms
110:153,33['  ]| were uncovered. In$4$ her dense fair hair there glittered a
110:153,34['  ]| dozen diamonds. She looked serious and, Newman
110:153,35['  ]| thought, rather pale; but she glanced round her, and,
110:153,36['  ]| when she saw him, smiled and put out her hand. He
110:153,37['  ]| thought her tremendously handsome. He had a chance
110:154,01['  ]| to$9$ look at her full in$4$ the face, for$4$ she stood a moment
110:154,02['  ]| in$4$ the centre of the room, hesitating, apparently, what
110:154,03['  ]| she should do, without meeting his eyes. Then she
110:154,04['  ]| went up$5$ to$4$ her mother, who$6#1$ sat in$4$ her deep chair by$4$ the
110:154,05['  ]| fire, looking at Madame*de*Cintre= almost fiercely. With
110:154,06['  ]| her back turned to$4$ the others, Madame*de*Cintre= held
110:154,07['  ]| her cloak apart to$9$ show her dress.
110:154,08[A  ]| "What do you think of me?" 
110:154,08['  ]| she asked.
110:154,09[C  ]| "I think you are audacious," 
110:154,09['  ]| said the Marquise. 
110:154,09[C  ]| "It
110:154,10[C  ]| was but three days ago, when I asked you, as a particular
110:154,11[C  ]| favour to$4$ myself, to$9$ go to$4$ the Duchesse*de*Lusignan's,
110:154,12[C  ]| that$3$ you told me you were going nowhere, and that$3$ one
110:154,13[C  ]| must be consistent. Is this your consistency? Why
110:154,14[C  ]| should you distinguish Madame*Robineau? Who$6#2$ is it
110:154,15[C  ]| you wish to$9$ please to-night?"
110:154,16[A  ]| "I wish to$9$ please myself, dear mother," 
110:154,16['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
110:154,17['  ]| And she bent over and kissed the old lady.
110:154,18[D  ]| "I do not like$1$ surprises, my sister," 
110:154,18['  ]| said Urbain*de*Bellegarde;
110:154,19[D  ]| "especially when one is on$4$ the point of
110:154,20[D  ]| entering a drawing-room."
110:154,21['  ]| Newman at this juncture felt inspired to$9$ speak. 
110:154,21[B  ]| "Oh,
110:154,22[B  ]| if you are going into a room with Madame*de*Cintre=,
110:154,23[B  ]| you need not be afraid of being noticed yourself!"
110:154,24['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde turned to$4$ his sister with a smile too
110:154,25['  ]| intense to$9$ be easy. 
110:154,25[D  ]| "I hope you appreciate a compliment
110:154,26[D  ]| that$6#1$ is paid you at your brother's expense," 
110:154,26['  ]| he said.
110:154,27[D  ]| "Come, come, Madame." 
110:154,27['  ]| And offering Madame*de*Cintre=
110:154,28['  ]| his arm he led her rapidly out of the room. Valentin
110:154,29['  ]| rendered the same service to$4$ young Madame*de*Bellegarde,
110:154,30['  ]| who$6#1$ had apparently been reflecting on$4$ the fact
110:154,31['  ]| that$3$ the ball-dress of her sister-in-law was much less
110:154,32['  ]| brilliant than her own, and yet had failed to$9$ derive
110:154,33['  ]| absolute comfort from the reflection. With a farewell
110:154,34['  ]| smile she sought the complement of her consolation in$4$
110:154,35['  ]| the eyes of the American visitor, and perceiving in$4$ them
110:154,36['  ]| a certain mysterious brilliancy, it is not improbable that$3$
110:154,37['  ]| she may have flattered herself she had found it.
110:155,01['  ]| Newman, left alone with old Madame*de*Bellegarde,
110:155,02['  ]| stood before her a few moments in$4$ silence. 
110:155,02[B  ]| "Your
110:155,03[B  ]| daughter is very beautiful," 
110:155,03['  ]| he said, at last.
110:155,04[C  ]| "She is very strange," 
110:155,04['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
110:155,05[B  ]| "I am glad to$9$ hear it," 
110:155,05['  ]| Newman rejoined, smiling.
110:155,06[B  ]| "It makes me hope."
110:155,07[C  ]| "Hope what?"
110:155,08[B  ]| "That$3$ she will$1$ consent, some day, to$9$ marry me."
110:155,09['  ]| The old lady rose slowly to$4$ her feet. 
110:155,09[C  ]| "That$6#2$ really is
110:155,10[C  ]| your project, then?"
110:155,11[B  ]| "Yes; will$1$ you favour it?"
110:155,12[C  ]| "Favour it?" 
110:155,12['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde looked at him
110:155,13['  ]| a moment and then shook her head. 
110:155,13[C  ]| "No$7$!" 
110:155,13['  ]| she said,
110:155,14['  ]| softly.
110:155,15[B  ]| "Will$1$ you suffer it, then? Will$1$ you let it pass?"
110:155,16[C  ]| "You do not know what you ask. I am a very proud
110:155,17[C  ]| and meddlesome old woman."
110:155,18[B  ]| "Well, I am very rich," 
110:155,18['  ]| said Newman.
110:155,19['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde fixed her eyes on$4$ the floor, and
110:155,20['  ]| Newman thought 
110:155,20@b   | it probable she was weighing the reasons
110:155,21@b   | in$4$ favour of resenting the brutality of this remark. 
110:155,21['  ]| But
110:155,22['  ]| at last looking up$5$, she said simply, 
110:155,22[C  ]| "How rich?"
110:155,23['  ]| Newman expressed his income in$4$ a round number
110:155,24['  ]| which$6#1$ had the magnificent sound that$6#1$ large aggregations
110:155,25['  ]| of dollars put on$5$ when they are translated into francs.
110:155,26['  ]| He added a few remarks of a financial character, which$6#1$
110:155,27['  ]| completed a sufficiently striking presentment of his
110:155,28['  ]| resources.
110:155,29['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde listened in$4$ silence. 
110:155,29[C  ]| "You are
110:155,30[C  ]| very frank," 
110:155,30['  ]| she said, finally. 
110:155,30[C  ]| "I will$1$ be the same. I
110:155,31[C  ]| would rather favour you, on$4$ the whole, than suffer you.
110:155,32[C  ]| It will$1$ be easier."
110:155,33[B  ]| "I am thankful for$4$ any terms," 
110:155,33['  ]| said Newman. 
110:155,33[B  ]| "But,
110:155,34[B  ]| for$4$ the present, you have suffered me long enough. Good-night!"
110:155,35['  ]| And he took his leave.
111:156,01['  ]| Newman, on$4$ his return to$4$ Paris, had not resumed the
111:156,02['  ]| study of French conversation with M%*Nioche; he found
111:156,03['  ]| that$3$ he had too many other uses for$4$ his time. M%*Nioche,
111:156,04['  ]| however, came to$9$ see him very promptly;
111:156,05['  ]| having learned his whereabouts by$4$ a mysterious process
111:156,06['  ]| to$4$ which$6#1$ his patron never obtained the key. The
111:156,07['  ]| shrunken little capitalist repeated his visit more than
111:156,08['  ]| once. He seemed oppressed by$4$ a humiliating sense of
111:156,09['  ]| having been overpaid, and wished apparently to$9$ redeem
111:156,10['  ]| his debt by$4$ the offer of grammatical and statistical
111:156,11['  ]| information in$4$ small instalments. He wore the same
111:156,12['  ]| decently melancholy aspect as a few months before; a
111:156,13['  ]| few months more or less of brushing could make little
111:156,14['  ]| difference in$4$ the antique lustre of his coat and hat. But
111:156,15['  ]| the poor old man's spirit was a trifle more threadbare;
111:156,16['  ]| it seemed to$9$ have received some hard rubs during the
111:156,17['  ]| summer. Newman inquired with interest about Mademoiselle*Noe=mie;
111:156,18['  ]| and M%*Nioche at first, for$4$ answer,
111:156,19['  ]| simply looked at him in$4$ lachrymose silence.
111:156,20[F  ]| "Do not ask me, sir," 
111:156,20['  ]| he said at last. 
111:156,20[F  ]| "I sit and
111:156,21[F  ]| watch her, but I can do nothing."
111:156,22[B  ]| "Do you mean that$3$ she misconducts herself?"
111:156,23[F  ]| "I do not know, I am sure. I can not follow her. I
111:156,24[F  ]| do not understand her. She has something in$4$ her head;
111:156,25[F  ]| I do not know what she is trying to$9$ do. She is too deep
111:156,26[F  ]| for$4$ me."
111:156,27[B  ]| "Does she continue to$9$ go to$4$ the Louvre? Has she
111:156,28[B  ]| made any of those copies for$4$ me?"
111:156,29[F  ]| "She goes to$4$ the Louvre, but I see nothing of the
111:156,30[F  ]| copies. She has something on$4$ her easel; I suppose it
111:156,31[F  ]| is one of the pictures you ordered. Such a magnificent
111:156,32[F  ]| order ought to$9$ give her fairy fingers. But she is not in$4$
111:156,33[F  ]| earnest. I can not say anything to$4$ her; I am afraid of her.
111:157,01[F  ]| One evening, last summer, when I took her to$9$ walk in$4$
111:157,02[F  ]| the Champs*E=lyse=es, she said some things to$4$ me that$6#1$
111:157,03[F  ]| frightened me."
111:157,04[B  ]| "What were they?"
111:157,05[F  ]| "Excuse an unhappy father from telling you," 
111:157,05['  ]| said
111:157,06['  ]| M%*Nioche, unfolding his calico pocket-handkerchief.
111:157,07['  ]| Newman promised himself to$9$ pay Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
111:157,08['  ]| another visit at the Louvre. He was curious about the
111:157,09['  ]| progress of his copies, but it must be added that$3$ he was
111:157,10['  ]| still more curious about the progress of the young lady
111:157,11['  ]| herself. He went one afternoon to$4$ the great museum,
111:157,12['  ]| and wandered through several of the rooms in$4$ fruitless
111:157,13['  ]| quest of her. He was bending his steps to$4$ the long hall
111:157,14['  ]| of the Italian masters, when suddenly he found himself
111:157,15['  ]| face to$4$ face with Valentin*de*Bellegarde. The young
111:157,16['  ]| Frenchman greeted him with ardour, and assured him
111:157,17['  ]| that$3$ he was a godsend. He himself was in$4$ the worst of
111:157,18['  ]| humours, and he wanted some*one to$9$ contradict.
111:157,19[B  ]| "In$4$ a bad humour among all these beautiful things?"
111:157,20['  ]| said Newman. 
111:157,20[B  ]| "I thought you were so$5#1$ fond of pictures,
111:157,21[B  ]| especially the old black ones. There are two or three
111:157,22[B  ]| here that$6#1$ ought to$9$ keep you in$4$ spirits."
111:157,23[E  ]| "Oh, to-day," 
111:157,23['  ]| answered Valentin, 
111:157,23[E  ]| "I am not in$4$ a
111:157,24[E  ]| mood for$4$ pictures, and the more beautiful they are the
111:157,25[E  ]| less I like$1$ them. Their great staring eyes and fixed
111:157,26[E  ]| positions irritate me. I feel as if I were at some big
111:157,27[E  ]| dull party, in$4$ a room full of people I should not wish to$9$
111:157,28[E  ]| speak to$4$. What should I care for$4$ their beauty? It is a
111:157,29[E  ]| bore, and, worse still, it is a reproach. I have a great
111:157,30[E  ]| many \9ennuis\; I feel vicious."
111:157,31[B  ]| "If the Louvre has so$5#1$ little comfort for$4$ you, why in$4$
111:157,32[B  ]| the world did you come here?" 
111:157,32['  ]| Newman asked.
111:157,33[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is one of my \9ennuis\. I came to$9$ meet my
111:157,34[E  ]| cousin ~~ a dreadful English cousin, a member of my
111:157,35[E  ]| mother's family ~~ who$6#1$ is in$4$ Paris for$4$ a week for$4$ her
111:157,36[E  ]| husband, and who$6#1$ wishes me to$9$ point out the ""principal
111:157,36[E  ]| beauties."" Imagine a woman who$6#1$ wears a green crape
111:158,01[E  ]| bonnet in$4$ December, and has straps sticking out of the
111:158,02[E  ]| ankles of her interminable boots! My mother begged I
111:158,03[E  ]| would do something to$9$ oblige them. I have undertaken
111:158,04[E  ]| to$9$ play \9valet*de*place\ this afternoon. They were to$9$ have
111:158,05[E  ]| met me here at two o'clock, and I have been waiting
111:158,06[E  ]| for$4$ them twenty minutes. Why does not she arrive? She
111:158,07[E  ]| has at least a pair of feet to$9$ carry her. I do not know
111:158,08[E  ]| whether to$9$ be furious at their playing me false, or
111:158,09[E  ]| delighted to$9$ have escaped them."
111:158,10[B  ]| "I think in$4$ your place I would be furious," 
111:158,10['  ]| said
111:158,11['  ]| Newman, 
111:158,11[B  ]| "because they may arrive yet, and then your
111:158,12[B  ]| fury will$1$ still be of use to$4$ you. Whereas if you were
111:158,13[B  ]| delighted and they were afterwards to$9$ turn up$5$, you might
111:158,14[B  ]| not know what to$9$ do with your delight."
111:158,15[E  ]| "You give me excellent advice, and I already feel
111:158,16[E  ]| better. I will$1$ be furious; I will$1$ let them go to$4$ the deuce
111:158,17[E  ]| and I myself will$1$ go with you ~~ unless by$4$ chance you too
111:158,18[E  ]| have a rendezvous."
111:158,19[B  ]| "It is not exactly a rendezvous," 
111:158,19['  ]| said Newman.
111:158,20[B  ]| "But I have in$4$ fact come to$9$ see a person, not a picture."
111:158,21[E  ]| "A woman, presumably?"
111:158,22[B  ]| "A young lady."
111:158,23[E  ]| "Well," 
111:158,23['  ]| said Valentin, 
111:158,23[E  ]| "I hope for$4$ you with all my
111:158,24[E  ]| heart that$3$ she is not clothed in$4$ green tulle and that$3$ her
111:158,25[E  ]| feet are not too much out of focus."
111:158,26[B  ]| "I do not know much about her feet, but she has very
111:158,27[B  ]| pretty hands."
111:158,28['  ]| Valentin gave a sigh. 
111:158,28[E  ]| "And on$4$ that$6#2$ assurance I
111:158,29[E  ]| must part with you?"
111:158,30[B  ]| "I am not certain of finding my young lady," 
111:158,30['  ]| said
111:158,31['  ]| Newman, 
111:158,31[B  ]| "and I am not quite prepared to$9$ lose your
111:158,32[B  ]| company on$4$ the chance. It does not strike me as particularly
111:158,33[B  ]| desirable to$9$ introduce you to$4$ her, and yet I should
111:158,34[B  ]| rather like$1$ to$9$ have your opinion of her."
111:158,35[E  ]| "Is she pretty?"
111:158,36[B  ]| "I guess you will$1$ think so$5#2$."
111:158,37['  ]| Bellegarde passed his arm into that$6#2$ of his companion.
111:159,01[E  ]| "Conduct me to$4$ her on$4$ the instant! I should be
111:159,02[E  ]| ashamed to$9$ make a pretty woman wait for$4$ my verdict."
111:159,03['  ]| Newman suffered himself to$9$ be gently propelled in$4$ the
111:159,04['  ]| direction in$4$ which$6#1$ he had been walking, but his step was
111:159,05['  ]| not rapid. He was turning something over in$4$ his mind.
111:159,06['  ]| The two men passed into the long gallery of the Italian
111:159,07['  ]| masters, and Newman, after having scanned for$4$ a moment
111:159,08['  ]| its brilliant vista, turned aside into the smaller apartment
111:159,09['  ]| devoted to$4$ the same school on$4$ the left. It contained
111:159,10['  ]| very few persons, but at the farther end of it sat Mademoiselle*Nioche,
111:159,11['  ]| before her easel. She was not at work;
111:159,12['  ]| her palette and brushes had been laid down beside her,
111:159,13['  ]| her hands were folded in$4$ her lap, and she was leaning
111:159,14['  ]| back in$4$ her chair and looking intently at two ladies on$4$
111:159,15['  ]| the other side of the hall, who$6#1$, with their backs turned
111:159,16['  ]| to$4$ her, had stopped before one of the pictures. These
111:159,17['  ]| ladies were apparently persons of high fashion; they
111:159,18['  ]| were dressed with great splendour, and their long silken
111:159,19['  ]| trains and furbelows were spread over the polished floor.
111:159,20['  ]| It was at their dresses Mademoiselle*Noe=mie was looking,
111:159,21['  ]| though what she was thinking of I am unable to$9$ say. I
111:159,22['  ]| hazard the supposition that$3$ she was saying to$4$ herself that$3$
111:159,23['  ]| to$9$ be able to$9$ drag such a train over a polished floor was
111:159,24['  ]| a felicity worth any price. Her reflections, at any rate,
111:159,25['  ]| were disturbed by$4$ the advent of Newman and his companion.
111:159,26['  ]| She glanced at them quickly, and then, colouring 
111:159,27['  ]| a little, rose and stood before her easel.
111:159,28[B  ]| "I came here on$4$ purpose to$9$ see you," 
111:159,28['  ]| said Newman
111:159,29['  ]| in$4$ his bad French, offering to$9$ shake hands. And then,
111:159,30['  ]| like$4$ a good American, he introduced Valentin formally:
111:159,31[B  ]| "Allow me to$9$ make you acquainted with the Comte*Valentin*de*Bellegarde."
111:159,32[B  ]| 
111:159,33['  ]| Valentin made a bow which$6#1$ must have seemed to$4$
111:159,34['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie quite in$4$ harmony with the impressiveness
111:159,35['  ]| of his title, but the graceful brevity of her own
111:159,36['  ]| response made no$2$ concession to$4$ underbred surprise. She
111:159,37['  ]| turned to$4$ Newman, putting up$5$ her hands to$4$ her hair and
111:160,01['  ]| smoothing its delicately-felt roughness. Then, rapidly,
111:160,02['  ]| she turned the canvas that$6#1$ was on$4$ her easel over upon$4$
111:160,03['  ]| its face. 
111:160,03[G  ]| "You have not forgotten me?" 
111:160,03['  ]| she asked.
111:160,04[B  ]| "I shall never forget you," 
111:160,04['  ]| said Newman. 
111:160,04[B  ]| "You
111:160,05[B  ]| may be sure of that$6#2$."
111:160,06[G  ]| "Oh," 
111:160,06['  ]| said the young girl, 
111:160,06[G  ]| "there are a great many
111:160,07[G  ]| different ways of remembering a person." 
111:160,07['  ]| And she
111:160,08['  ]| looked straight at Valentin*de*Bellegarde, who$6#1$ was
111:160,09['  ]| looking at her as a gentleman may when a "verdict" is
111:160,10['  ]| expected of him.
111:160,11[B  ]| "Have you painted anything for$4$ me?" 
111:160,11['  ]| said Newman.
111:160,12[B  ]| "Have you been industrious?"
111:160,13[G  ]| "No$7$, I have done nothing." 
111:160,13['  ]| And taking up$5$ her
111:160,14['  ]| palette, she began to$9$ mix her colours at hazard.
111:160,15[B  ]| "But your father tells me you have come here constantly."
111:160,16[G  ]| "I have nowhere else to$9$ go! Here, all summer, it
111:160,17[G  ]| was cool, at least."
111:160,18[B  ]| "Being here, then," 
111:160,18['  ]| said Newman, 
111:160,18[B  ]| "you might have
111:160,19[B  ]| tried something."
111:160,20[G  ]| "I told you before," 
111:160,20['  ]| she answered, softly, 
111:160,20[G  ]| "that$3$ I do not
111:160,21[G  ]| know how to$9$ paint."
111:160,22[E  ]| "But you have something charming on$4$ your easel,
111:160,23[E  ]| now," 
111:160,23['  ]| said Valentin, 
111:160,23[E  ]| "if you would only let me see it."
111:160,24['  ]| She spread out her two hands, with the fingers expanded,
111:160,25['  ]| over the back of the canvas ~~ those hands which$6#1$
111:160,26['  ]| Newman had called pretty, and which$6#1$, in$4$ spite of several
111:160,27['  ]| paint stains, Valentin could now admire. 
111:160,27[G  ]| "My painting
111:160,28[G  ]| is not charming," 
111:160,28['  ]| she said.
111:160,29[E  ]| "It is the only thing about you that$6#1$ is not, then,
111:160,30[E  ]| Mademoiselle," 
111:160,30['  ]| quoth Valentin gallantly.
111:160,31['  ]| She took up$5$ her little canvas and silently passed it to$4$
111:160,32['  ]| him. He looked at it, and in$4$ a moment she said, 
111:160,32[G  ]| "I
111:160,33[G  ]| am sure you are a judge."
111:160,34[E  ]| "Yes," 
111:160,34['  ]| he answered, 
111:160,34[E  ]| "I am."
111:160,35[G  ]| "You know, then, that$3$ that$6#2$ is very bad."
111:160,36[E  ]| "\9Mon*Dieu\!" 
111:160,36['  ]| said Valentin shrugging his shoulders,
111:160,36[E  ]| "let us distinguish."
111:161,01[G  ]| "You know that$3$ I ought not to$9$ attempt to$9$ paint,"
111:161,02['  ]| the young girl continued.
111:161,03[E  ]| "Frankly, then, Mademoiselle, I think you ought
111:161,04[E  ]| not."
111:161,05['  ]| She began to$9$ look at the dresses of the two splendid
111:161,06['  ]| ladies again ~~ a point on$4$ which$6#1$, having risked one conjecture,
111:161,07['  ]| I think I may risk another. While she was
111:161,08['  ]| looking at the ladies she was seeing Valentin*de*Bellegarde.
111:161,09['  ]| He, at all events, was seeing her. He put down
111:161,10['  ]| the roughly-besmeared canvas and addressed a little click
111:161,11['  ]| with his tongue, accompanied by$4$ an elevation of the eyebrows, 
111:161,12['  ]| to$4$ Newman.
111:161,13[G  ]| "Where have you been all these months?" 
111:161,13['  ]| asked
111:161,14['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie of our hero. 
111:161,14[G  ]| "You took those
111:161,15[G  ]| great journeys, you amused yourself well?"
111:161,16[B  ]| "Oh yes," 
111:161,16['  ]| said Newman, 
111:161,16[B  ]| "I amused myself well
111:161,17[B  ]| enough."
111:161,18[G  ]| "I am very glad," 
111:161,18['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie, with
111:161,19['  ]| extreme gentleness; and she began to$9$ dabble in$4$ her
111:161,20['  ]| colours again. She was singularly pretty, with the look
111:161,21['  ]| of serious sympathy that$6#1$ she threw into her face.
111:161,22['  ]| Valentin took advantage of her downcast eyes to$9$
111:161,23['  ]| telegraph again to$4$ his companion. He renewed his
111:161,24['  ]| mysterious physiognomical play, making at the same
111:161,25['  ]| time a rapid tremulous movement in$4$ the air with his
111:161,26['  ]| fingers. He was evidently finding Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
111:161,27['  ]| extremely interesting; the blue devils had departed,
111:161,28['  ]| leaving the field clear.
111:161,29[G  ]| "Tell me something about your travels," 
111:161,29['  ]| murmured
111:161,30['  ]| the young girl.
111:161,31[B  ]| "Oh, I went to$4$ Switzerland ~~ to$4$ Geneva, and Zermatt,
111:161,32[B  ]| and Zu+rich, and all those places, you know; and down
111:161,33[B  ]| to$4$ Venice, and all through Germany, and down the
111:161,34[B  ]| Rhine, and into Holland and Belgium ~~ the regular
111:161,35[B  ]| round. How do you say that$6#2$ in$4$ French ~~ the regular
111:161,36[B  ]| round?" 
111:161,36['  ]| Newman asked of Valentin.
111:161,37['  ]| Mademoiselle*Nioche fixed her eyes an instant on$4$
111:162,01['  ]| Bellegarde, and then, with a little smile: 
111:162,01[G  ]| "I do not
111:162,02[G  ]| understand Monsieur," 
111;162,02['  ]| she said, 
111:162,02[G  ]| "when he says so$5#1$
111:162,03[G  ]| much at once. Would you be so$5#1$ good as to$9$ translate?"
111:162,04[E  ]| "I would rather talk to$4$ you out of my own head,"
111:162,05['  ]| Valentin declared.
111:162,06[B  ]| "No$7$," 
111:162,06['  ]| said Newman, gravely, still in$4$ his bad French,
111:162,07[B  ]| "you must not talk to$4$ Mademoiselle*Nioche, because
111:162,08[B  ]| you say discouraging things. You ought to$9$ tell her to$9$
111:162,09[B  ]| work, to$9$ persevere."
111:162,10[E  ]| "And we French, Mademoiselle," 
111:162,10['  ]| said Valentin, 
111:162,10[E  ]| "are
111:162,11[E  ]| accused of being false flatterers!"
111:162,12[G  ]| "I do not want any flattery, I want only the truth.
111:162,13[G  ]| But I know the truth."
111:162,14[E  ]| "All I say is that$3$ I suspect there are some things
111:162,15[E  ]| that$6#1$ you can do better than paint," 
111:162,15['  ]| said Valentin.
111:162,16[G  ]| "I know the truth ~~ I know the truth," 
111:162,16['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
111:162,17['  ]| repeated. And, dipping a brush into a clot of
111:162,18['  ]| red paint, she drew a great horizontal daub across her
111:162,19['  ]| unfinished picture.
111:162,20[B  ]| "What is that$6#2$?" 
111:162,20['  ]| asked Newman.
111:162,21['  ]| Without answering, she drew another long crimson
111:162,22['  ]| daub, in$4$ a vertical direction, down the middle of her
111:162,23['  ]| canvas, and so$3$, in$4$ a moment, completed the rough
111:162,24['  ]| indication of a cross. 
111:162,24[G  ]| "It is the sign of the truth," 
111:162,24['  ]| she
111:162,25['  ]| said at last.
111:162,26['  ]| The two men looked at each other, and Valentin
111:162,27['  ]| indulged in$4$ another flash of physiognomical eloquence.
111:162,28[B  ]| "You have spoiled your picture," 
111:162,28['  ]| said Newman.
111:162,29[G  ]| "I know that$6#2$ very well. It was the only thing to$9$ do
111:162,30[G  ]| with it. I had sat looking at it all day without touching
111:162,31[G  ]| it. I had begun to$9$ hate it. It seemed to$4$ me something
111:162,32[G  ]| was going to$9$ happen."
111:162,33[E  ]| "I like$1$ it better that$6#2$ way than as it was before," 
111:162,33['  ]| said
111:162,34['  ]| Valentin. 
111:162,34[E  ]| "Now it is more interesting. It tells a
111:162,35[E  ]| story. Is it for$4$ sale, Mademoiselle?"
111:162,36[G  ]| "Everything I have is for$4$ sale," 
111:162,36['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
111:162,37['  ]| 
111:163,01[E  ]| "How much is this thing?"
111:163,02[G  ]| "Ten thousand francs," 
111:163,02['  ]| said the young girl, without a
111:163,03['  ]| smile.
111:163,04[B  ]| "Everything that$6#1$ Mademoiselle*Nioche may do at
111:163,05[B  ]| present is mine in$4$ advance," 
111:163,05['  ]| said Newman. 
111:163,05[B  ]| "It makes
111:163,06[B  ]| part of an order I gave her some months ago. So$3$ you
111:163,07[B  ]| can not have this."
111:163,08[G  ]| "Monsieur will$1$ lose nothing by$4$ it," 
111:163,08['  ]| said the young
111:163,09['  ]| girl, looking at Valentin. And she began to$9$ put up$5$ her
111:163,10['  ]| utensils.
111:163,11[E  ]| "I shall have gained a charming memory," 
111:163,11['  ]| said
111:163,12['  ]| Valentin. 
111:163,12[E  ]| "You are going away? your day is over?"
111:163,13[G  ]| "My father is coming to$9$ fetch me," 
111:163,13['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
111:163,14['  ]| 
111:163,15['  ]| She had hardly spoken when, through the door behind
111:163,16['  ]| her, which$6#1$ opens on$4$ one of the great white stone staircases
111:163,17['  ]| of the Louvre, M%*Nioche made his appearance.
111:163,18['  ]| He came in$5$ with his usual patient shuffle, and he made
111:163,19['  ]| a low salute to$4$ the two gentlemen who$6#1$ were standing
111:163,20['  ]| before his daughter's easel. Newman shook his hand
111:163,21['  ]| with muscular friendliness, and Valentin returned his
111:163,22['  ]| greeting with extreme deference. While the old man
111:163,23['  ]| stood waiting for$4$ Noe=mie to$9$ make a parcel of her
111:163,24['  ]| implements, he let his mild oblique gaze hover towards
111:163,25['  ]| Bellegarde, who$6#1$ was watching Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
111:163,26['  ]| put on$4$ her bonnet and mantle. Valentin was at no$2$
111:163,27['  ]| pains to$9$ disguise his scrutiny. He looked at a pretty
111:163,28['  ]| girl as he would have listened to$4$ a piece of music.
111:163,29['  ]| Attention, in$4$ each case, was simple good manners. M%*Nioche
111:163,30['  ]| at last took his daughter's paint-box in$4$ one hand
111:163,31['  ]| and the bedaubed canvas, after giving it a solemn puzzled
111:163,32['  ]| stare, in$4$ the other, and led the way to$4$ the door. Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
111:163,33['  ]| made the young men the salute of a
111:163,34['  ]| duchess, and followed her father.
111:163,35[B  ]| "Well," 
111:163,35['  ]| said Newman, 
111:163,35[B  ]| "What do you think of 
111:163,36[B  ]| her?"
111:163,37[E  ]| "She is very remarkable. \9Diable, 9diable, 9diable\!"
111:164,01['  ]| repeated M%*de*Bellegarde, reflectively; 
111:164,01[E  ]| "she is very
111:164,02[E  ]| remarkable."
111:164,03[B  ]| "I am afraid she is a sad little adventuress," 
111:164,03['  ]| said
111:164,04['  ]| Newman.
111:164,05[E  ]| "Not a little one ~~ a great one. She has the material."
111:164,06['  ]| And Valentin began to$9$ walk away slowly, looking vaguely
111:164,07['  ]| at the pictures on$4$ the walls, with a thoughtful illumination
111:164,08['  ]| in$4$ his eye. Nothing could have appealed to$4$ his imagination
111:164,09['  ]| more than the possible adventures of a young lady
111:164,10['  ]| endowed with the "material" of Mademoiselle*Nioche.
111:164,11[E  ]| "She is very interesting," 
111:164,11['  ]| he went on$5$. 
111:164,11[E  ]| "She is a
111:164,12[E  ]| beautiful type."
111:164,13[B  ]| "A beautiful type? What the deuce do you mean?"
111:164,14['  ]| asked Newman.
111:164,15[E  ]| "I mean from the artistic point of view. She is
111:164,16[E  ]| an artist ~~ outside of her painting, which$6#1$ obviously is
111:164,17[E  ]| execrable."
111:164,18[B  ]| "But she is not beautiful. I do not even think her
111:164,19[B  ]| very pretty."
111:164,20[E  ]| "She is quite pretty enough for$4$ her purposes, and it
111:164,21[E  ]| is a face and figure in$4$ which$6#1$ everything tells. If she
111:164,22[E  ]| were prettier she would be less intelligent, and her
111:164,23[E  ]| intelligence is half of her charm."
111:164,24[B  ]| "In$4$ what way," 
111:164,24['  ]| asked Newman, who$6#1$ was much
111:164,25['  ]| amused at his companion's immediate philosophisation
111:164,26['  ]| of Mademoiselle*Nioche, 
111:164,26[B  ]| "does her intelligence strike
111:164,27[B  ]| you as so$5#1$ remarkable?"
111:164,28[E  ]| "She has taken the measure of life, and she has determined
111:164,29[E  ]| to$9$ \be\ something ~~ to$9$ succeed at any cost. Her
111:164,30[E  ]| painting, of course, is a mere trick to$9$ gain time. She is
111:164,31[E  ]| waiting for$4$ her chance; she wishes to$9$ launch herself, and
111:164,32[E  ]| to$9$ do it well. She knows her Paris. She is one of fifty
111:164,33[E  ]| thousand, so$5#1$ far as the mere ambition goes; but I am
111:164,34[E  ]| very sure that$3$ in$4$ the way of resolution and capacity she
111:164,35[E  ]| is a rarity. And in$4$ one gift ~~ perfect heartlessness ~~ I
111:164,36[E  ]| will$1$ warrant she is unsurpassed. She has not as much
111:164,37[E  ]| heart as will$1$ go on$4$ the point of a needle. That$6#2$ is an
111:165,01[E  ]| immense virtue. Yes, she is one of the celebrities of the
111:165,02[E  ]| future."
111:165,03[B  ]| "Heaven help us!" 
111:165,03['  ]| said Newman, 
111:165,03[B  ]| "how far the
111:165,04[B  ]| artistic point of view may take a man! But in$4$ this case
111:165,05[B  ]| I must request that$3$ you do not let it take you too far.
111:165,06[B  ]| You have learned a wonderful deal about Mademoiselle*Noe=mie
111:165,07[B  ]| in$4$ a quarter of an hour. Let that$6#2$ suffice; do not
111:165,08[B  ]| follow up$5$ your researches."
111:165,09[E  ]| "My dear fellow," 
111:165,09['  ]| cried Bellegarde, with warmth,
111:165,10[E  ]| "I hope I have too good manners to$9$ intrude."
111:165,11[B  ]| "You are not intruding. The girl is nothing to$4$ me.
111:165,12[B  ]| In$4$ fact, I rather dislike her. But I like$1$ her poor old
111:165,13[B  ]| father, and for$4$ his sake I beg you to$9$ abstain from any
111:165,14[B  ]| attempt to$9$ verify your theories."
111:165,15[E  ]| "For$4$ the sake of that$6#2$ seedy old gentleman who$6#1$ came
111:165,16[E  ]| to$9$ fetch her?" 
111:165,16['  ]| demanded Valentin, stopping short. And
111:165,17['  ]| on$4$ Newman's assenting, 
111:165,17[E  ]| "Ah no$7$, ah no$7$," 
111:165,17['  ]| he went on$5$
111:165,18['  ]| with a smile. 
111:165,18[E  ]| "You are quite wrong, my dear fellow;
111:165,19[E  ]| you need not mind him."
111:165,20[B  ]| "I verily believe that$3$ you are accusing the poor
111:165,21[B  ]| gentleman of being capable of rejoicing in$4$ his daughter's
111:165,22[B  ]| dishonour."
111:165,23[E  ]| "\9Voyons\!" 
111:165,23['  ]| said Valentin; 
111:165,23[E  ]| "who$6#2$ is he? What is he?"
111:165,24[B  ]| "He is what he looks like$4$: as poor as a rat, but very
111:165,25[B  ]| high-toned."
111:165,26[E  ]| "Exactly. I noticed him perfectly; be sure I do him
111:165,27[E  ]| justice. He has had losses, \9des 9malheurs\, as we say.
111:165,28[E  ]| He is very low-spirited, and his daughter is too much
111:165,29[E  ]| for$4$ him. He is the pink of respectability, and he has
111:165,30[E  ]| sixty years of honesty on$4$ his back. All this I perfectly
111:165,31[E  ]| appreciate. But I know my fellowmen and my fellow-Parisians,
111:165,32[E  ]| and I will$1$ make a bargain with you." 
111:165,32['  ]| Newman
111:165,33['  ]| gave ear to$4$ his bargain, and he went on$5$. 
111:165,33[E  ]| "He
111:165,34[E  ]| would rather his daughter were a good girl than a bad
111:165,35[E  ]| one, but if the worst comes to$4$ the worst, the old man
111:165,36[E  ]| will$1$ not do what Virginius did. Success justifies everything.
111:165,37[E  ]| If Mademoiselle*Noe=mie makes a figure, her
111:166,01[E  ]| papa will$1$ feel ~~ well, we will$1$ call it relieved. And she
111:166,02[E  ]| will$1$ make a figure. The old gentleman's future is
111:166,03[E  ]| assured."
111:166,04[B  ]| "I do not know what Virginius did, but M%*Nioche
111:166,05[B  ]| will$1$ shoot Miss*Noe=mie," 
111:166,05['  ]| said Newman. 
111:166,05[B  ]| "After that$6#2$,
111:166,06[B  ]| I suppose his future will$1$ be assured in$4$ some snug
111:166,07[B  ]| prison."
111:166,08[E  ]| "I am not a cynic; I am simply an observer,"
111:166,09['  ]| Valentin rejoined. 
111:166,09[E  ]| "Mademoiselle*Noe=mie interests
111:166,10[E  ]| me; she is extremely remarkable. If there is a good
111:166,11[E  ]| reason, in$4$ honour or decency, for$4$ dismissing her from my
111:166,12[E  ]| thoughts for*ever, I am perfectly willing to$9$ do it. Your
111:166,13[E  ]| estimate of the papa's sensibilities is a good reason until
111:166,14[E  ]| it is invalidated. I promise you not to$9$ look at the young
111:166,15[E  ]| girl again until you tell me that$3$ you have changed your
111:166,16[E  ]| mind about the papa. When he has given distinct proof
111:166,17[E  ]| of being a philosopher, you will$1$ raise your interdict. Do
111:166,18[E  ]| you agree to$4$ that$6#2$?"
111:166,19[B  ]| "Do you mean to$9$ bribe him?"
111:166,20[E  ]| "Oh, you admit, then, that$3$ he is bribable? No$7$, he
111:166,21[E  ]| would ask too much, and it would not be exactly fair.
111:166,22[E  ]| I mean simply to$9$ wait. You will$1$ continue, I suppose,
111:166,23[E  ]| to$9$ see this interesting couple, and you will$1$ give me the
111:166,24[E  ]| news yourself."
111:166,25[B  ]| "Well," 
111:166,25['  ]| said Newman, 
111:166,25[B  ]| "if the old man turns out a
111:166,26[B  ]| humbug, you may do what you please. I wash my hands
111:166,27[B  ]| of the matter. For$4$ the girl herself, you may be at rest.
111:166,28[B  ]| I do not know what harm she may do to$4$ me, but I
111:166,29[B  ]| certainly can not hurt her. It seems to$4$ me," 
111:166,29['  ]| said Newman,
111:166,30[B  ]| "that$3$ you are very well matched. You are both hard
111:166,31[B  ]| cases, and M%*Nioche and I, I believe, are the only
111:166,32[B  ]| virtuous men to$9$ be found in$4$ Paris."
111:166,33['  ]| Soon after this M%*de*Bellegarde, in$4$ punishment for$4$
111:166,34['  ]| his levity, received a stern poke in$4$ the back from a
111:166,35['  ]| pointed instrument. Turning quickly round he found
111:166,36['  ]| the weapon to$9$ be a parasol wielded by$4$ a lady in$4$ a green
111:166,37['  ]| gauze bonnet. Valentin's English cousins had been
111:167,01['  ]| drifting about unpiloted, and evidently deemed that$3$ they
111:167,02['  ]| had a grievance. Newman left him to$4$ their mercies,
111:167,03['  ]| but with a boundless faith in$4$ his power to$9$ plead his
111:167,04['  ]| cause.
112:167,01['  ]| Three days after his introduction to$4$ the family of
112:167,02['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=, Newman, coming in$5$ toward evening,
112:167,03['  ]| found upon$4$ his table the card of the Marquis*de*Bellegarde.
112:167,04['  ]| On$4$ the following day he received a note informing
112:167,05['  ]| him that$3$ 
112:167,05@d   | the Marquise*de*Bellegarde would be grateful
112:167,06@d   | for$4$ the honour of his company at dinner.
112:167,07['  ]| He went, of course, though he had to$9$ break another
112:167,08['  ]| engagement to$9$ do it. He was ushered into the room in$4$
112:167,09['  ]| which$6#1$ Madame*de*Bellegarde had received him before,
112:167,10['  ]| and here he found his venerable hostess, surrounded by$4$
112:167,11['  ]| her entire family. The room was lighted only by$4$ the
112:167,12['  ]| crackling fire, which$6#1$ illumined the very small pink
112:167,13['  ]| slippers of a lady who$6#1$, seated in$4$ a low chair, was stretching
112:167,14['  ]| out her toes before it. This lady was the younger
112:167,15['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde. Madame*de*Cintre= was seated
112:167,16['  ]| at the other end of the room, holding a little girl against
112:167,17['  ]| her knee, the child of her brother Urbain, to$4$ whom she
112:167,18['  ]| was apparently relating a wonderful story. Valentin was
112:167,19['  ]| sitting on$4$ a puff close to$4$ his sister-in-law, into whose
112:167,20['  ]| ear he was certainly distilling the finest nonsense. The
112:167,21['  ]| Marquis was stationed before the fire, with his head erect
112:167,22['  ]| and his hands behind him, in$4$ an attitude of formal expectancy.
112:167,23['  ]| 
112:167,24['  ]| Old Madame*de*Bellegarde stood up$5$ to$9$ give Newman
112:167,25['  ]| her greeting, and there was that$6#2$ in$4$ the way she did so$5#2$
112:167,26['  ]| which$6#1$ seemed to$9$ measure narrowly the extent of her condescension. 
112:167,27[C  ]| "We are all alone, you see; we have asked
112:167,28[C  ]| no*one else," 
112:167,28['  ]| she said, austerely.
112:168,01[B  ]| "I am very glad you did not; this is much more sociable,"
112:168,02['  ]| said Newman. 
112:168,02[B  ]| "Good evening, sir," 
112:168,02['  ]| and he
112:168,03['  ]| offered his hand to$4$ the Marquis.
112:168,04['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde was affable, but in$4$ spite of his dignity
112:168,05['  ]| he was restless. He began to$9$ pace up$4$ and down the
112:168,06['  ]| room, he looked out of the long windows, he took up$5$
112:168,07['  ]| books and laid them down again. Young Madame*de*Bellegarde
112:168,08['  ]| gave Newman her hand without moving and
112:168,09['  ]| without looking at him.
112:168,10[E  ]| "You may think that$6#2$ is coldness," 
112:168,10['  ]| exclaimed Valentin;
112:168,11[E  ]| "but it is not, it is warmth. It shows she is treating
112:168,12[E  ]| you as an intimate. Now she detests me, and yet she
112:168,13[E  ]| is always looking at me."
112:168,14[L  ]| "No$2$ wonder I detest you if I am always looking at
112:168,15[L  ]| you!" 
112:168,15['  ]| cried the lady. 
112:168,15[L  ]| "If Mr%*Newman does not like$1$
112:168,16[L  ]| my way of shaking hands, I will$1$ do it again."
112:168,17['  ]| But this charming privilege was lost upon$4$ our hero,
112:168,18['  ]| who$6#1$ was already making his way across the room to$4$
112:168,19['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=. She looked at him as she shook
112:168,20['  ]| hands, but she went on$4$ with the story she was telling
112:168,21['  ]| her little niece. She had only two or three phrases to$9$
112:168,22['  ]| add, but they were apparently of great moment. She
112:168,23['  ]| deepened her voice, smiling as she did so$5#2$, and the little
112:168,24['  ]| girl gazed at her with round eyes.
112:168,25[A  ]| "But in$4$ the end the young prince married the beautiful
112:168,26[A  ]| Florabella," 
112:168,26['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, 
112:168,26[A  ]| "and carried
112:168,27[A  ]| her off to$9$ live with him in$4$ the Land*of*the*Pink*Sky.
112:168,28[A  ]| There she was so$5#1$ happy that$3$ she forgot all her troubles,
112:168,29[A  ]| and went out to$9$ drive every day of her life in$4$ an ivory
112:168,30[A  ]| coach drawn by$4$ five hundred white mice. Poor Florabella,"
112:168,31['  ]| she explained to$4$ Newman, 
112:168,31[A  ]| "had suffered terribly."
112:168,32[V  ]| "She had had nothing to$9$ eat for$4$ six months," 
112:168,32['  ]| said
112:168,33['  ]| little Blanche.
112:168,34[A  ]| "Yes, but when the six months were over she had a 
112:168,35[A  ]| plum-cake as big as that$6#2$ ottoman," 
112:168,35['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
112:168,36[A  ]| "That$6#1$ quite set her up$5$ again."
112:168,37[B  ]| "What a chequered career!" 
112:168,37['  ]| said Newman. 
112:168,37[B  ]| "Are
112:169,01[B  ]| you very fond of children?" 
112:169,01['  ]| He was certain that$3$ she
112:169,02['  ]| was, but he wished to$9$ make her say it.
112:169,03[A  ]| "I like$1$ to$9$ talk with them," 
112:169,03['  ]| she answered; 
112:169,03[A  ]| "we can
112:169,04[A  ]| talk with them so$5#1$ much more seriously than with grown
112:169,05[A  ]| persons. That$6#2$ is great nonsense that$6#1$ I have been telling
112:169,06[A  ]| Blanche, but it is a great deal more serious than most of
112:169,07[A  ]| what we say in$4$ society."
112:169,08[B  ]| "I wish you would talk to$4$ me, then, as if I were
112:169,09[B  ]| Blanche's age," 
112:169,09['  ]| said Newman, laughing. 
112:169,09[B  ]| "Were you
112:169,10[B  ]| happy at your ball the other night?"
112:169,11[A  ]| "Ecstatically!"
112:169,12[B  ]| "Now you are talking the nonsense that$6#1$ we talk in$4$
112:169,13[B  ]| society," 
112:169,13['  ]| said Newman. 
112:169,13[B  ]| "I do not believe that$6#2$."
112:169,14[A  ]| "It was my own fault if I was not happy. The ball
112:169,15[A  ]| was very pretty, and every*one very amiable."
112:169,16[B  ]| "It was on$4$ your conscience," 
112:169,16['  ]| said Newman, 
112:169,16[B  ]| "that$3$
112:169,17[B  ]| you had annoyed your mother and your brother."
112:169,18['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= looked at him a moment without
112:169,19['  ]| answering. 
112:169,19[A  ]| "That$6#2$ is true," 
112:169,19['  ]| she replied at last. 
112:169,19[A  ]| "I
112:169,20[A  ]| had undertaken more than I could carry out. I have
112:169,21[A  ]| very little courage; I am not a heroine." 
112:169,21['  ]| She said this
112:169,22['  ]| with a certain soft emphasis; but then, changing her
112:169,23['  ]| tone: 
112:169,23[A  ]| "I could never have gone through the sufferings
112:169,24[A  ]| of the beautiful Florabella," 
112:169,24['  ]| she added, 
112:169,24[A  ]| "not even for$4$
112:169,25[A  ]| her prospective rewards."
112:169,26['  ]| Dinner was announced, and Newman betook himself
112:169,27['  ]| to$4$ the side of old Madame*de*Bellegarde. The dining-room,
112:169,28['  ]| at the end of a cold corridor, was vast and sombre;
112:169,29['  ]| the dinner was simple and delicately excellent. Newman
112:169,30['  ]| wondered 
112:169,30@b   | whether Madame*de*Cintre= had had something
112:169,31@b   | to$9$ do with ordering the repast, and greatly hoped she
112:169,32@b   | had. 
112:169,32['  ]| Once seated at table, with the various members
112:169,33['  ]| of the ancient house of Bellegarde around him, he asked
112:169,34['  ]| himself the meaning of his position. 
112:169,34@b   | Was the old lady
112:169,35@b   | responding to$4$ his advances? Did the fact that$3$ he was
112:169,36@b   | a solitary guest augment his credit or diminish it? Were
112:169,37@b   | they ashamed to$9$ show him to$4$ other people, or did they
112:170,01@b   | wish to$9$ give him a sign of sudden adoption into their
112:170,02@b   | last reserve of favour? 
112:170,02['  ]| Newman was on$4$ his guard; he
112:170,03['  ]| was watchful and conjectural; and yet at the same time
112:170,04['  ]| he was vaguely indifferent. 
112:170,04@b   | Whether they gave him a 
112:170,05@b   | long rope or a short one he was there now, and Madame*de*Cintre=
112:170,06@b   | was opposite to$4$ him. She had a tall candlestick
112:170,07@b   | on$4$ each side of her; she would sit there for$4$ the
112:170,08@b   | next hour, and that$6#2$ was enough. 
112:170,08['  ]| The dinner was extremely
112:170,09['  ]| solemn and measured; he wondered 
112:170,09@b   | whether
112:170,10@b   | this was always the state of things in$4$ "old families."
112:170,11@b   | Madame*de*Bellegarde held her head very high, and
112:170,12@b   | fixed her eyes, which$6#1$ looked peculiarly sharp in$4$ her little
112:170,13@b   | finely-wrinkled white face, very intently upon$4$ the table-service.
112:170,14@b   | The Marquis appeared to$9$ have decided that$3$ the
112:170,15@b   | fine arts offered a safe subject of conversation, as not
112:170,16@b   | leading to$4$ startling personal revelations. 
112:170,16['  ]| Every now
112:170,17['  ]| and then, having learned from Newman that$3$ he had been
112:170,18['  ]| through the museums of Europe, he uttered some polished
112:170,19['  ]| aphorism upon$4$ the flesh-tints of Rubens and the good
112:170,20['  ]| taste of Sansovino. 
112:170,20@b   | His manners seemed to$9$ indicate a 
112:170,21@b   | fine nervous dread that$3$ something disagreeable might
112:170,22@b   | happen if the atmosphere were not purified by$4$ allusions
112:170,23@b   | of a thoroughly superior cast. "What under the sun is 
112:170,24@b   | the man afraid of?" 
112:170,24['  ]| Newman asked himself. 
112:170,24@b   | "Does
112:170,25@b   | he think I am going to$9$ offer to$9$ swap jack-knives with
112:170,26@b   | him?" It was useless to$9$ shut his eyes to$4$ the fact that$3$
112:170,27@b   | the Marquis was profoundly disagreeable to$4$ him. 
112:170,27['  ]| He
112:170,28['  ]| had never been a man of strong personal aversions; his
112:170,29['  ]| nerves had not been at the mercy of the mystical qualities
112:170,30['  ]| of his neighbours. 
112:170,30@b   | But here was a man towards whom
112:170,31@b   | he was irresistibly in$4$ opposition; a man of forms and
112:170,32@b   | phrases and postures; a man full of possible impertinences
112:170,33@b   | and treacheries. 
112:170,33['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde made him feel
112:170,34['  ]| as if he were standing barefooted on$4$ a marble floor; and
112:170,35['  ]| yet, to$9$ gain his desire, Newman felt perfectly able to$9$
112:170,36['  ]| stand. He wondered 
112:170,36@b   | what Madame*de*Cintre= thought
112:170,37@b   | of his being accepted, if accepted it was. There was 
112:171,01@b   | no$2$ judging from her face, which$6#1$ expressed simply the
112:171,02@b   | desire to$9$ be gracious in$4$ a manner which$6#1$ should require
112:171,03@b   | as little explicit recognition as possible. Young Madame*de*Bellegarde
112:171,04@b   | had always the same manners; she was
112:171,05@b   | always preoccupied, distracted, listening to$4$ everything
112:171,06@b   | and hearing nothing, looking at her dress, her rings, her
112:171,07@b   | finger-nails, seeming rather bored, and yet puzzling you
112:171,08@b   | to$9$ decide what was her ideal of social diversion. 
112:171,08['  ]| Newman
112:171,09['  ]| was enlightened on$4$ this point later. 
112:171,09@b   | Even Valentin
112:171,10@b   | did not quite seem master of his wits; his vivacity was
112:171,11@b   | fitful and forced, 
112:171,11['  ]| yet Newman observed that$3$ 
112:171,11@b   | in$4$ the lapses
112:171,12@b   | of his talk he appeared excited. His eyes had an intenser
112:171,13@b   | spark than usual. 
112:171,13['  ]| The effect of all this was that$3$
112:171,14['  ]| Newman, for$4$ the first time in$4$ his life, was not himself;
112:171,15['  ]| that$3$ he measured his movements, and counted his words,
112:171,16['  ]| and resolved that$3$ 
112:171,16@b   | if the occasion demanded that$3$ he should
112:171,17@b   | appear to$9$ have swallowed a ramrod, he would meet the
112:171,18@b   | emergency.
112:171,19['  ]| After dinner M%*de*Bellegarde proposed to$4$ his guest
112:171,20['  ]| that$3$ 
112:171,20@d   | they should go into the smoking-room, 
112:171,20['  ]| and he led
112:171,21['  ]| the way towards a small somewhat musty apartment,
112:171,22['  ]| the walls of which$6#1$ were ornamented with old hangings of
112:171,23['  ]| stamped leather and trophies of rusty arms. Newman
112:171,24['  ]| refused a cigar, but he established himself upon$4$ one of
112:171,25['  ]| the divans, while the Marquis puffed his own weed before
112:171,26['  ]| the fireplace, and Valentin sat looking through the light
112:171,27['  ]| fumes of a cigarette from one to$4$ the other.
112:171,28[E  ]| "I can not keep quiet any longer," 
112:171,28['  ]| said Valentin, at
112:171,29['  ]| last. 
112:171,29[E  ]| "I must tell you the news and congratulate you.
112:171,30[E  ]| My brother seems unable to$9$ come to$4$ the point; he revolves
112:171,31[E  ]| around his announcement like$4$ the priest around the
112:171,32[E  ]| altar. You are accepted as a candidate for$4$ the hand of
112:171,33[E  ]| our sister."
112:171,34[D  ]| "Valentin, be a little proper!" 
112:171,34['  }| murmured the Marquis,
112:171,35['  ]| with a look of the most delicate irritation contracting the
112:171,36['  ]| bridge of his high nose.
112:171,37[E  ]| "There has been a family council," 
112:171,37['  ]| the young man
112:172,01['  ]| continued; 
112:172,01[E  }| "my mother and Urbain have put their heads
112:172,02[E  ]| together, and even my testimony has not been altogether
112:172,03[E  ]| excluded. My mother and the Marquis sat at a table
112:172,04[E  ]| covered with green cloth; my sister-in-law and I were
112:172,05[E  ]| on$4$ a bench against the wall. It was like$4$ a committee at
112:172,06[E  ]| the Corps*Le=gislatif. We were called up$5$, one after the
112:172,07[E  ]| other, to$9$ testify. We spoke of you very handsomely.
112:172,08[E  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde said that$3$ if she had not been told
112:172,09[E  ]| who$6#1$ you were, she would have taken you for$4$ a duke ~~ an
112:172,10[E  ]| American duke, the Duke of California. I said that$3$ I
112:172,11[E  ]| could warrant you grateful for$4$ the smallest favours ~
112:172,12[E  ]| modest, humble, unassuming. I was sure that$3$ you
112:172,13[E  ]| would know your own place always, and never give us
112:172,14[E  ]| occasion to$9$ remind you of certain differences. After all,
112:172,15[E  ]| you could not help it if you were not a duke. There were
112:172,16[E  ]| none in$4$ your country; but if there had been, it was certain
112:172,17[E  ]| that$3$, smart and active as you are, you would have
112:172,18[E  ]| got the pick of the titles. At this point I was ordered
112:172,19[E  ]| to$9$ sit down, but I think I made an impression in$4$ your
112:172,20[E  ]| favour."
112:172,21['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde looked at his brother with dangerous
112:172,22['  ]| coldness, and gave a smile as thin as the edge of a knife.
112:172,23['  ]| Then he removed a spark of cigar-ash from the sleeve of
112:172,24['  ]| his coat; he fixed his eyes for$4$ a while on$4$ the cornice of
112:172,25['  ]| the room, and at last he inserted one of his white hands
112:172,26['  ]| into the breast of his waistcoat. 
112:172,26[D  ]| "I must apologise to$4$
112:172,27[D  ]| you for$4$ the deplorable levity of my brother," 
112:172,27['  ]| he said,
112:172,28[D  ]| "and I must notify you that$3$ this is probably not the last
112:172,29[D  ]| time that$3$ his want of tact will$1$ cause you serious embarrassment."
112:172,30[D  ]| 
112:172,31[E  ]| "No$7$, I confess I have no$2$ tact," 
112:172,31['  ]| said Valentin. 
112:172,31[E  ]| "Is
112:172,32[E  ]| your embarrassment really painful, Newman? The
112:172,33[E  ]| Marquis will$1$ put you right again; his own touch is
112:172,34[E  ]| deliciously delicate."
112:172,35[D  ]| "Valentin, I am sorry to$9$ say," 
112:172,35['  ]| the Marquis continued,
112:172,36[D  ]| "has never possessed the tone, the manner, that$6#1$ belong
112:172,37[D  ]| to$4$ a young man in$4$ his position. It has been a great
112:173,01[D  ]| affliction to$4$ his mother, who$6#1$ is very fond of the old traditions.
112:173,02[D  ]| But you must remember that$3$ he speaks for$4$ no*one
112:173,03[D  ]| but himself."
112:173,04[B  ]| "Oh, I do not mind him, sir," 
112:173,04['  ]| said Newman, good-humouredly. 
112:173,05[B  ]| "I know what he amounts to$4$."
112:173,06[E  ]| "In$4$ the good old times," 
112:173,06['  ]| said Valentin, 
112:173,06[E  ]| "marquises
112:173,07[E  ]| and counts used to$9$ have their appointed fools and jesters,
112:173,08[E  ]| to$9$ crack jokes for$4$ them. Nowadays we see a great strapping
112:173,09[E  ]| democrat keeping a count about him to$9$ play the
112:173,10[E  ]| fool. It is a good situation, but I certainly am very
112:173,11[E  ]| degenerate."
112:173,12['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde fixed his eyes for$4$ some time on$4$ the
112:173,13['  ]| floor. 
112:173,13[D  ]| "My mother informed me," 
112:173,13['  ]| he said, presently,
112:173,14[D  ]| "of the announcement that$6#1$ you made to$4$ her the other
112:173,15[D  ]| evening."
112:173,16[B  ]| "That$6#1$ I desired to$9$ marry your sister?" 
112:173,16['  ]| said Newman.
112:173,17[D  ]| "That$6#1$ you wished to$9$ arrange a marriage," 
112:173,17['  ]| said the
112:173,18['  ]| Marquis, slowly, 
112:173,18[D  ]| "with my sister, the Comtesse*de*Cintre=.
112:173,19[D  ]| The proposal was serious, and required, on$4$ my mother's
112:173,20[D  ]| part, a great deal of reflection. She naturally took me
112:173,21[D  ]| into her counsels, and I gave my most zealous attention
112:173,22[D  ]| to$4$ the subject. There was a great deal to$9$ be considered;
112:173,23[D  ]| more than you appear to$9$ imagine. We have viewed the
112:173,24[D  ]| question on$4$ all its faces, we have weighed one thing
112:173,25[D  ]| against another. Our conclusion has been that$3$ we
112:173,26[D  ]| favour your suit. My mother has desired me to$9$ inform
112:173,27[D  ]| you of our decision. She will$1$ have the honour of saying
112:173,28[D  ]| a few words to$4$ you on$4$ the subject herself. Meanwhile,
112:173,29[D  ]| by$4$ us, the heads of the family, you are accepted."
112:173,30['  ]| Newman got up$5$ and came nearer to$4$ the Marquis.
112:173,31[B  ]| "You will$1$ do nothing to$9$ hinder me, and all you can to$9$
112:173,32[B  ]| help me, eh?"
112:173,33[D  ]| "I will$1$ recommend my sister to$9$ accept you."
112:173,34['  ]| Newman passed his hand over his face, and pressed it
112:173,35['  ]| for$4$ a moment upon$4$ his eyes. 
112:173,35@b   | This promise had a great
112:173,36@b   | sound, and yet the pleasure he took in$4$ it was embittered
112:173,37@b   | by$4$ his having to$9$ stand there so$5#2$ and receive his passport
112:174,01@b   | from M%*de*Bellegarde. The idea of having this gentleman
112:174,02@b   | mixed up$5$ with his wooing and wedding was more
112:174,03@b   | and more disagreeable to$4$ him. 
112:174,03['  ]| But Newman had resolved
112:174,04['  ]| to$9$ 
112:174,04@b   | go through the mill, 
112:174,04['  ]| as he imaged it, 
112:174,04@b   | and he
112:174,05@b   | would not cry out at the first turn of the wheel. 
112:174,05['  ]| He
112:174,06['  ]| was silent a while, and then he said, with a certain dryness,
112:174,07['  ]| which$6#1$ Valentin told him afterwards 
112:174,07@e   | had a very
112:174,08@e   | grand air: 
112:174,08[B  ]| "I am much obliged to$4$ you."
112:174,09[E  ]| "I take note of the promise," 
112:174,09['  ]| said Valentin, 
112:174,09[E  ]| "I
112:174,10[E  ]| register the vow."
112:174,11['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde began to$9$ gaze at the cornice again;
112:174,12['  ]| he apparently had something more to$9$ say. 
112:174,12[D  ]| "I must do
112:174,13[D  ]| my mother the justice," 
112:174,13['  ]| he resumed, 
112:174,13[D  ]| "I must do myself
112:174,14[D  ]| the justice, to$9$ say that$3$ our decision was not easy. Such
112:174,15[D  ]| an arrangement was not what we had expected. The idea
112:174,16[D  ]| that$3$ my sister should marry a gentleman ~~ ah ~~ in$4$ business,
112:174,17[D  ]| was something of a novelty."
112:174,18[E  ]| "So$5#2$ I told you, you know," 
112:174,18['  ]| said Valentin, raising his
112:174,19['  ]| finger at Newman.
112:174,20[D  ]| "The novelty has not quite worn away, I confess,"
112:174,21['  ]| the Marquis went on$5$; 
112:174,21[D  ]| "perhaps it never will$1$ entirely.
112:174,22[D  ]| But possibly that$6#2$ is not altogether to$9$ be regretted," 
112:174,22['  ]| and
112:174,23['  ]| he gave his thin smile again. 
112:174,23[D  ]| "It may be that$3$ the time
112:174,24[D  ]| has come when we should make some concession to$4$
112:174,25[D  ]| novelty. There had been no$2$ novelties in$4$ our house for$4$ a
112:174,26[D  ]| great many years. I made the observation to$4$ my mother,
112:174,27[D  ]| and she did me the honour to$9$ admit that$3$ it was worthy
112:174,28[D  ]| of attention."
112:174,29[E  ]| "My dear brother," 
112:174,29['  ]| interrupted Valentin, 
112:174,29[E  ]| "is not
112:174,30[E  ]| your memory just here leading you the least bit astray?
112:174,31[E  ]| Our mother is, I may say, distinguished for$4$ her small
112:174,32[E  ]| respect for$4$ abstract reasoning. Are you very sure that$3$
112:174,33[E  ]| she replied to$4$ your striking proposition in$4$ the gracious
112:174,34[E  ]| manner you describe? You know how terribly incisive
112:174,35[E  ]| she is sometimes. Did not she rather do you the honour
112:174,36[E  ]| to$9$ say: ""A fiddlestick for$4$ your phrases! There are
112:174,37[E  ]| better reasons than that$6#2$""?"
112:175,01[D  ]| "Other reasons were discussed," 
112:175,01['  ]| said the Marquis,
112:175,02['  ]| without looking at Valentin, but with an audible tremor
112:175,03['  ]| in$4$ his voice; 
112:175,03[D  ]| "some of them possibly were better. We
112:175,04[D  ]| are conservative, Mr%*Newman, but we are not also
112:175,05[D  ]| bigots. We judged the matter liberally. We have no$2$
112:175,06[D  ]| doubt that$3$ everything will$1$ be comfortable."
112:175,07['  ]| Newman had stood listening to$4$ these remarks with his
112:175,08['  ]| arms folded and his eyes fastened upon$4$ M%*de*Bellegarde.
112:175,09[B  ]| "Comfortable?" 
112:175,09['  ]| he said, with a sort of grim flatness of
112:175,10['  ]| intonation. 
112:175,10[B  ]| "Why should not we be comfortable? If
112:175,11[B  ]| you are not, it will$1$ be your own fault; I have everything
112:175,12[B  ]| to$9$ make \me\ so$5#2$."
112:175,13[E  ]| "My brother means that$3$ with the lapse of time you
112:175,14[E  ]| may get used to$4$ the change," 
112:175,14['  ]| and Valentin paused, to$9$
112:175,15['  ]| light another cigarette.
112:175,16[B  ]| "What change?" 
112:175,16['  ]| asked Newman, in$4$ the same tone.
112:175,17[E  ]| "Urbain," 
112:175,17['  ]| said Valentin, very gravely. 
112:175,17[E  ]| "I am afraid
112:175,18[E  ]| that$3$ Mr%*Newman does not quite realise the change.
112:175,19[E  ]| We ought to$9$ insist upon$4$ that$6#2$."
112:175,20[D  ]| "My brother goes too far," 
112:175,20['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde,
112:175,21[D  ]| "It is his fatal want of tact again. It is my mother's
112:175,22[D  ]| wish, and mine, that$3$ no$2$ such allusions should be made.
112:175,23[D  ]| Pray never make them yourself. We prefer to$9$ assume
112:175,24[D  ]| that$3$ the person accepted as the possible husband of my
112:175,25[D  ]| sister is one of ourselves, and that$3$ he should have no$2$ explanations
112:175,26[D  ]| to$9$ make. With a little discretion on$4$ both 
112:175,27[D  ]| sides, everything, I think, will$1$ be easy. That$6#2$ is exactly
112:175,28[D  ]| what I wished to$9$ say ~~ that$3$ we quite understand what we
112:175,29[D  ]| have undertaken, and that$3$ you may depend upon$4$ our
112:175,30[D  ]| adhering to$4$ our resolution."
112:175,31['  ]| Valentin shook his hands in$4$ the air and then buried
112:175,32['  ]| his face in$4$ them. 
112:175,32[E  ]| "I have less tact than I might have,
112:175,33[E  ]| no$2$ doubt; but oh, my brother, if you knew what you
112:175,34[E  ]| yourself were saying!" 
112:175,34['  ]| And he went off into a long
112:175,35['  ]| laugh.
112:175,36['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde's face flushed a little, but he held
112:175,37['  ]| his head higher, as if to$9$ repudiate this concession to$4$
112:176,01['  ]| vulgar perturbability. 
112:176,01[D  ]| "I am sure you understand me,
112:176,02['  ]| he said to$4$ Newman.
112:176,03[B  ]| "Oh no$7$, I do not understand you at all," 
112:176,03['  ]| said Newman.
112:176,04[B  ]| "But you need not mind that$6#2$. I do not care. In$4$ fact, I
112:176,05[B  ]| think I had better not understand you. I might not
112:176,06[B  ]| like$1$ it. That$6#2$ would not suit me at all, you know. I
112:176,07[B  ]| want to$9$ marry your sister, that$6#2$ is all; to$9$ do it as quickly
112:176,08[B  ]| as possible, and to$9$ find fault with nothing. I do not care
112:176,09[B  ]| how I do it. I am not marrying you, you know, sir. I
112:176,10[B  ]| have got my leave, and that$6#2$ is all I want."
112:176,11[D  ]| "You had better receive the last word from my mother,"
112:176,12['  ]| said the Marquis.
112:176,13[B  ]| "Very good; I will$1$ go and get it," 
112:176,13['  ]| said Newman;
112:176,14['  ]| and he prepared to$9$ return to$4$ the drawing-room.
112:176,15['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde made a motion for$4$ him to$9$ pass first,
112:176,16['  ]| and when Newman had gone out he shut himself into the
112:176,17['  ]| room with Valentin. Newman had been a trifle bewildered
112:176,18['  ]| by$4$ the audacious irony of the younger brother, and he
112:176,19['  ]| had not needed its aid to$9$ point the moral of M%*de*Bellegarde's
112:176,20['  ]| transcendent patronage. He had wit enough to$9$
112:176,21['  ]| appreciate the force of that$6#2$ civility which$6#1$ consists in$4$ calling
112:176,22['  ]| your attention to$4$ the impertinences it spares you.
112:176,23['  ]| But he had felt warmly the delicate sympathy with himself
112:176,24['  ]| that$6#1$ underlay Valentin's fraternal irreverence, and he
112:176,25['  ]| was most unwilling that$3$ his friend should pay a tax upon$4$
112:176,26['  ]| it. He paused a moment in$4$ the corridor, after he had
112:176,27['  ]| gone a few steps, expecting to$9$ hear the resonance of M%*de*Bellegarde's
112:176,28['  ]| displeasure; but he detected only a perfect
112:176,29['  ]| stillness. The stillness itself seemed a trifle portentous;
112:176,30['  ]| he reflected, however, that$3$ 
112:176,30@b   | he had no$2$ right to$9$ stand
112:176,31@b   | listening, 
112:176,31['  ]| and he made his way back to$4$ the salon. In$4$
112:176,32['  ]| his absence several persons had come in$5$. They were
112:176,33['  ]| scattered about the room in$4$ groups, two or three of them
112:176,34['  ]| having passed into a small boudoir, next to$4$ the drawing-room,
112:176,35['  ]| which$6#1$ had now been lighted and opened. Old
112:176,36['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde was in$4$ her place by$4$ the fire, talking
112:176,37['  ]| to$4$ a very old gentleman in$4$ a wig and a profuse white
112:177,01['  ]| neckcloth of the fashion of l820. Madame*de*Cintre=
112:177,02['  ]| was bending a listening head to$4$ the historic confidences
112:177,03['  ]| of an old lady who$6#1$ was presumably the wife of the old
112:177,04['  ]| gentleman in$4$ the neckcloth, an old lady in$4$ a red satin
112:177,05['  ]| dress and an ermine cape, who$6#1$ wore across her forehead
112:177,06['  ]| a band with a topaz set in$4$ it. Young Madame*de*Bellegarde,
112:177,07['  ]| when Newman came in$5$, left some people among
112:177,08['  ]| whom she was sitting, and took the place that$6#1$ she had
112:177,09['  ]| occupied before dinner. Then she gave a little push to$4$
112:177,10['  ]| the puff that$6#1$ stood near her, and by$4$ a glance at Newman
112:177,11@b   | seemed to$9$ indicate that$3$ she had placed it in$4$ position for$4$
112:177,12@b   | him. 
112:177,12['  ]| He went and took possession of it; 
112:177,12@b   | the Marquis's
112:177,13@b   | wife amused and puzzled him.
112:177,14[L  ]| "I know your secret," 
112:177,14['  ]| she said, in$4$ her bad but charming
112:177,15['  ]| English; 
112:177,15[L  ]| "you need make no$2$ mystery of it. You
112:177,16[L  ]| wish to$9$ marry my sister-in-law. \9C'est 9un 9beau 9choix\.
112:177,17[L  ]| A man like$4$ you ought to$9$ marry a tall thin woman. You
112:177,18[L  ]| must know that$3$ I have spoken in$4$ your favour; you owe
112:177,19[L  ]| me a famous taper!"
112:177,20[B  ]| "You have spoken to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=?" 
112:177,20['  ]| said
112:177,21['  ]| Newman.
112:177,22[L  ]| "Oh no$7$, not that$6#2$. You may think it strange, but my
112:177,23[L  ]| sister-in-law and I are not so$5#1$ intimate as that$6#2$. No$7$; I
112:177,24[L  ]| spoke to$4$ my husband and my mother-in-law; I said I
112:177,25[L  ]| was sure we could do what we chose with you."
112:177,26[B  ]| "I am much obliged to$4$ you," 
112:177,26['  ]| said Newman, laughing;
112:177,27[B  ]| "but you can not."
112:177,28[L  ]| "I know that$6#2$ very well; I did not believe a word of
112:177,29[L  ]| it. But I wanted you to$9$ come into the house; I
112:177,30[L  ]| thought we should be friends."
112:177,31[B  ]| "I am very sure of it," 
112:177,31['  ]| said Newman.
112:177,32[L  ]| "Do not be too sure. If you like$1$ Madame*de*Cintre=
112:177,33[L  ]| so$5#1$ much, perhaps you will$1$ not like$1$ me. We
112:177,34[L  ]| are as different as blue and pink. But you and I
112:177,35[L  ]| have something in$4$ common. I have come into this
112:177,36[L  ]| family by$4$ marriage; you want to$9$ come into it in$4$ the
112:177,37[L  ]| same way."
112:178,01[B  ]| "Oh no$7$, I do not!" 
112:178,01['  ]| interrupted Newman. 
112:178,01[B  ]| "I only
112:178,02[B  ]| want to$9$ take Madame*de*Cintre= out of it."
112:178,03[L  ]| "Well, to$9$ cast your nets you have to$9$ go into the water.
112:178,04[L  ]| Our positions are alike; we shall be able to$9$ compare
112:178,05[L  ]| notes. What do you think of my husband? It is a
112:178,06[L  ]| strange question, is not it? But I shall ask you some
112:178,07[L  ]| stranger ones yet."
112:178,08[B  ]| "Perhaps a stranger one will$1$ be easier to$9$ answer,"
112:178,09['  ]| said Newman. 
112:178,09[B  ]| "You might try me."
112:178,10[L  ]| "Oh, you get off very well; the old Comte*de*la*Rochefide`le, 
112:178,11[L  ]| yonder, could not do it better. I told them
112:178,12[L  ]| that$3$ if we only gave you a chance you would be a perfect
112:178,13[L  ]| \9talon 9rouge\. I know something about men. Besides, you
112:178,14[L  ]| and I belong to$4$ the same camp. I am a ferocious democrat.
112:178,15[L  ]| By$4$ birth I am \9vieille 9roche\; a good little bit of the 
112:178,16[L  ]| history of France is the history of my family. Oh, you
112:178,17[L  ]| never heard of us, of course! \9Ce 9que 9c'est 9que 9la 9gloire\!
112:178,18[L  ]| We are much better than the Bellegardes, at any rate.
112:178,19[L  ]| But I do not care a pin for$4$ my pedigree; I want to$9$ belong
112:178,20[L  ]| to$4$ my time. I am a revolutionist, a radical, a child of
112:178,21[L  ]| the age! I am sure I go beyond you. I like$1$ clever
112:178,22[L  ]| people, wherever they come from, and I take my amusement
112:178,23[L  ]| wherever I find it. I do not pout at the Empire;
112:178,24[L  ]| here all the world pouts at the Empire. Of course I have
112:178,25[L  ]| to$9$ mind what I say; but I expect to$9$ take my revenge
112:178,26[L  ]| with you." 
112:178,26['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde discoursed for$4$ some
112:178,27['  ]| time longer in$4$ this sympathetic strain, with an eager
112:178,28['  ]| abundance which$6#1$ seemed to$9$ indicate that$3$ her opportunities
112:178,29['  ]| for$4$ revealing her esoteric philosophy were indeed rare.
112:178,30['  ]| She hoped that$3$ 
112:178,30@l   | Newman would never be afraid of her,
112:178,31@l   | however he might be with the others, for$3$, really, she
112:178,32@l   | went very far indeed. "Strong people" ~~ \9les 9gens 9forts\
112:178,33@l   | ~~ were 
112:178,33['  ]| in$4$ her opinion 
112:178,33@l   | equal, all the world over. 
112:178,33['  ]| Newman
112:178,34['  ]| listened to$4$ her with an attention at once beguiled
112:178,35['  ]| and irritated. He wondered what 
112:178,35@b   | the deuce she, too,
112:178,36@b   | was driving at, with her hope that$3$ he would not be afraid
112:178,37@b   | of her and her protestations of equality. In$4$ so$5#1$ far as he
112:179,01@b   | could understand her, she was wrong; a silly rattling
112:179,02@b   | woman was certainly not the equal of a sensible man,
112:179,03@b   | preoccupied with an ambitious passion. 
112:179,03['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde
112:179,04['  ]| stopped suddenly, and looked at him sharply,
112:179,05['  ]| shaking her fan. 
112:179,05[L  ]| "I see you do not believe me," 
112:179,05['  ]| she said,
112:179,06[L  ]| "you are too much on$4$ your guard. You will$1$ not form
112:179,07[L  ]| an alliance, offensive or defensive? You are very wrong;
112:179,08[L  ]| I could help you."
112:179,09['  ]| Newman answered that$3$ 
112:179,09@b   | he was very grateful, and that$3$
112:179,10@b   | he would certainly ask for$4$ help; she should see. 
112:179,10[B  ]| "But
112:179,11[B  ]| first of all," 
112:179,11['  ]| he said, 
112:179,11[B  ]| "I must help myself." 
112:179,11['  ]| And he went
112:179,12['  ]| to$9$ join Madame*de*Cintre=.
112:179,13[A  ]| "I have been telling Madame*de*la*Rochefide`le that$3$
112:179,14[A  ]| you are an American," 
112:179,14['  ]| she said, as he came up$5$. 
112:179,14[A  ]| "It
112:179,15[A  ]| interests her greatly. Her father went over with the
112:179,16[A  ]| French troops to$9$ help you in$4$ your battles in$4$ the last
112:179,17[A  ]| century, and she has always, in$4$ consequence, wanted
112:179,18[A  ]| greatly to$9$ see an American. But she has never succeeded
112:179,19[A  ]| till to-night. You are the first ~~ to$4$ her knowledge ~~ that$6#1$
112:179,20[A  ]| she has ever looked at."
112:179,21['  ]| Madame*de*la*Rochefide`le had an aged cadaverous
112:179,22['  ]| face, with a falling of the lower jaw with prevented her
112:179,23['  ]| from bringing her lips together, and reduced her conversation
112:179,24['  ]| to$4$ a series of impressive but inarticulate gutturals.
112:179,25['  ]| She raised an antique eye-glass, elaborately mounted in$4$
112:179,26['  ]| chased silver, and looked at Newman from head to$4$ foot.
112:179,27['  ]| Then she said something to$4$ which$6#1$ he listened deferentially,
112:179,28['  ]| but which$6#1$ he completely failed to$9$ understand.
112:179,29[A  ]| "Madame*de*la*Rochefide`le says that$3$ she is convinced
112:179,30[A  ]| that$3$ she must have seen Americans without knowing it,"
112:179,31['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= explained. Newman thought 
112:179,31@b   | it probable
112:179,32@b   | she had seen a great many things without knowing
112:179,33@b   | it; 
112:179,33['  ]| and the old lady, again addressing herself to$4$ utterance,
112:179,34['  ]| declared ~~ as interpreted by$4$ Madame*de*Cintre= ~~ that$3$ 
112:179,34@v   | she
112:179,35@v   | wished she had known it.
112:179,36['  ]| At this moment the old gentleman who$6#1$ had been talking
112:179,37['  ]| to$4$ the elder Madame*de*Bellegarde drew near, leading the
112:180,01['  ]| Marquise on$4$ his arm. His wife pointed out Newman to$4$
112:180,02['  ]| him, apparently explaining his remarkable origin. M%*de*la*Rochefide`le,
112:180,03['  ]| whose old age was rosy and rotund,
112:180,04['  ]| spoke very neatly and clearly; 
112:180,04@b   | almost as prettily, 
112:180,04['  ]| Newman
112:180,05['  ]| thought, 
112:180,05@b   | as M%*Nioche. 
112:180,05['  ]| When he had been enlightened,
112:180,06['  ]| he turned to$4$ Newman with an inimitable
112:180,07['  ]| elderly grace.
112:180,08[W  ]| "Monsieur is by$4$ no$2$ means the first American that$6#1$ I
112:180,09[W  ]| have seen," 
112:180,09['  ]| he said. 
112:180,09[W  ]| "Almost the first person I ever
112:180,10[W  ]| saw ~~ to$9$ notice him ~~ was an American."
112:180,11[B  ]| "Ah!" 
112:180,11['  ]| said Newman, sympathetically.
112:180,12[W  ]| "The great Dr%*Franklin," 
112:180,12['  ]| said M%*de*la*Rochefide`le.
112:180,13[W  ]| "Of course I was very young. He was received very
112:180,14[W  ]| well in$4$ our \9monde\."
112:180,15[C  ]| "Not better than Mr%*Newman," 
112:180,15['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
112:180,16[C  ]| "I beg he will$1$ offer me his arm into the
112:180,17[C  ]| other room. I could have offered no$2$ higher privilege
112:180,18[C  ]| to$4$ Dr%*Franklin."
112:180,19['  ]| Newman, complying with Madame*de*Bellegarde's request,
112:180,20['  ]| perceived that$3$ her two sons had returned to$4$ the
112:180,21['  ]| drawing-room. He scanned their faces an instant for$4$
112:180,22['  ]| traces of the scene that$6#1$ had followed his separation from
112:180,23['  ]| them, but the Marquis seemed neither more nor less
112:180,24['  ]| frigidly grand than usual, and Valentin was kissing ladies'
112:180,25['  ]| hands with at least his habitual air of self-abandonment
112:180,26['  ]| to$4$ the act. Madame*de*Bellegarde gave a glance at her
112:180,27['  ]| eldest son, and by$4$ the time she had crossed the threshold
112:180,28['  ]| of her boudoir he was at her side. The room was now
112:180,29['  ]| empty, and offered a sufficient degree of privacy. The
112:180,30['  ]| old lady disengaged herself from Newman's arm and
112:180,31['  ]| rested her hand on$4$ the arm of the Marquis; and in$4$ this
112:180,32['  ]| position she stood a moment, holding her head high and
112:180,33['  ]| biting her small under lip. I am afraid the picture was
112:180,34['  ]| lost upon$4$ Newman, but Madame*de*Bellegarde was, in$4$
112:180,35['  ]| fact, at this moment a striking image of the dignity
112:180,36['  ]| which$6#1$ ~~ even in$4$ the case of a little time-shrunken old
112:180,37['  ]| lady ~~ may reside in$4$ the habit of unquestioned authority
112:181,01['  ]| and the absoluteness of a social theory favourable to$4$ 
112:181,02['  ]| yourself.
112:181,03[C  ]| "My son has spoken to$4$ you as I desired," 
112:181,03['  ]| she said,
112:181,04[C  ]| "and you understand that$3$ we shall not interfere. The
112:181,05[C  ]| rest will$1$ lie with yourself."
112:181,06[B  ]| "M%*de*Bellegarde told me several things I did not
112:181,07[B  ]| understand," 
112:181,07['  ]| said Newman, 
112:181,07[B  ]| "but I made out that$6#2$. You
112:181,08[B  ]| will$1$ leave me an open field. I am much obliged."
112:181,09[C  ]| "I wish to$9$ add a word that$6#1$ my son probably did not
112:181,10[C  ]| feel at liberty to$9$ say," 
112:181,10['  ]| the Marquise rejoined. 
112:181,10[C  ]| "I must
112:181,11[C  ]| say it for$4$ my own peace of mind. We are stretching a
112:181,12[C  ]| point; we are doing you a great favour."
112:181,13[B  ]| "Oh, your son said it very well; did not you?" 
112:181,13['  ]| said
112:181,14['  ]| Newman.
112:181,15[D  ]| "Not so$5#1$ well as my mother," 
112:181,15['  ]| declared the Marquis.
112:181,16[B  ]| "I can only repeat ~~ I am much obliged."
112:181,17[C  ]| "It is proper I should tell you," 
112:181,17['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde
112:181,18['  ]| went on$5$, 
112:181,18[C  ]| "that$3$ I am very proud, and that$3$ I hold
112:181,19[C  ]| my head very high. I may be wrong, but I am too old
112:181,20[C  ]| to$9$ change. At least I know it, and I do not pretend to$4$
112:181,21[C  ]| anything else. Do not flatter yourself that$3$ my daughter is
112:181,22[C  ]| not proud. She is proud in$4$ her own way ~~ a somewhat
112:181,23[C  ]| different way from mine. You will$1$ have to$9$ make your
112:181,24[C  ]| terms with that$6#2$. Even Valentin is proud, if you touch
112:181,25[C  ]| the right spot ~~ or the wrong one. Urbain is proud ~
112:181,26[C  ]| that$6#2$ you see for$4$ yourself. Sometimes I think he is a
112:181,27[C  ]| little too proud; but I would not change him. He is
112:181,28[C  ]| the best of my children; he cleaves to$4$ his old mother.
112:181,29[C  ]| But I have said enough to$9$ show you that$3$ we are all proud
112:181,30[C  ]| together. It is well that$3$ you should know the sort of
112:181,31[C  ]| people you have come among."
112:181,32[B  ]| "Well," 
112:181,32['  ]| said Newman, 
112:181,32[B  ]| "I can only say in$4$ return,
112:181,33[B  ]| that$3$ I am \not\ proud; I shall not mind you! But you
112:181,34[B  ]| speak as if you intended to$9$ be very disagreeable."
112:181,35[C  ]| "I shall not enjoy having my daughter marry you,
112:181,36[C  ]| and I shall not pretend to$9$ enjoy it. If you do not mind
112:181,37[C  ]| that$6#2$, so$5#1$ much the better."
112:182,01[B  ]| "If you stick to$4$ your own side of the contract we
112:182,02[B  ]| shall not quarrel; that$6#2$ is all I ask of you," 
112:182,02['  ]| said Newman.
112:182,03[B  ]| "Keep your hands off, and give me an open
112:182,04[B  ]| field. I am very much in$4$ earnest, and there is not the
112:182,05[B  ]| slightest danger of my getting discouraged or backing
112:182,06[B  ]| out. You will$1$ have me constantly before your eyes; if
112:182,07[B  ]| you do not like$1$ it, I am sorry for$4$ you. I will$1$ do for$4$ your
112:182,08[B  ]| daughter, if she will$1$ accept me, everything that$6#1$ a man
112:182,09[B  ]| can do for$4$ a woman. I am happy to$9$ tell you that$6#2$, as a
112:182,10[B  ]| promise ~~ a pledge. I consider that$3$ on$4$ your side you
112:182,11[B  ]| make me an equal pledge. You will$1$ not back out, eh?"
112:182,12[C  ]| "I do not know what you mean by$4$ ""backing out,"" "
112:182,13['  ]| said the Marquise. 
112:182,13[C  ]| "It suggests a movement of which$6#1$
112:182,14[C  ]| I think no$2$ Bellegarde has ever been guilty."
112:182,15[D  ]| "Our word is our word," 
112:182,15['  ]| said Urbain. 
112:182,15[D  ]| "We have
112:182,16[D  ]| given it."
112:182,17[B  ]| "Well, now," 
112:182,17['  ]| said Newman, 
112:182,17[B  ]| "I am very glad you
112:182,18[B  ]| are so$5#1$ proud; it makes me believe you will$1$ keep it."
112:182,19['  ]| The Marquise was silent a moment, and then, suddenly,
112:182,20[C  ]| "I shall always be polite to$4$ you, Mr%*Newman," 
112:182,20['  ]| she
112:182,21['  ]| declared, 
112:182,21[C  ]| "but, decidedly, I shall never like$1$ you."
112:182,22[B  ]| "Do not be too sure," 
112:182,22['  ]| said Newman, laughing.
112:182,23[C  ]| "I am so$5#1$ sure that$3$ I will$1$ ask you to$9$ take me back to$4$
112:182,24[C  ]| my armchair without the least fear of having my sentiments
112:182,25[C  ]| modified by$4$ the service you render me." 
112:182,25['  ]| And
112:182,26['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde took his arm, and returned to$4$ the
112:182,27['  ]| salon and to$4$ her customary place.
112:182,28['  ]| M%*de*la*Rochefide`le and his wife were preparing to$9$
112:182,29['  ]| take their leave, and Madame*de*Cintre='s interview with
112:182,30['  ]| the mumbling old lady was at an end. She stood looking
112:182,31['  ]| about her, asking herself, apparently, to$4$ whom she
112:182,32['  ]| should next speak, when Newman came up$5$ to$4$ her.
112:182,33[B  ]| "Your mother has given me leave ~~ very solemnly ~
112:182,34[B  ]| to$9$ come here often," 
112:182,34['  ]| he said. 
112:182,34[B  ]| "I mean to$9$ come
112:182,35[B  ]| often."
112:182,36[A  ]| "I shall be glad to$9$ see you," 
112:182,36['  ]| she answered, simply.
112:182,37['  ]| And then, in$4$ a moment: 
112:182,37[A  ]| "You probably think it very
112:183,01[A  ]| strange that$3$ there should be such a solemnity ~~ as you
112:183,02[A  ]| say ~~ about your coming."
112:183,03[B  ]| "Well, yes; I do, rather."
112:183,04[A  ]| "Do you remember what my brother Valentin said,
112:183,05[A  ]| the first time you came to$9$ see me ~~ that$3$ we were a
112:183,06[A  ]| strange, strange family?"
112:183,07[B  ]| "It was not the first time I came, but the second,"
112:183,08['  ]| said Newman.
112:183,09[A  ]| "Very true. Valentin annoyed me at the time; but
112:183,10[A  ]| now I know you better, I may tell you he was right. If
112:183,11[A  ]| you come often, you will$1$ see!" 
112:183,11['  ]| and Madame*de*Cintre=
112:183,12['  ]| turned away.
112:183,13['  ]| Newman watched her a while, talking with other
112:183,14['  ]| people, and then he took his leave. He shook hands
112:183,15['  ]| last with Valentin*de*Bellegarde, who$6#1$ came out with
112:183,16['  ]| him to$4$ the top of the staircase. 
112:183,16[E  ]| "Well, you have got
112:183,17[E  ]| your permit," 
112:183,17['  ]| said Valentin. 
112:183,17[E  ]| "I hope you liked the
112:183,18[E  ]| process."
112:183,19[B  ]| "I like$1$ your sister more than ever. But do not
112:183,20[B  ]| worry your brother any more, for$4$ my sake," 
112:183,20['  ]| Newman
112:183,21['  ]| added. 
112:183,21[B  ]| "I do not mind him. I am afraid he came
112:183,22[B  ]| down on$4$ you in$4$ the smoking-room, after I went out."
112:183,23[E  ]| "When my brother comes down on$4$ me," 
112:183,23['  ]| said Valentin,
112:183,24[E  ]| "he falls hard. I have a peculiar way of receiving
112:183,25[E  ]| him. I must say," 
112:183,25['  ]| he continued, 
112:183,25[E  ]| "that$3$ they came up$5$
112:183,26[E  ]| to$4$ the mark much sooner than I expected. I do not
112:183,27[E  ]| understand it; they must have had to$9$ turn the screw
112:183,28[E  ]| pretty tight. It is a tribute to$4$ your millions."
112:183,29[B  ]| "Well, it is the most precious one they have ever
112:183,30[B  ]| received," 
112:183,30['  ]| said Newman.
112:183,31['  ]| He was turning away when Valentin stopped him,
112:183,32['  ]| looking at him with a brilliant softly-cynical glance. 
112:183,32[E  ]| "I
112:183,33[E  ]| should like$1$ to$9$ know whether, within a few days, you
112:183,34[E  ]| have seen your venerable friend M%*Nioche."
112:183,35[B  ]| "He was yesterday at my rooms," 
112:183,35['  ]| Newman answered.
112:183,36[E  ]| "What did he tell you?"
112:183,37[B  ]| "Nothing particular."
112:184,01[E  ]| "You did not see the muzzle of a pistol sticking out of
112:184,02[E  ]| his pocket?"
112:184,03[B  ]| "What are you driving at?" 
112:184,03['  ]| Newman demanded.
112:184,04[B  ]| "I thought he seemed rather cheerful, for$4$ him."
112:184,05['  ]| Valentin broke into a laugh. 
112:184,05[E  ]| "I am delighted to$9$
112:184,06[E  ]| hear it! I win my bet. Mademoiselle*Noe=mie has
112:184,07[E  ]| thrown her cap over the mill, as we say. She has left
112:184,08[E  ]| the paternal domicile. She is launched! And M%*Nioche
112:184,09[E  ]| is rather cheerful ~~ \for$4$ him\! Do not brandish
112:184,10[E  ]| your tomahawk at that$6#2$ rate; I have not seen her nor
112:184,11[E  ]| communicated with her since that$6#2$ day at the Louvre.
112:184,12[E  ]| Andromeda has found another Perseus than I. My information
112:184,13[E  ]| is exact; on$4$ such matters it always is. I suppose
112:184,14[E  ]| that$3$ now you will$1$ raise your protest?"
112:184,15[B  ]| "My protest be hanged!" 
112:184,15['  ]| murmured Newman, disgustedly.
112:184,16['  ]| 
112:184,17['  ]| But his tone found no$2$ echo in$4$ that$6#2$ in$4$ which$6#1$ Valentin,
112:184,18['  ]| with his hand on$4$ the door, to$9$ return to$4$ his mother's
112:184,19['  ]| apartment, exclaimed: 
112:184,19[E  ]| "But I shall see her now! She
112:184,20[E  ]| is very remarkable ~~ she is very remarkable!"
113:184,01['  ]| Newman kept his promise, or his menace, of going
113:184,02['  ]| often to$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite=, and during the next
113:184,03['  ]| six weeks he saw Madame*de*Cintre= more times than he
113:184,04['  ]| could have numbered. He flattered himself that$3$ 
113:184,04@b   | he was
113:184,05@b   | not in$4$ love, 
113:184,05['  ]| but his biographer may be supposed to$9$ know
113:184,06['  ]| better. He claimed, at least, none of the exemptions
113:184,07['  ]| and emoluments of the romantic passion. 
113:184,07@b   | Love, 
113:184,07['  ]| he believed,
113:184,08@b   | made a fool of a man, and his present emotion
113:184,09@b   | was not folly but wisdom ~~ wisdom sound, serene, well
113:184,10@b   | directed. 
113:184,10['  ]| What he felt was 
113:184,10@b   | an intense all-consuming
113:184,11@b   | tenderness, which$6#1$ had for$4$ its object an extraordinarily
113:185,01@b   | graceful and delicate, and at the same time impressive,
113:185,02@b   | woman, who$6#1$ lived in$4$ a large gray house on$4$ the left bank
113:185,03@b   | of the Seine. 
113:185,03['  ]| This tenderness turned very often into a
113:185,04['  ]| positive heartache; a sign in$4$ which$6#1$, certainly, Newman
113:185,05['  ]| ought to$9$ have read the appellation which$6#1$ science has
113:185,06['  ]| conferred upon$4$ his sentiment. When the heart has a 
113:185,07['  ]| heavy weight upon$4$ it, it hardly matters whether the
113:185,08['  ]| weight be of gold or of lead; when, at any rate, happiness
113:185,09['  ]| passes into that$6#2$ place in$4$ which$6#1$ it becomes identical
113:185,10['  ]| with pain, a man may admit that$3$ the reign of wisdom
113:185,11['  ]| is temporarily suspended. Newman wished Madame*de*Cintre=
113:185,12['  ]| so$5#1$ well that$3$ nothing he could think of doing for$4$
113:185,13['  ]| her in$4$ the future rose to$4$ the high standard which$6#1$ his
113:185,14['  ]| present mood had set itself. She seemed to$4$ him so$5#1$
113:185,15['  ]| felicitous a product of nature and circumstance that$3$ his
113:185,16['  ]| invention, musing on$4$ future combinations, was constantly
113:185,17['  ]| catching its breath with the fear of stumbling into some
113:185,18['  ]| brutal compression or mutilation of her beautiful personal
113:185,19['  ]| harmony. This is what I mean by$4$ Newman's tenderness:
113:185,20['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= pleased him so$5#2$, exactly as she
113:185,21['  ]| was, that$3$ his desire to$9$ interpose between her and the
113:185,22['  ]| troubles of life had the quality of a young mother's
113:185,23['  ]| eagerness to$9$ protect the sleep of her first-born child.
113:185,24['  ]| Newman was simply charmed, and he handled his charm
113:185,25['  ]| as if it were a music-box which$6#1$ would stop if one shook
113:185,26['  ]| it. There can be no$2$ better proof of the hankering epicure
113:185,27['  ]| that$6#1$ is hidden in$4$ every man's temperament, waiting
113:185,28['  ]| for$4$ a signal from some divine confederate that$3$ he may
113:185,29['  ]| safely peep out. Newman at last was enjoying, purely,
113:185,30['  ]| freely, deeply. Certain of Madame*de*Cintre='s personal
113:185,31['  ]| qualities ~~ the luminous sweetness of her eyes, the delicate
113:185,32['  ]| mobility of her face, the deep liquidity of her voice
113:185,33['  ]| ~~ filled all his consciousness. A rose-crowned Greek of
113:185,34['  ]| old, gazing at a marble goddess with his whole bright
113:185,35['  ]| intellect resting satisfied in$4$ the act, could not have been
113:185,36['  ]| a more complete embodiment of the wisdom that$6#1$ loses
113:185,37['  ]| itself in$4$ the enjoyment of quiet harmonies.
113:186,01['  ]| He made no$2$ violent love to$4$ her ~~ no$2$ sentimental
113:186,02['  ]| speeches. He never trespassed on$4$ what she had made
113:186,03['  ]| him understand was for$4$ the present forbidden ground.
113:186,04['  ]| But he had, nevertheless, a comfortable sense that$3$ 
113:186,04@b   | she
113:186,05@b   | knew better from day to$4$ day how much he admired her.
113:186,06['  ]| Though in$4$ general he was no$2$ great talker, he talked
113:186,07['  ]| much, and he succeeded perfectly in$4$ making her say
113:186,08['  ]| many things. He was not afraid of boring her, either
113:186,09['  ]| by$4$ his discourse or by$4$ his silence; and whether or no$5$
113:186,10['  ]| he did occasionally bore her, it is probable that$3$ on$4$ the
113:186,11['  ]| whole she liked him only the better for$4$ his absence of
113:186,12['  ]| embarrassed scruples. Her visitors, coming in$5$ often
113:186,13['  ]| while Newman sat there, found a tall, lean, silent man,
113:186,14['  ]| in$4$ a half-lounging attitude, who$6#1$ laughed out sometimes
113:186,15['  ]| when no*one had meant to$9$ be droll, and remained grave
113:186,16['  ]| in$4$ the presence of calculated witticisms, for$4$ the appreciation
113:186,17['  ]| of which$6#1$ he had apparently not the proper culture.
113:186,18['  ]| It must be confessed that$3$ the number of subjects upon$4$
113:186,19['  ]| which$6#1$ Newman had no$2$ ideas was extremely large, and it
113:186,20['  ]| must be added that$3$ as regards those subjects upon$4$ which$6#1$
113:186,21['  ]| he was without ideas he was also perfectly without words.
113:186,22['  ]| He had little of the small change of conversation, and
113:186,23['  ]| his stock of ready-made formulas and phrases was the
113:186,24['  ]| scantiest. On$4$ the other hand, he had plenty of attention
113:186,25['  ]| to$9$ bestow, and his estimate of the importance of a topic
113:186,26['  ]| did not depend upon$4$ the number of clever things he
113:186,27['  ]| could say about it. He himself was almost never bored,
113:186,28['  ]| and there was no$2$ man with whom it would have been a 
113:186,29['  ]| greater mistake to$9$ suppose that$3$ silence meant displeasure.
113:186,30['  ]| What it was that$6#1$ entertained him during some of his
113:186,31['  ]| speechless sessions I must, however, confess myself unable
113:186,32['  ]| to$9$ determine. We know, in$4$ a general way, that$3$ a
113:186,33['  ]| great many things which$6#1$ were old stories to$4$ a great
113:186,34['  ]| many people had the charm of novelty to$4$ him, but a
113:186,35['  ]| complete list of his new impressions would probably
113:186,36['  ]| contain a number of surprises for$4$ us. He told Madame*de*Cintre=
113:186,37['  ]| a hundred long stories; he explained to$4$ her,
113:187,01['  ]| in$4$ talking of the United*States, the working of various
113:187,02['  ]| local institutions and mercantile customs. Judging by$4$
113:187,03['  ]| the sequel, she was interested, but one would not have
113:187,04['  ]| been sure of it beforehand. As regards her own talk,
113:187,05['  ]| Newman was very sure himself that$3$ 
113:187,05@b   | she herself enjoyed
113:187,06@b   | it: this was as a sort of amendment to$4$ the portrait that$6#1$
113:187,07@b   | Mrs%*Tristram had drawn of her. 
113:187,07['  ]| He discovered that$3$
113:187,08@b   | she had naturally an abundance of gaiety. He had been
113:187,09@b   | right at first in$4$ saying she was shy; 
113:187,09['  ]| her shyness, in$4$ a
113:187,10['  ]| woman whose circumstances and tranquil beauty afforded
113:187,11['  ]| every facility for$4$ well-mannered hardihood, was only a
113:187,12['  ]| charm the more. For$4$ Newman it had lasted some time,
113:187,13['  ]| and even when it went it left something behind it which$6#1$
113:187,14['  ]| for$4$ a while performed the same office. 
113:187,14@b   | Was this the
113:187,15@b   | tearful secret of which$6#1$ Mrs%*Tristram had had a glimpse,
113:187,16@b   | and of which$6#1$, as of her friend's reserve, her high breeding,
113:187,17@b   | and her profundity, she had given a sketch of which$6#1$
113:187,18@b   | the outlines were, perhaps, rather too heavy? 
113:187,18['  ]| Newman
113:187,19['  ]| supposed so$5#2$, but he found himself wondering less every
113:187,20['  ]| day what Madame*de*Cintre='s secrets might be, and
113:187,21['  ]| more convinced that$3$ 
113:187,21@b   | secrets were, in$4$ themselves, hateful
113:187,22@b   | things to$4$ her. She was a woman for$4$ the light, not for$4$ 
113:187,23@b   | the shade; and her natural line was not picturesque
113:187,24@b   | reserve and mysterious melancholy, but frank, joyous,
113:187,25@b   | brilliant action, with just so$5#1$ much meditation as was
113:187,26@b   | necessary, and not a grain more. To$4$ this, apparently,
113:187,27@b   | he had succeeded in$4$ bringing her back. 
113:187,27['  ]| He felt, himself,
113:187,28['  ]| that$3$ 
113:187,28@b   | he was an antidote to$4$ oppressive secrets; what
113:187,29@b   | he offered her was, in$4$ fact, above all things a vast sunny
113:187,30@b   | immunity from the need of having any. 
113:187,30['  ]| He often passed
113:187,31['  ]| his evenings, when Madame*de*Cintre= had so$5#2$ appointed
113:187,32['  ]| it, at the chilly fireside of Madame*de*Bellegarde, contenting
113:187,33['  ]| himself with looking across the room, through
113:187,34['  ]| narrowed eyelids, at his mistress, who$6#1$ always made a
113:187,35['  ]| point, before her family, of talking to$4$ some*one else.
113:187,36['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde sat by$4$ the fire conversing neatly
113:187,37['  ]| and coldly with whomsoever approached her, and glancing
113:188,01['  ]| round the room with her slowly-restless eye, the
113:188,02['  ]| effect of which$6#1$, when it lighted upon$4$ him, was to$4$ Newman's
113:188,03['  ]| sense identical with that$6#2$ of a sudden spurt of damp
113:188,04['  ]| air. When he shook hands with her he always asked
113:188,05['  ]| her with a laugh 
113:188,05@b   | whether she could "stand him" another
113:188,06@b   | evening, 
113:188,06['  ]| and she replied, without a laugh, that$3$, 
113:188,06@c   | thank
113:188,07@c   | God, she had always been able to$9$ do her duty. 
113:188,07['  ]| Newman,
113:188,08['  ]| talking once of the Marquise to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram, said
113:188,09['  ]| that$3$, 
113:188,09@b   | after all, it was very easy to$9$ get on$5$ with her; it
113:188,10@b   | always was easy to$9$ get on$5$ with out-and-out rascals.
113:188,11[I  ]| "And is it by$4$ that$6#2$ elegant term," 
113:188,11['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram,
113:188,12[I  ]| "that$3$ you designate the Marquise*de*Bellegarde?"
113:188,13[B  ]| "Well," 
113:188,13['  ]| said Newman, 
113:188,13[B  ]| "she is wicked, she is an old
113:188,14[B  ]| sinner."
113:188,15[I  ]| "What is her crime?" 
113:188,15['  ]| asked Mrs%*Tristram.
113:188,16[B  ]| "I should not wonder if she had murdered some*one ~
113:188,17[B  ]| all from a sense of duty, of course."
113:188,18[I  ]| "How can you be so$5#1$ dreadful?" 
113:188,18['  ]| sighed Mrs%*Tristram.
113:188,19[B  ]| "I am not dreadful. I am speaking of her favourably."
113:188,20[I  ]| "Pray what will$1$ you say when you want to$9$ be severe?"
113:188,21[B  ]| "I shall keep my severity for$4$ some*one else ~~ for$4$ the
113:188,22[B  ]| Marquis. There is a man I can not swallow, mix the drink
113:188,23[B  ]| as I will$1$."
113:188,24[I  ]| "And what has \he\ done?"
113:188,25[B  ]| "I can not quite make out; it is something dreadfully
113:188,26[B  ]| bad, something mean and underhand, and not redeemed
113:188,27[B  ]| by$4$ audacity, as his mother's misdeameanours may have
113:188,28[B  ]| been. If he has never committed murder, he has at
113:188,29[B  ]| least turned his back and looked the other way while
113:188,30[B  ]| some*one else was committing it."
113:188,31['  ]| In$4$ spite of this invidious hypothesis, which$6#1$ must be
113:188,32['  ]| taken for$4$ nothing more than an example of the capricious
113:188,33['  ]| play of "American humour," Newman did his best to$9$
113:188,34['  ]| maintain an easy and friendly style of communication
113:188,35['  ]| with M%*de*Bellegarde. So$5#1$ long as he was in$4$ personal
113:188,36['  ]| contact with people he disliked extremely to$9$ have anything
113:188,37['  ]| to$9$ forgive them, and he was capable of a good deal
113:189,01['  ]| of unsuspected imaginative effort (for$4$ the sake of his own
113:189,02['  ]| personal comfort) to$9$ assume for$4$ the time that$3$ they were
113:189,03['  ]| good fellows. He did his best to$9$ treat the Marquis as
113:189,04['  ]| one; he believed honestly, moreover, that$3$ 
113:189,04@b   | he could not,
113:189,05@b   | in$4$ reason, be such a confounded fool as he seemed.
113:189,06['  ]| Newman's familiarity was never importunate; his sense
113:189,07['  ]| of human equality was not an aggressive taste or an
113:189,08['  ]| aesthetic theory, but something as natural and organic as
113:189,09['  ]| a physical appetite which$6#1$ had never been put on$4$ a scanty
113:189,10['  ]| allowance, and consequently was innocent of ungraceful
113:189,11['  ]| eagerness. His tranquil unsuspectingness of the relativity
113:189,12['  ]| of his own place in$4$ the social scale was probably irritating
113:189,13['  ]| to$4$ M%*de*Bellegarde, who$6#1$ saw himself reflected in$4$
113:189,14['  ]| the mind of his potential brother-in-law in$4$ a crude and
113:189,15['  ]| colourless form, unpleasantly dissimilar to$4$ the impressive
113:189,16['  ]| image projected upon$4$ his own intellectual mirror. He
113:189,17['  ]| never forgot himself for$4$ an instant, and replied to$4$ what
113:189,18['  ]| he must have considered Newman's "advances" with
113:189,19['  ]| mechanical politeness. Newman, who$6#1$ was constantly
113:189,20['  ]| forgetting himself, and indulging in$4$ an unlimited amount
113:189,21['  ]| of irresponsible inquiry and conjecture, now and then
113:189,22['  ]| found himself confronted by$4$ the conscious ironical smile
113:189,23['  ]| of his host. What the deuce M%*de*Bellegarde was
113:189,24['  ]| smiling at he was at a loss to$9$ divine. M%*de*Bellegarde's
113:189,25['  ]| smile may be supposed to$9$ have been, for$4$ himself, a compromise
113:189,26['  ]| between a great many emotions. So$5#1$ long as he
113:189,27['  ]| smiled he was polite, and 
113:189,27@d   | it was proper he should be
113:189,28@d   | polite. A smile, moreover, committed him to$4$ nothing
113:189,29@d   | more than politeness, and left the degree of politeness
113:189,30@d   | agreeably vague. A smile, too, was neither dissent ~
113:189,31@d   | which$6#1$ was too serious ~~ nor agreement, which$6#1$ might
113:189,32@d   | have brought on$4$ terrible complications. And then a
113:189,33@d   | smile covered his own personal dignity, which$6#1$ in$4$ this
113:189,34@d   | critical situation he was resolved to$9$ keep immaculate; it
113:189,35@d   | was quite enough that$3$ the glory of his house should pass
113:189,36@d   | into eclipse. 
113:189,36['  ]| Between him and Newman, his whole
113:189,37['  ]| manner seemed to$9$ declare that$3$ 
113:189,37@d   | there could be no$2$ interchange
113:190,01@d   | of opinion; he was holding his breath so$3$ as not
113:190,02@d   | to$9$ inhale the odour of democracy. 
113:190,02['  ]| Newman was far
113:190,03['  ]| from being versed in$4$ European politics, but he liked to$9$
113:190,04['  ]| have a general idea of what was going on$4$ about him, and
113:190,05['  ]| he accordingly asked M%*de*Bellegarde several times what
113:190,06['  ]| he thought of public affairs. M%*de*Bellegarde answered
113:190,07['  ]| with suave concision that$3$ 
113:190,07@d   | he thought as ill of them as possible, 
113:190,08@d   | and they were going from bad to$4$ worse, and that$3$
113:190,09@d   | the age was rotten to$4$ its core. 
113:190,09['  ]| This gave Newman, for$4$
113:190,10['  ]| the moment, an almost kindly feeling for$4$ the Marquis; he
113:190,11['  ]| pitied a man for$4$ whom the world was so$5#1$ cheerless a place,
113:190,12['  ]| and the next time he saw M%*de*Bellegarde he attempted
113:190,13['  ]| to$9$ call his attention to$4$ some of the brilliant features of
113:190,14['  ]| the time. The Marquis presently replied that$3$ 
113:190,14@d   | he had but
113:190,15@d   | a single political conviction, which$6#1$ was enough for$4$ him:
113:190,16@d   | he believed in$4$ the divine right of Henry*of*Bourbon,
113:190,17@d   | Fifth of his name, to$4$ the throne of France. 
113:190,17['  ]| Newman
113:190,18['  ]| stared, and after this he ceased to$9$ talk politics with M%*de*Bellegarde.
113:190,19['  ]| He was not horrified nor scandalised, he
113:190,20['  ]| was not even amused; he felt as he should have felt if he
113:190,21['  ]| had discovered in$4$ M%*de*Bellegarde a taste for$4$ certain
113:190,22['  ]| oddities of diet; an appetite, for$4$ instance, for$4$ fish-bones 
113:190,23['  ]| or nut-shells. Under these circumstances, of course, he
113:190,24['  ]| would never have broached dietary questions with him.
113:190,25['  ]| One afternoon, on$4$ his calling on$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=,
113:190,26['  ]| Newman was requested by$4$ the servant to$9$ 
113:190,26@x   | wait a few
113:190,27@x   | moments, as his hostess was not at liberty. 
113:190,27['  ]| He walked
113:190,28['  ]| about the room a while, taking up$5$ her books, smelling
113:190,29['  ]| her flowers, and looking at her prints and photographs
113:190,30['  ]| (which$6#1$ he thought prodigiously pretty), and at last he
113:190,31['  ]| heard the opening of a door to$4$ which$6#1$ his back was turned.
113:190,32['  ]| On$4$ the threshold stood an old woman whom he remembered
113:190,33['  ]| to$9$ have met several times in$4$ entering and leaving
113:190,34['  ]| the house. She was tall and straight, and dressed in$4$
113:190,35['  ]| black, and she wore a cap which$6#1$, if Newman had been
113:190,36['  ]| initiated into such mysteries, would have been a sufficient
113:190,37['  ]| assurance that$3$ she was not a Frenchwoman; a cap of
113:191,01['  ]| pure British composition. She had a pale, decent,
113:191,02['  ]| depressed-looking face, and a clear, dull, English eye.
113:191,03['  ]| She looked at Newman a moment, both intently and
113:191,04['  ]| timidly, and then she dropped a short, straight, English
113:191,05['  ]| curtsy.
113:191,06[J  ]| "Madame*de*Cintre= begs you will$1$ kindly wait," 
113:191,06['  ]| she
113:191,07['  ]| said. 
113:191,07[J  ]| "She has just come in$5$; she will$1$ soon have finished
113:191,08[J  ]| dressing."
113:191,09[B  ]| "Oh, I will$1$ wait as long as she wants," 
113:191,09['  ]| said Newman.
113:191,10[B  ]| "Pray tell her not to$9$ hurry."
113:191,11[J  ]| "Thank you, sir," 
113:191,11['  ]| said the woman, softly; and then,
113:191,12['  ]| instead of retiring with the message, she advanced into
113:191,13['  ]| the room. She looked about her for$4$ a moment, and
113:191,14['  ]| presently went to$4$ the table and began to$9$ arrange certain
113:191,15['  ]| books and nick-nacks. Newman was struck with the
113:191,16['  ]| high respectability of her appearance; he was afraid to$9$
113:191,17['  ]| address her as a servant. She busied herself for$4$ some
113:191,18['  ]| moments with putting the table in$4$ order and pulling the
113:191,19['  ]| curtains straight, while Newman walked slowly to$8$ and fro.
113:191,20['  ]| He perceived at last, from her reflection in$4$ the
113:191,21['  ]| mirror, as he was passing, that$3$ 
113:191,21@b   | her hands were idle and
113:191,22@b   | that$3$ she was looking at him intently. She evidently
113:191,23@b   | wished to$9$ say something, 
113:191,23['  ]| and Newman, perceiving it,
113:191,24['  ]| helped her to$9$ begin.
113:191,25[B  ]| "You are English?" 
113:191,25['  ]| he asked.
113:191,26[J  ]| "Yes, sir, please," 
113:191,26['  ]| she answered, quickly and softly;
113:191,27[J  ]| "I was born in$4$ Wiltshire."
113:191,28[B  ]| "And what do you think of Paris?"
113:191,29[J  ]| "Oh, I do not think of Paris, sir," 
113:191,29['  ]| she said, in$4$ the
113:191,30['  ]| same tone. 
113:191,30[J  ]| "It is so$5#1$ long since I have been here."
113:191,31[B  ]| "Ah, you have been here very long?"
113:191,32[J  ]| "It is more than forty years, sir. I came over with
113:191,33[J  ]| Lady*Emmeline."
113:191,34[B  ]| "You mean with old Madame*de*Bellegarde?"
113:191,35[J  ]| "Yes, sir. I came with her when she was married.
113:191,36[J  ]| I was my lady's own woman."
113:191,37[B  ]| "And you have been with her ever since?"
113:192,01[J  ]| "I have been in$4$ the house ever since. My lady has
113:192,02[J  ]| taken a younger person. You see I am very old. I do
113:192,03[J  ]| nothing regular now. But I keep about."
113:192,04[B  ]| "You look very strong and well," 
113:192,04['  ]| said Newman,
113:192,05['  ]| observing the erectness of her figure, and a certain
113:192,06['  ]| venerable rosiness in$4$ her cheek.
113:192,07[J  ]| "Thank God I am not ill, sir; I hope I know my
113:192,08[J  ]| duty too well to$9$ go panting and coughing about the
113:192,09[J  ]| house. But I am an old woman, sir; and it is as an old
113:192,10[J  ]| woman that$3$ I venture to$9$ speak to$4$ you."
113:192,11[B  ]| "Oh, speak out," 
113:192,11['  ]| said Newman, curiously. 
113:192,11[B  ]| "You
113:192,12[B  ]| need not be afraid of me."
113:192,13[J  ]| "Yes, sir. I think you are kind. I have seen you
113:192,14[J  ]| before."
113:192,15[B  ]| "On$4$ the stairs, you mean?"
113:192,16[J  ]| "Yes, sir. When you have been coming to$9$ see the
113:192,17[J  ]| countess. I have taken the liberty of noticing that$3$ you
113:192,18[J  ]| come often."
113:192,19[B  ]| "Oh yes; I come very often," 
113:192,19['  ]| said Newman, laughing.
113:192,20[B  ]| "You need not have been very wide-awake to$9$
113:192,21[B  ]| notice that$6#2$."
113:192,22[J  ]| "I have noticed it with pleasure, sir," 
113:192,22['  ]| said the
113:192,23['  ]| ancient tirewoman, gravely. And she stood looking at
113:192,24['  ]| Newman with a strange expression of face. The old
113:192,25['  ]| instinct of deference and humility was there; the habit
113:192,26['  ]| of decent self-effacement and knowledge of her "own
113:192,27['  ]| place." But there mingled with it a certain mild
113:192,28['  ]| audacity, born of the occasion and of a sense, probably,
113:192,29['  ]| of Newman's unprecedented approachableness, and, beyond
113:192,30['  ]| this, a vague indifference to$4$ the old proprieties;
113:192,31['  ]| as if my lady's own woman had at last begun to$9$ reflect
113:192,32['  ]| that$3$, 
113:192,32@j   | since my lady had taken another person, she had
113:192,33@j   | a slight reversionary property in$4$ herself.
113:192,34[B  ]| "You take a great interest in$4$ the family?" 
113:192,34['  ]| said
113:192,35['  ]| Newman.
113:192,36[J  ]| "A deep interest, sir. Especially in$4$ the Countess."
113:192,37[J  ]| 
113:193,01[B  ]| "I am glad of that$6#2$," 
113:193,01['  ]| said Newman. And in$4$ a 
113:193,02['  ]| moment he added, smiling: 
113:193,02[B  ]| "So$5#2$ do I!"
113:193,03[J  ]| "So$5#2$ I supposed, sir. We can not help noticing these
113:193,04[J  ]| things and having our ideas; can we, sir?"
113:193,05[B  ]| "You mean as a servant?" 
113:193,05['  ]| said Newman.
113:193,06[J  ]| "Ah, there it is, sir. I am afraid that$3$ when I let
113:193,07[J  ]| my thoughts meddle with such matters I am no$2$ longer
113:193,08[J  ]| a servant. But I am so$5#1$ devoted to$4$ the Countess; if she
113:193,09[J  ]| were my own child I could not love her more. That$6#2$ is
113:193,10[J  ]| how I come to$9$ be so$5#1$ bold, sir. They say you want to$9$
113:193,11[J  ]| marry her."
113:193,12['  ]| Newman eyed his interlocutress, and satisfied himself
113:193,13['  ]| that$3$ she was not a gossip, but a zealot; 
113:193,13@b   | she looked
113:193,14@b   | anxious, appealing, discreet. 
113:193,14[B  ]| "It is quite true," 
113:193,14['  ]| he
113:193,15['  ]| said. 
113;193,14[B  ]| "I want to$9$ marry Madame*de*Cintre=."
113:193,16[J  ]| "And to$9$ take her away to$4$ America?"
113:193,17[B  ]| "I will$1$ take her wherever she wants to$9$ go."
113:193,18[J  ]| "The farther away the better, sir!" 
113:193,18['  ]| exclaimed the
113:193,19['  ]| old woman, with sudden intensity. But she checked
113:193,20['  ]| herself, and, taking up$5$ a paper-weight in$4$ mosaic, began
113:193,21['  ]| to$9$ polish it with her black apron. 
113:193,21[J  ]| "I do not mean anything
113:193,22[J  ]| against the house or the family, sir. But I think
113:193,23[J  ]| a great change would do the poor Countess good. It is
113:193,24[J  ]| very sad here."
113:193,25[B  ]| "Yes, it is not very lively," 
113:193,25['  ]| said Newman. 
113:193,25[B  ]| "But
113:193,26[B  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= is gay herself."
113:193,27[J  ]| "She is everything that$6#1$ is good. You will$1$ not be
113:193,28[J  ]| vexed to$9$ hear that$3$ she has been gayer for$4$ a couple of
113:193,29[J  ]| months past than she had been in$4$ many a day before."
113:193,30['  ]| Newman was delighted to$9$ gather this testimony to$4$
113:193,31['  ]| the prosperity of his suit, but he repressed all violent
113:193,32['  ]| marks of elation. 
113:193,32[B  ]| "Has Madame*de*Cintre= been in$4$
113:193,33[B  ]| bad spirits before this?" 
113;193,33['  ]| he asked.
113:193,34[J  ]| "Poor lady, she had good reason. M%*de*Cintre=
113:193,35[J  ]| was no$2$ husband for$4$ a sweet young lady like$4$ that$6#2$. And
113:193,36[J  ]| then, as I say, it has been a sad house. It is better, in$4$
113:193,37[J  ]| my humble opinion, that$3$ she were out of it. So$3$, if you
113:194,01[J  ]| will$1$ excuse me for$4$ saying so$5#2$, I hope she will$1$ marry
113:194,02[J  ]| you."
113:194,03[B  ]| "I hope she will$1$!" 
113:194,03['  ]| said Newman.
113:194,04[J  ]| "But you must not lose courage, sir, if she does not
113:194,05[J  ]| make up$5$ her mind at once. That$6#2$ is what I wanted to$9$
113:194,06[J  ]| beg of you, sir. Do not give it up$5$, sir. You will$1$ not
113:194,07[J  ]| take it ill if I say it is a great risk for$4$ any lady at
113:194,08[J  ]| any time; all the more when she has got rid of one
113:194,09[J  ]| bad bargain. But if she can marry a good, kind,
113:194,10[J  ]| respectable gentleman, I think she had better make up$5$
113:194,11[J  ]| her mind to$4$ it. They speak very well of you, sir, in$4$
113:194,12[J  ]| the house, and, if you will$1$ allow me to$9$ say so$5#2$, I like$1$
113:194,13[J  ]| your face. You have a very different appearance from
113:194,14[J  ]| the late Count; he was not five feet high. And they say
113:194,15[J  ]| your fortune is beyond everything. There is no$2$ harm in$4$
113:194,16[J  ]| that$6#2$. So$3$ I beseech you to$9$ be patient, sir, and bide your
113:194,17[J  ]| time. If I do not say this to$4$ you, sir, perhaps no*one
113:194,18[J  ]| will$1$. Of course it is not for$4$ me to$9$ make any promises.
113:194,19[J  ]| I can answer for$4$ nothing. But I think your chance is
113:194,20[J  ]| not so$5#1$ bad, sir. I am nothing but a weary old woman
113:194,21[J  ]| in$4$ my quiet corner, but one woman understands another,
113:194,22[J  ]| and I think I make out the Countess. I received her in$4$
113:194,23[J  ]| my arms when she came into the world, and her first
113:194,24[J  ]| wedding-day was the saddest of my life. She owes it
113:194,25[J  ]| to$4$ me to$9$ show me another and a brighter one. If you
113:194,26[J  ]| will$1$ hold firm, sir ~~ and you look as if you would ~~ I
113:194,27[J  ]| think we may see it."
113:194,28[B  ]| "I am much obliged to$4$ you for$4$ your encouragement,"
113:194,29['  ]| said Newman, heartily. 
113:194,29[B  ]| "One can not have too much.
113:194,30[B  ]| I mean to$9$ hold firm. And if Madame*de*Cintre= marries
113:194,31[B  ]| me, you must come and live with her."
113:194,32['  ]| The old woman looked at him strangely, with her
113:194,33['  ]| soft lifeless eyes. 
113:194,33[J  ]| "It may seem a heartless thing to$9$
113:194,34[J  ]| say, sir, when one has been forty years in$4$ a house, but
113:194,35[J  ]| I may tell you that$3$ I should like$1$ to$9$ leave this place."
113:194,36[B  ]| "Why, it is just the time to$9$ say it," 
113:194,36['  ]| said Newman,
113:194,37['  ]| fervently. 
113;194,37[B  ]| "After forty years one wants a change."
113:195,01[J  ]| "You are very kind, sir;" 
113:195,01['  ]| and this faithful servant
113:195,02['  ]| dropped another curtsy and seemed disposed to$9$ retire.
113:195,03['  ]| But she lingered a moment, and gave a timid joyless
113:195,04['  ]| smile. Newman was disappointed, and his fingers stole
113:195,05['  ]| half shyly half irritably into his waistcoat pocket. His
113:195,06['  ]| informant noticed the movement. 
113:195,06[J  ]| "Thank God I am
113:195,07[J  ]| not a Frenchwoman," 
113:195,07['  ]| she said. 
113:195,07[J  ]| "If I were, I would
113:195,08[J  ]| tell you, with a brazen simper, old as I am, that$3$ if you
113:195,09[J  ]| please, Monsieur, my information is worth something.
113:195,10[J  ]| Let me tell you so$5#2$ in$4$ my own decent English way. It
113:195,11[J  ]| \is\ worth something."
113:195,12[B  ]| "How much, please?" 
113:195,12['  ]| said Newman.
113:195,13[J  ]| "Simply this: a promise not to$9$ hint to$4$ the Countess
113:195,14[J  ]| that$3$ I have said these things."
113:195,15[B  ]| "If that$6#2$ is all, you have it," 
113:195,15['  ]| said Newman.
113:195,16[J  ]| "That$6#2$ is all, sir. Thank you, sir. Good-day, sir."
113:195,17['  ]| And having once more slid down telescope-wise into her
113:195,18['  ]| scanty petticoats, the old woman departed. At the
113:195,19['  ]| same moment Madame*de*Cintre= came in$5$ by$4$ an opposite
113:195,20['  ]| door. She noticed the movement of the other \9portie`re\,
113:195,21['  ]| and asked Newman who$6#1$ had been entertaining him.
113:195,22[B  ]| "The British female!" 
113:195,22['  ]| said Newman. 
113:195,22[B  ]| "An old lady
113:195,23[B  ]| in$4$ a black dress and a cap, who$6#1$ curtsies up$5$ and down,
113:195,24[B  ]| and expresses herself ever so$5#1$ well."
113:195,25[A  ]| "An old lady who$6#1$ curtsies and expresses herself?
113:195,26[A  ]| ~~~ Ah, you mean poor Mrs%*Bread. I happen to$9$
113:195,27[A  ]| know that$3$ you have made a conquest of her."
113:195,28[B  ]| "Mrs%*Cake, she ought to$9$ be called," 
113:195,28['  ]| said Newman.
113:195,29[B  ]| "She is very sweet. She is a delicious old woman."
113:195,30['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= looked at him a moment. 
113:195,30[A  ]| "What 
113:195,31[A  ]| can she have said to$4$ you? She is an excellent creature,
113:195,32[A  ]| but we think her rather dismal."
113:195,33[B  ]| "I suppose," 
113:195,33['  ]| Newman answered presently, 
113:195,33[B  ]| "that$3$ I
113:195,34[B  ]| like$1$ her because she has lived near you so$5#1$ long. Since
113:195,35[B  ]| your birth, she told me."
113:195,36[A  ]| "Yes," 
113:195,36['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, simply; 
113:195,36[A  ]| "she is very
113:195,37[A  ]| faithful; I can trust her."
113:196,01['  ]| Newman had never made any reflections to$4$ this lady
113:196,02['  ]| upon$4$ her mother and her brother Urbain; had given no$2$
113:196,03['  ]| hint of the impression they made upon$4$ him. But, as if
113:196,04['  ]| she had guessed his thoughts, she seemed careful to$9$
113:196,05['  ]| avoid all occasions for$4$ making him speak of them. She
113:196,06['  ]| never alluded to$4$ her mother's domestic decrees; she
113:196,07['  ]| never quoted the opinions of the Marquis. They had
113:196,08['  ]| talked, however, of Valentin, and she had made no$2$
113:196,09['  ]| secret of her extreme affection for$4$ her younger brother.
113:196,10['  ]| Newman listened sometimes with a certain harmless
113:196,11['  ]| jealousy; he would have liked to$9$ divert some of her
113:196,12['  ]| tender allusions to$4$ his own credit. Once Madame*de*Cintre=
113:196,13['  ]| told him, with a little air of triumph, about
113:196,14['  ]| something that$6#1$ Valentin had done which$6#1$ she thought
113:196,15['  ]| very much to$4$ his honour. It was a service he had
113:196,16['  ]| rendered to$4$ an old friend of the family; something
113:196,17['  ]| more "serious" than Valentin was usually supposed
113:196,18['  ]| capable of being. Newman said 
113:196,18@b   | he was glad to$9$ hear of
113:196,19@b   | it, 
113:196,19['  ]| and then began to$9$ talk about something which$6#1$ lay
113:196,20['  ]| upon$4$ his own heart. Madame*de*Cintre= listened, but
113:196,21['  ]| after a while she said: 
113:196,21[A  ]| "I do not like$1$ the way you speak
113:196,22[A  ]| of my brother Valentin." 
113:196,22['  ]| Hereupon Newman, surprised,
113:196,23['  ]| said that$3$ 
113:196,23@b   | he had never spoken of him but kindly.
113:196,24[A  ]| "It is too kindly," 
113:196,24['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
113:196,24[A  ]| "It is 
113:196,25[A  ]| a kindness that$6#1$ costs nothing; it is the kindness you
113:196,26[A  ]| show to$4$ a child. It is as if you did not respect him."
113:196,27[B  ]| "Respect him? Why, I think I do."
113:196,28[A  ]| "You think? If you are not sure, it is no$2$ respect."
113:196,29[A  ]| 
113:196,30[B  ]| "Do you respect him?" 
113:196,30['  ]| said Newman. 
113:196,30[B  ]| "If you do,
113:196,31[B  ]| I do."
113:196,32[A  ]| "If one loves a person, that$6#2$ is a question one is not
113:196,33[A  ]| bound to$9$ answer," 
113:196,33['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
113:196,34[B  ]| "You should not have asked it of me, then. I am
113:196,35[B  ]| very fond of your brother."
113:196,36[A  ]| "He amuses you. But you would not like$1$ to$9$ resemble
113:196,37[A  ]| him."
113:197,01[B  ]| "I should not like$1$ to$9$ resemble any*one. It is hard
113:197,02[B  ]| enough work resembling oneself?"
113:197,03[A  ]| "What do you mean," 
113:197,03['  ]| asked Madame*de*Cintre=,
113:197,04[A  ]| "by$4$ resembling oneself?"
113:197,05[B  ]| "Why, doing what is expected of one. Doing one's
113:197,06[B  ]| duty."
113:197,07[A  ]| "But that$6#2$ is only when one is very good."
113:197,08[B  ]| "Well, a great many people are good," 
113:197,08['  ]| said Newman.
113:197,09[B  ]| "Valentin is quite good enough for$4$ me."
113:197,10['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= was silent for$4$ a short time. 
113:197,10[A  ]| "He
113:197,11[A  ]| is not good enough for$4$ me," 
113:197,11['  ]| she said at last. 
113:197,11[A  ]| "I wish
113:197,12[A  ]| he would do something."
113:197,13[B  ]| "What can he do?" 
113:197,13['  ]| asked Newman.
113:197,14[A  ]| "Nothing. Yet he is very clever."
113:197,15[B  ]| "It is a proof of cleverness," 
113:197,15['  ]| said Newman, 
113:197,15[B  ]| "to$9$ be
113:197,16[B  ]| happy without doing anything."
113:197,17[A  ]| "I do not think Valentin is happy, in$4$ reality. He is
113:197,18[A  ]| clever, generous, brave ~~ but what is there to$9$ show for$4$
113:197,19[A  ]| it? To$4$ me there is something sad in$4$ his life, and sometimes
113:197,20[A  ]| I have a sort of foreboding about him. I do not
113:197,21[A  ]| know why, but I fancy he will$1$ have some great trouble ~
113:197,22[A  ]| perhaps an unhappy end."
113:197,23[B  ]| "Oh, leave him to$4$ me," 
113:197,23['  ]| said Newman, jovially. 
113:197,23[B  ]| "I
113:197,24[B  ]| will$1$ watch over him and keep harm away."
113:197,25['  ]| One evening, in$4$ Madame*de*Bellegarde's salon, the
113:197,26['  ]| conversation had flagged most sensibly. The Marquis
113:197,27['  ]| walked up$5$ and down in$4$ silence, like$4$ a sentinel at the
113:197,28['  ]| door of some smooth-fronted citadel of the proprieties;
113:197,29['  ]| his mother sat staring at the fire; young Madame*de*Bellegarde
113:197,30['  ]| worked at an enormous band of tapestry.
113:197,31['  ]| Usually there were three or four visitors, but on$4$ this
113:197,32['  ]| occasion a violent storm sufficiently accounted for$4$ the
113:197,33['  ]| absence of even the most devoted habitue=s. In$4$ the
113:197,34['  ]| long silences the howling of the wind and the beating of
113:197,35['  ]| the rain were distinctly audible. Newman sat perfectly
113:197,36['  ]| still, watching the clock, determined to$9$ stay till the
113:197,37['  ]| stroke of eleven, but not a moment longer. Madame*de*Cintre
113:198,01['  ]| had turned her back to$4$ the circle, and had
113:198,02['  ]| been standing for$4$ some time within the uplifted curtain
113:198,03['  ]| of a window, with her forehead against the pane, gazing
113:198,04['  ]| out into the deluged darkness. Suddenly she turned
113:198,05['  ]| round toward her sister-in-law.
113:198,06[A  ]| "For$4$ heaven's sake," 
113:198,06['  ]| she said, with peculiar eagerness,
113:198,07[A  ]| "go to$4$ the piano and play something."
113:198,08['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde held up$5$ her tapestry and
113:198,09['  ]| pointed to$4$ a little white flower. 
113:198,09[L  ]| "Do not ask me to$9$
113:198,10[L  ]| leave this. I am in$4$ the midst of a masterpiece. My
113:198,11[L  ]| flower is going to$9$ smell very sweet; I am putting
113:198,12[L  ]| in$4$ the smell with this gold-coloured silk. I am holding
113:198,13[L  ]| my breath; I can not leave off. Play something
113:198,14[L  ]| yourself."
113:198,15[A  ]| "It is absurd for$4$ me to$9$ play when you are present,"
113:198,16['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. But the next moment she
113:198,17['  ]| went to$4$ the piano and began to$9$ strike the keys with
113:198,18['  ]| vehemence. She played for$4$ some time, rapidly and
113:198,19['  ]| brilliantly; when she stopped, Newman went to$4$ her
113:198,20['  ]| piano and asked her to$9$ begin again. She shook her
113:198,21['  ]| head, and, on$4$ his insisting, she said: 
113:198,21[A  ]| "I have not been
113:198,22[A  ]| playing for$4$ you; I have been playing for$4$ myself." 
113:198,22['  ]| She
113:198,23['  ]| went back to$4$ the window again and looked out, and
113:198,24['  ]| shortly afterwards left the room. When Newman took
113:198,25['  ]| leave, Urbain*de*Bellegarde accompanied him, as he
113:198,26['  ]| always did, just three steps down the staircase. At the
113:198,27['  ]| bottom stood a servant with his overcoat. He had just
113:198,28['  ]| put it on$5$ when he saw Madame*de*Cintre= coming
113:198,29['  ]| towards him across the vestibule.
113:198,30[B  ]| "Shall you be at home on$4$ Friday?" 
113:198,30['  ]| Newman asked.
113:198,31['  ]| She looked at him a moment before answering his
113:198,32['  ]| question. 
113:198,32[A  ]| "You do not like$1$ my mother and my brother,"
113:198,33['  ]| she said.
113:198,34['  ]| He hesitated a moment, and then he said softly,
113:198,35[B  ]| "No$7$."
113:198,36['  ]| She laid her hand on$4$ the balustrade and prepared to$9$
113:198,37['  ]| ascend the stairs, fixing her eyes on$4$ the first step.
113:199,01[A  ]| "Yes, I shall be at home on$4$ Friday," 
113:199,01['  ]| and she passed
113:199,02['  ]| up$4$ the wide dusky staircase.
113:199,03['  ]| On$4$ the Friday, as soon as he came in$5$, she asked him
113:199,04['  ]| to$9$ 
113:199,04@a   | please to$9$ tell her why he disliked her family.
113:199,05[B  ]| "Dislike your family?" 
113:199,05['  ]| he exclaimed. 
113:199,05[B  ]| "That$6#2$ has a 
113:199,06[B  ]| horrid sound. I did not say so$5#2$, did I? I did not mean it,
113:199,07[B  ]| if I did."
113:199,08[A  ]| "I wish you would tell me what you think of them,"
113:199,09['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
113:199,10[B  ]| "I do not think of any of them but you."
113:199,11[A  ]| "That$6#2$ is because you dislike them. Speak the truth;
113:199,12[A  ]| you can not offend me."
113:199,13[B  ]| "Well, I do not exactly love your brother," 
113:199,13['  ]| said Newman.
113:199,14[B  ]| "I remember now. But what is the use of my
113:199,15[B  ]| saying so$5#2$? I had forgotten it."
113:199,16[A  ]| "You are too good-natured," 
113:199,16['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=,
113:199,17['  ]| gravely. Then, as if to$9$ avoid the appearance of inviting
113:199,18['  ]| him to$9$ speak ill of the Marquis, she turned away,
113:199,19['  ]| motioning him to$9$ sit down.
113:199,20['  ]| But he remained standing before her, and said presently,
113:199,21[B  ]| "What is of much more importance is that$3$ they
113:199,22[B  ]| do not like$1$ me."
113:199,23[A  ]| "No$7$ ~~ they do not," 
113;199,23['  ]| she said.
113:199,24[B  ]| "And do not you think they are wrong?" 
113:199,24['  ]| Newman
113:199,25['  ]| asked. 
113:199,25[B  ]| "I do not believe I am a man to$9$
113:199,26[B  ]| dislike."
113:199,27[A  ]| "I suppose that$3$ a man who$6#1$ may be liked may also
113:199,28[A  ]| be disliked. And my brother ~~ my mother," 
113:199,28['  ]| she added,
113:199,29[A  ]| "have not made you angry?"
113:199,30[B  ]| "Yes, sometimes."
113:199,31[A  ]| "You have never shown it."
113:199,32[B  ]| "So$5#1$ much the better."
113:199,33[A  ]| "Yes, so$5#1$ much the better. They think they have
113:199,34[A  ]| treated you very well."
113:199,35[B  ]| "I have no$2$ doubt they might have handled me much
113:199,36[B  ]| more roughly," 
113:199,36['  ]| said Newman. 
113:199,36[B  ]| "I am much obliged
113:199,37[B  ]| to$4$ them. Honestly."
113:200,01[A  ]| "You are generous," 
113:200,01['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
113:200,01[A  ]| "It is
113:200,02[A  ]| a disagreeable position."
113:200,03[B  ]| "For$4$ them, you mean. Not for$4$ me."
113:200,04[A  ]| "For$4$ me," 
113:200,04['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
113:200,05[B  ]| "Not when their sins are forgiven!" 
113:200,05['  ]| said Newman.
113:200,06[B  ]| "They do not think I am as good as they are. I do.
113:200,07[B  ]| But we sha' not quarrel about it."
113:200,08[A  ]| "I can not even agree with you without saying something
113:200,09[A  ]| that$6#1$ has a disagreeable sound. The presumption
113:200,10[A  ]| was against you. That$6#2$ you probably do not understand."
113:200,11['  ]| 
113:200,12['  ]| Newman sat down and looked at her for$4$ some time.
113:200,13[B  ]| "I do not think I really understand it. But when you
113:200,14[B  ]| say it, I believe it."
113:200,15[A  ]| "That$6#2$ is a poor reason," 
113:200,15['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=,
113:200,16['  ]| smiling.
113:200,17[B  ]| "No$7$, it is a very good one. You have a high spirit,
113:200,18[B  ]| a high standard; but with you it is all natural and unaffected;
113:200,19[B  ]| you do not seem to$9$ have stuck your head into 
113:200,20[B  ]| a vice, as if you were sitting for$4$ the photograph of propriety.
113:200,21[B  ]| You think of me as a fellow who$6#1$ has had no$2$
113:200,22[B  ]| idea in$4$ life but to$9$ make money and drive sharp bargains.
113:200,23[B  ]| That$6#2$ is a fair description of me, but it is not the whole
113:200,24[B  ]| story. A man ought to$9$ care for$4$ something else, though
113:200,25[B  ]| I do not know exactly what. I cared for$4$ money-making,
113:200,26[B  ]| but I never cared particularly for$4$ the money. There
113:200,27[B  ]| was nothing else to$9$ do, and it was impossible to$9$ be idle.
113:200,28[B  ]| I have been very easy to$4$ others, and to$4$ myself. I have
113:200,29[B  ]| done most of the things that$6#1$ people asked me ~~ I do not
113:200,30[B  ]| mean rascals. As regards your mother and your brother,"
113:200,31['  ]| Newman added, 
113:200,31[B  ]| "there is only one point upon$4$ which$6#1$ I
113:200,32[B  ]| feel that$3$ I might quarrel with them. I do not ask them
113:200,33[B  ]| to$9$ sing my praises to$4$ you, but I ask them to$9$ let you
113:200,34[B  ]| alone. If I thought they talked ill of me to$4$ you, I
113:200,35[B  ]| should come down upon$4$ them."
113:200,36[A  ]| "They have let me alone, as you say. They have
113:200,37[A  ]| not talked ill of you."
113:201,01[B  ]| "In$4$ that$6#2$ case," 
113:201,01['  ]| cried Newman, 
113:210,01[B  ]| "I declare they are
113:201,02[B  ]| only too good for$4$ this world!"
113:201,03['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= appeared to$9$ find something startling
113:201,04['  ]| in$4$ his exclamation. She would, perhaps, have replied,
113:201,05['  ]| but at this moment the door was thrown open, and
113:201,06['  ]| Urbain*de*Bellegarde stepped across the threshold. He
113:201,07['  ]| appeared surprised at finding Newman, but his surprise
113:201,08['  ]| was but a momentary shadow across the surface of an
113:201,09['  ]| unwonted joviality. Newman had never seen the
113:201,10['  ]| Marquis so$5#1$ exhilarated; his pale unlighted countenance
113:201,11['  ]| had a sort of thin transfiguration. He held open the
113:201,12['  ]| door for$4$ some*one else to$9$ enter, and presently appeared
113:201,13['  ]| old Madame*de*Bellegarde, leaning on$4$ the arm of a
113:201,14['  ]| gentleman whom Newman had not seen before. He
113:201,15['  ]| had already risen, and Madame*de*Cintre= rose, as she
113:201,16['  ]| always did before her mother. The Marquis, who$6#1$ had
113:201,17['  ]| greeted Newman almost genially, stood apart, slowly
113:201,18['  ]| rubbing his hands. His mother came forward with her
113:201,19['  ]| companion. She gave a majestic little nod at Newman,
113:201,20['  ]| and then she released the strange gentleman, that$3$ he
113:201,21['  ]| might make his bow to$4$ her daughter.
113:201,22[C  ]| "My daughter," 
113:201,22['  ]| she said, 
113:201,22[C  ]| "I have brought you an
113:201,23[C  ]| unknown relative, Lord*Deepmere. Lord*Deepmere is
113:201,24[C  ]| our cousin, but he has done only to-day what he ought
113:201,25[C  ]| to$9$ have done long ago ~~ come to$9$ make our acquaintance."
113:201,26[C  ]| 
113:201,27['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= smiled, and offered Lord*Deepmere
113:201,28['  ]| her hand. 
113:201,28[W  ]| "It is very extraordinary," 
113:201,28['  ]| said this noble
113:201,29['  ]| laggard, 
113:201,29[W  ]| "but this is the first time that$3$ I have ever been
113:201,30[W  ]| in$4$ Paris for$4$ more than three or four weeks."
113:201,31[A  ]| "And how long have you been here now?" 
113:201,31['  ]| asked
113:201,32['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=.
113:201,33[W  ]| "Oh, for$4$ the last two months," 
113:201,33['  ]| said Lord*Deepmere.
113:201,34['  ]| These two remarks might have constituted an impertinence;
113:201,35['  ]| but a glance at Lord*Deepmere's face would
113:201,36['  ]| have satisfied you, as it apparently satisfied Madame*de*Cintre=,
113:201,37['  ]| that$3$ they constituted only a \9nai+vete=\. When his
113:202,01['  ]| companions were seated, Newman, who$6#1$ was out of the
113:202,02['  ]| conversation, occupied himself with observing the newcomer.
113:202,03['  ]| Observation, however, as regards Lord*Deepmere's
113:202,04['  ]| person, had no$2$ great range. He was a small
113:202,05['  ]| meagre man, of some three-and-thirty years of age, with
113:202,06['  ]| a bald head, a short nose, and no$2$ front teeth in$4$ the
113:202,07['  ]| upper jaw; he had round, candid, blue eyes, and several
113:202,08['  ]| pimples on$4$ his chin. He was evidently very shy, and
113:202,09['  ]| he laughed a great deal, catching his breath with an odd
113:202,10['  ]| startling sound, as the most convenient imitation of
113:202,11['  ]| repose. His physiognomy denoted great simplicity, a
113:202,12['  ]| certain amount of brutality, and a probable failure in$4$
113:202,13['  ]| the past to$9$ profit by$4$ rare educational advantages. He
113:202,14['  ]| remarked that$3$ 
113:202,14@w   | Paris was awfully jolly, but that$3$ for$4$ real,
113:202,15@w   | thorough-paced entertainment it was nothing to$4$ Dublin.
113:202,16@w   | He even preferred Dublin to$4$ London. Had Madame*de*Cintre=
113:202,17@w   | ever been to$4$ Dublin? They must all come
113:202,18@w   | over there some day, and he would show them some Irish
113:202,19@w   | sport. He always went to$4$ Ireland for$4$ the fishing, and
113:202,20@w   | he came to$4$ Paris for$4$ the new Offenbach things. They
113:202,21@w   | always brought them out in$4$ Dublin, but he could not wait.
113:202,22@w   | He had been nine times to$9$ hear La*Pomme*de*Paris.
113:202,23['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=, leaning back, with her arms folded,
113:202,24['  ]| looked at Lord*Deepmere with a more visibly puzzled
113:202,25['  ]| face than she usually showed to$4$ society. Madame*de*Bellegarde,
113:202,26['  ]| on$4$ the other hand, wore a fixed smile. The
113:202,27['  ]| Marquis said that$3$ among light operas his favourite was
113:202,28['  ]| the "Gazza*Ladra." The Marquise then began a series
113:202,29['  ]| of inquiries about the duke and the cardinal, the old
113:202,30['  ]| countess and Lady*Barbara, after listening to$4$ which$6#1$, and
113:202,31['  ]| to$4$ Lord*Deepmere's somewhat irreverent responses, for$4$
113:202,32['  ]| a quarter of an hour, Newman rose to$9$ take his leave.
113:202,33['  ]| The Marquis went with him three steps into the hall.
113:202,34[B  ]| "Is he Irish?" 
113:202,34['  ]| asked Newman, nodding in$4$ the
113:202,35['  ]| direction of the visitor.
113:202,36[D  ]| "His mother was the daughter of Lord*Finucane,"
113:202,37['  ]| said the Marquis; 
113:202,37[D  ]| "he has great Irish estates. Lady*Bridget,
113:203,01[D  ]| in$4$ the complete absence of male heirs, either
113:203,02[D  ]| direct or collateral ~~ a most extraordinary circumstance ~
113:203,03[D  ]| came in$5$ for$4$ everything. But Lord*Deepmere's title is
113:203,04[D  ]| English, and his English property is immense. He is a 
113:203,05[D  ]| charming young man."
113:203,06['  ]| Newman answered nothing, but he detained the
113:203,07['  ]| Marquis as the latter was beginning gracefully to$9$ recede.
113:203,08[B  ]| "It is a good time for$4$ me to$9$ thank you," 
113:203,08['  ]| he said, 
113:203,08[B  ]| "for$4$
113:203,09[B  ]| sticking so$5#1$ punctiliously to$4$ our bargain, for$4$ doing so$5#1$ 
113:203,10[B  ]| much to$9$ help me on$5$ with your sister."
113:203,11['  ]| The Marquis stared. 
113:203,11[D  ]| "Really, I have done nothing
113:203,12[D  ]| that$6#1$ I can boast of," 
113:203,12['  ]| he said.
113:203,13[B  ]| "Oh, do not be modest," 
113:203,13['  ]| Newman answered, laughing.
113:203,14[B  ]| "I can not flatter myself that$3$ I am doing so$5#1$ well simply by$4$
113:203,15[B  ]| my own merit. And thank your mother for$4$ me, too!"
113:203,16['  ]| And he turned away, leaving M%*de*Bellegarde looking
113:203,17['  ]| after him.
214:001,01['  ]| The next time Newman came to$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite=
214:001,02['  ]| he had the good fortune to$9$ find Madame*de*Cintre= alone.
214:001,03['  ]| He had come with a definite intention, and he lost no$2$
214:001,04['  ]| time in$4$ executing it. She wore, moreover, a look which$6#1$
214:001,05['  ]| he eagerly interpreted as expectancy.
214:001,06[B  ]| "I have been coming to$9$ see you for$4$ six months, now,"
214:001,07['  ]| he said, 
214:001,07[B  ]| "and I have never spoken to$4$ you a second time
214:001,08[B  ]| of marriage. That$6#2$ was what you asked me; I obeyed.
214:001,09[B  ]| Could any man have done better?"
214:001,10[A  ]| "You have acted with great delicacy," 
214:001,10['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
214:001,11['  ]| 
214:001,12[B  ]| "Well, I am going to$9$ change now," 
214:001,12['  ]| said Newman.
214:001,13[B  ]| "I do not mean that$3$ I am going to$9$ be indelicate; but I
214:001,14[B  ]| am going to$9$ go back to$4$ where I began. I \am\ back there.
214:001,15[B  ]| I have been all round the circle. Or rather, I have
214:001,16[B  ]| never been away from there. I have never ceased to$9$
214:001,17[B  ]| want what I wanted then. Only now I am more sure
214:001,18[B  ]| of it, if possible; I am more sure of myself, and more
214:001,19[B  ]| sure of you. I know you better, though I do not know
214:001,20[B  ]| anything I did not believe three months ago. You are
214:001,21[B  ]| everything ~~ you are beyond everything ~~ I can imagine
214:001,22[B  ]| or desire. You know me now; you \must\ know me. I
214:002,01[B  ]| will$1$ not say that$3$ you have seen the best ~~ but you have seen
214:002,02[B  ]| the worst. I hope you have been thinking all this while.
214:002,03[B  ]| You must have seen that$3$ I was only waiting; you can not
214:002,04[B  ]| suppose that$3$ I was changing. What will$1$ you say to$4$ 
214:002,05[B  ]| me now? Say that$3$ everything is clear and reasonable,
214:002,06[B  ]| and that$3$ I have been very patient and considerate, and
214:002,07[B  ]| deserve my reward. And then give me your hand.
214:002,08[B  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=, do that$6#2$. Do it."
214:002,09[A  ]| "I knew you were only waiting," 
214:002,09['  ]| she said; 
214:002,09[A  ]| "and I
214:002,10[A  ]| was very sure this day would come. I have thought
214:002,11[A  ]| about it a great deal. At first I was half afraid of it.
214:002,12[A  ]| But I am not afraid of it now." 
214:002,12['  ]| She paused a moment,
214:002,13['  ]| and then she added: 
214:002,13[A  ]| "It is a relief."
214:002,14['  ]| She was sitting on$4$ a low chair, and Newman was on$4$ 
214:002,15['  ]| an ottoman, near her. He leaned a little and took her
214:002,16['  ]| hand, which$6#1$ for$4$ an instant she let him keep. 
214:002,16[B  ]| "That$6#2$
214:002,17[B  ]| means that$3$ I have not waited for$4$ nothing," 
214:002,17['  ]| he said.
214:002,18['  ]| She looked at him for$4$ a moment, and he saw her eyes
214:002,19['  ]| fill with tears. 
214:002,19[B  ]| "With me," 
214:002,19['  ]| he went on$5$, 
214:002,19[B  ]| "you will$1$ be
214:002,20[B  ]| as safe ~~ as safe" 
214:002,20['  ]| ~~ and even in$4$ his ardour he hesitated
214:002,21['  ]| a moment for$4$ a comparison ~~ 
214:002,21[B  ]| "as safe," 
214:002,21['  ]| he said, with a
214:002,22['  ]| kind of simple solemnity, 
214;002,22[B  ]| "as in$4$ your father's arms."
214:002,23['  ]| Still she looked at him and her tears increased. Then,
214:002,24['  ]| abruptly, she buried her face on$4$ the cushioned arm of the
214:002,25['  ]| sofa beside her chair, and broke into noiseless sobs. 
214:002,25[A  ]| "I
214:002,26[A  ]| am weak ~~ I am weak," 
214:002,26['  ]| he heard her say.
214:002,27[B  ]| "All the more reason why you should give yourself
214:002,28[B  ]| up$5$ to$4$ me," 
214:002,28['  ]| he answered. 
214:002,28[B  ]| "Why are you troubled?
214:002,29[B  ]| There is nothing here that$6#1$ should trouble you. I offer
214:002,30[B  ]| you nothing but happiness. Is that$6#2$ so$5#1$ hard to$9$ believe?"
214:002,31[A  ]| "To$4$ you everything seems so$5#1$ simple," 
214;002,31['  ]| she said, raising
214:002,32['  ]| her head. 
214:002,32[A  ]| "But things are not so$5#2$. I like$1$ you
214:002,33[A  ]| extremely. I liked you six months ago, and now I am
214:002,34[A  ]| sure of it, as you say you are sure. But it is not easy,
214:002,35[A  ]| simply for$4$ that$6#2$, to$9$ decide to$9$ marry you. There are a
214:002,36[A  ]| great many things to$9$ think about."
214:002,37[B  ]| "There ought to$9$ be only one thing to$9$ think about ~
214:003,01[B  ]| that$3$ we love each other," 
214:003,01['  ]| said Newman. And as she
214:003,02['  ]| remained silent he quickly added: 
214:003,02[B  ]| "Very good; if you
214:003,03[B  ]| can not accept that$6#2$, do not tell me so$5#2$."
214:003,04[A  ]| "I should be very glad to$9$ think of nothing," 
214:003,04['  ]| she said
214:003,05['  ]| at last; 
214:003,05[A  ]| "not to$9$ think at all; only to$9$ shut both my eyes
214:003,06[A  ]| and give myself up$5$. But I can not. I am cold, I am old,
214:003,07[A  ]| I am a coward; I never supposed I should marry again,
214:003,08[A  ]| and it seems to$4$ me very strange I should ever have
214:003,09[A  ]| listened to$4$ you. When I used to$9$ think, as a girl, of
214:003,10[A  ]| what I should do if I were to$9$ marry freely by$4$ my own
214:003,11[A  ]| choice, I thought of a very different man from you."
214:003,12[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is nothing against me," 
214:003,12['  ]| said Newman, with an
214:003,13['  ]| immense smile; 
214:003,13[B  ]| "your taste was not formed."
214:003,14['  ]| His smile made Madame*de*Cintre= smile. 
214:003,14[A  ]| "Have you
214:003,15[A  ]| formed it?" 
214;003,15['  ]| she asked. And then she said, in$4$ a different
214:003,16['  ]| tone; 
214:003,16[A  ]| "where do you wish to$9$ live?"
214:003,17[B  ]| "Anywhere in$4$ the wide world you like$1$. We can
214:003,18[B  ]| easily settle that$6#2$."
214:003,19[A  ]| "I do not know why I ask you," 
214:003,19['  ]| she presently continued.
214:003,20[A  ]| "I care very little. I think if I were to$9$ marry you I
214:003,21[A  ]| could live almost anywhere. You have some false ideas
214:003,22[A  ]| about me; you think that$3$ I need a great many things
214:003,23[A  ]| ~~ that$3$ I must have a brilliant worldly life. I am sure
214:003,24[A  ]| you are prepared to$9$ take a great deal of trouble to$9$ give
214:003,25[A  ]| me such things. But that$6#2$ is very arbitrary; I have done
214:003,26[A  ]| nothing to$9$ prove that$6#2$." 
214:003,26['  ]| She paused again, looking at
214:003,27['  ]| him, and her mingled sound and silence were so$5#1$ sweet to$4$ 
214:003,28['  ]| him that$3$ he had no$2$ wish to$9$ hurry her, any more than he
214:003,29['  ]| would have had a wish to$9$ hurry a golden sunrise. 
214:003,29[A  ]| "Your
214:003,30[A  ]| being so$5#1$ different, which$6#1$ at first seemed a difficulty, a
214:003,31[A  ]| trouble, began one day to$9$ seem to$4$ me a pleasure, a great
214:003,32[A  ]| pleasure. I was glad you were different. And yet, if
214:003,33[A  ]| I had said so$5#2$, no*one would have understood me; I
214:003,34[A  ]| do not mean simply to$4$ my family."
214:003,35[B  ]| "They would have said I was a queer monster, eh?"
214:003,36['  ]| said Newman.
214:003,37[A  ]| "They would have said I could never be happy with
214:004,01[A  ]| you ~~ you were too different; and I would have said it
214:004,02[A  ]| was just \because\ you were so$5#1$ different that$3$ I might be
214:004,03[A  ]| happy. But they would have given better reasons than
214:004,04[A  ]| I. My only reason ~" 
214:004,04['  ]| and she paused again.
214:004,05['  ]| But this time, in$4$ the midst of his golden sunrise,
214:004,06['  ]| Newman felt the impulse to$9$ grasp at a rosy cloud. 
214:004,06[B  ]| "Your
214:004,07[B  ]| only reason is that$3$ you love me!" 
214:004,07['  ]| he murmured, with
214:004,08['  ]| an eloquent gesture, and for$4$ want of a better reason
214:004,09['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= reconciled herself to$4$ this one.
214:004,10['  ]| 
214:004,11['  ]| Newman came back the next day, and in$4$ the vestibule,
214:004,12['  ]| as he entered the house, he encountered his friend Mrs%*Bread.
214:004,13['  ]| She was wandering about in$4$ honourable idleness,
214:004,14['  ]| and when his eyes fell upon$4$ her she delivered him one
214:004,15['  ]| of her curtsies. Then turning to$4$ the servant who$6#1$ had
214:004,16['  ]| admitted him she said, with the combined majesty of
214:004,17['  ]| her native superiority and of a rugged English accent:
214:004,18[J  ]| "You may retire; I will$1$ have the honour of conducting
214:004,19[J  ]| Monsieur." 
214:004,19['  ]| In$4$ spite of this combination, however, it
214:004,20['  ]| appeared to$4$ Newman that$3$ her voice had a slight quaver,
214:004,21['  ]| as if the tone of command were not habitual to$4$ it. The
214:004,22['  ]| man gave her an impertinent stare, but he walked slowly
214:004,23['  ]| away, and she led Newman upstairs. At half its course
214:004,24['  ]| the staircase gave a bend, forming a little platform. In$4$
214:004,25['  ]| the angle of the wood stood an indifferent statue of an
214:004,26['  ]| eighteenth-century nymph, simpering, sallow, and cracked.
214:004,27['  ]| Here Mrs%*Bread stopped and looked with shy kindness
214:004,28['  ]| at her companion.
214:004,29[J  ]| "I know the good news, sir," 
214.004,29['  ]| she murmured.
214:004,30[B  ]| "You have a good right to$9$ be first to$9$ know it," 
214:004,30['  ]| said
214:004,31['  ]| Newman. 
214:004,31[B  ]| "You have taken such a friendly interest."
214:004,32['  ]| Mrs%*Bread turned away and began to$9$ blow the dust
214:004,33['  ]| off the statue, as if this might be mockery.
214:004,34[B  ]| "I suppose you want to$9$ congratulate me," 
214:004,34['  ]| said Newman.
214:004,35[B  ]| "I am greatly obliged." 
214:004,35['  ]| And then he added:
214:004,36[B  ]| "You gave me much pleasure the other day."
214:004,37['  ]| She turned round, apparently reassured. 
214:004,37[J  ]| "You are
214:005,01[J  ]| not to$9$ think that$3$ I have been told anything," 
214:005,01['  ]| she said;
214:005,02[J  ]| "I have only guessed. But when I looked at you, as
214:005,03[J  ]| you came in$5$, I was sure I had guessed aright."
214:005,04[B  ]| "You are very sharp," 
214:005,04['  ]| said Newman. 
214:005,04[B  ]| "I am sure
214:005,05['  ]| that$3$ in$4$ your quiet way you see everything."
214:005,06[J  ]| "I am not a fool, sir, thank God. I have guessed
214:005,07[J  ]| something else beside," 
214:005,07['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread.
214:005,08[B  ]| "What is that$6#2$?"
214:005,09[J  ]| "I need not tell you that$6#2$, sir; I do not think you would
214:005,10[J  ]| believe it. At any rate it would not please you."
214:005,11[B  ]| "Oh, tell me nothing but what will$1$ please me," 
214:005,11['  ]| laughed
214:005,12['  ]| Newman. 
214:005,12[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is the way you began."
214:005,13[J  ]| "Well, sir, I suppose you will$1$ not be vexed to$9$ hear that$3$
214:005,14[J  ]| the sooner everything is over the better."
214:005,15[B  ]| "The sooner we are married, you mean? The better
214:005,16[B  ]| for$4$ me, certainly."
214:005,17[J  ]| "The better for$4$ every*one."
214:005,18[B  ]| "The better for$4$ you, perhaps. You know you are
214:005,19[B  ]| coming to$9$ live with us," 
214:005,19['  ]| said Newman.
214:005,20[J  ]| "I am extremely obliged to$4$ you, sir, but it is not of
214:005,21[J  ]| myself I was thinking. I only wanted, if I might take
214:005,22[J  ]| the liberty, to$9$ recommend you to$9$ lose no$2$ time."
214:005,23[B  ]| "Whom are you afraid of?"
214:005,24['  ]| Mrs%*Bread looked up$4$ the staircase and then down,
214:005,25['  ]| and then she looked at the undusted nymph, as if she
214:005,26['  ]| possibly had sentient ears. 
214:005,26[J  ]| "I am afraid of every*one,"
214:005,27['  ]| she said.
214:005,28[B  ]| "What an uncomfortable state of mind!" 
214:005,28['  ]| said Newman.
214:005,29[B  ]| "Does ""every*one"" wish to$9$ prevent my marriage?"
214:005,30[J  ]| "I am afraid of already having said too much," 
214:005,30['  ]| Mrs%*Bread
214:005,31['  ]| replied. 
214:005,31[J  ]| "I will$1$ not take it back, but I will$1$ not say
214:005,32[J  ]| any more." 
214:005,32['  ]| And she took her way up$4$ the staircase again
214:005,33['  ]| and led him into Madame*de*Cintre='s salon.
214:005,34['  ]| Newman indulged in$4$ a brief and silent imprecation
214:005,35['  ]| when he found that$3$ Madame*de*Cintre= was not alone.
214:005,36['  ]| With her sat her mother, and in$4$ the middle of the room
214:005,37['  ]| stood young Madame*de*Bellegarde, in$4$ her bonnet and
214:006,01['  ]| mantle. The old Marquise, who$6#1$ was leaning back in$4$
214:006,02['  ]| her chair with a hand clasping the knob of each arm,
214:006,03['  ]| looked at him fixedly, without moving. She seemed
214:006,04['  ]| barely conscious of his greeting; she appeared to$9$ be
214:006,05['  ]| musing intently. Newman said to$4$ himself that$3$ 
214:006,05@b   | her
214:006,06@b   | daughter had been announcing her engagement, and that$3$
214:006,07@b   | the old lady found the morsel hard to$9$ swallow. 
214:006,07['  ]| But
214:006,08['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=, as she gave him her hand, gave him
214:006,09['  ]| also a look by$4$ which$6#1$ she appeared to$9$ mean that$3$ 
214:006,09@b   | he should
214:006,10@b   | understand something. Was it a warning or a request?
214:006,11@b   | Did she wish to$9$ enjoin speech or silence? 
214:006,11['  ]| He was
214:006,12['  ]| puzzled, and young Madame*de*Bellegarde's pretty grin
214:006,13['  ]| gave him no$2$ information.
214:006,14[A  ]| "I have not told my mother," 
214:006,14['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=,
214:006,15['  ]| abruptly, looking at him.
214:006,16[C  ]| "Told me what?" 
214:006,16['  ]| demanded the Marquise. 
214:006,16[C  ]| "You
214:006,17[C  ]| tell me too little; you should tell me everything."
214:006,18[L  ]| "That$6#2$ is what I do," 
214:006,18['  ]| said Madame*Urbain, with a 
214:006,19['  ]| little laugh.
214:006,20[B  ]| "Let \me\ tell your mother," 
214:006,20['  ]| said Newman.
214:006,21['  ]| The old lady stared at him again, and then turned to$4$ 
214:006,22['  ]| her daughter. 
214:006,22[C  ]| "You are going to$9$ marry him?" 
214:006,22['  ]| she
214:006,23['  ]| cried, softly.
214:006,24[A  ]| "\9Oui, 9ma 9me`re,\" 
214:006,24['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre.
214:006,25[B  ]| "Your daughter has consented, to$4$ my great happiness,"
214:006,26['  ]| said Newman.
214:006,27[C  ]| "And when was this arrangement made?" 
214:006,27['  ]| asked
214:006,28['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde. 
214:006,28[C  ]| "I seem to$9$ be picking up$5$ the
214:006,29[C  ]| news by$4$ chance!"
214:006,30[B  ]| "My suspense came to$4$ an end yesterday," 
214:006,30['  ]| said Newman.
214:006,31['  ]| 
214:006,32[C  ]| "And how long was mine to$9$ have lasted?" 
214:006,32['  ]| said the
214:006,33['  ]| Marquise to$4$ her daughter. She spoke without irritation;
214:006,34['  ]| with a sort of cold noble displeasure.
214:006,35['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= stood silent, with her eyes on$4$ the
214:006,36['  ]| ground. 
214:006,36[A  ]| "It is over now," 
214:006,36['  ]| she said.
214:006,37[C  ]| "Where is my son ~~ where is Urbain?" 
214:006,37['  ]| asked
214:007,01['  ]| the Marquise. 
214:007,01[C  ]| "Send for$4$ your brother and inform
214:007,02[C  ]| him."
214:007,03['  ]| Young Madame*de*Bellegarde laid her hand on$4$ the
214:007,04['  ]| bell-rope. 
214:007,04[L  ]| "He was to$9$ make some visits with me, and
214:007,05[L  ]| I was to$9$ go and knock ~~ very softly, very softly ~~ at the
214:007,06[L  ]| door of his study. But he can come to$4$ me!" 
214:007,06['  ]| She
214:007,07['  ]| pulled the bell, and in$4$ a few moments Mrs%*Bread appeared,
214:007,08['  ]| with a face of calm inquiry.
214:007,09[C  ]| "Send for$4$ your brother," 
214:007,09['  ]| said the old lady.
214:007,10['  ]| But Newman felt an irresistible impulse to$9$ speak, and
214:007,11['  ]| to$9$ speak in$4$ a certain way. 
214:007,11[B  ]| "Tell the Marquis we want
214:007,12[B  ]| him," 
214:007,12['  ]| he said to$4$ Mrs%*Bread, who$6#1$ quietly retired.
214:007,13['  ]| Young Madame*de*Bellegarde went to$4$ her sister-in-law
214:007,14['  ]| and embraced her. Then she turned to$4$ Newman,
214:007,15['  ]| with an intense smile. 
214:007,15[L  ]| "She is charming. I congratulate 
214:007,16[L  ]| you."
214:007,17[C  ]| "I congratulate you, sir," 
214:007,17['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde,
214:007,18['  ]| with extreme solemnity. 
214:007,18[C  ]| "My daughter is an extraordinarily
214:007,19[C  ]| good woman. She may have faults, but I do not
214:007,20[C  ]| know them."
214:007,21[A  ]| "My mother does not often make jokes," 
214:007,21['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=;
214:007,22[A  ]| "but when she does they are terrible."
214:007,23[L  ]| "She is ravishing," 
214:007,23['  ]| the Marquise*Urbain resumed,
214:007,24['  ]| looking at her sister-in-law, with her head on$4$ one side.
214:007,25[L  ]| "Yes, I congratulate you."
214:007,26['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= turned away, and, taking up$5$ a
214:007,27['  ]| piece of tapestry, began to$9$ ply the needle. Some minutes
214:007,28['  ]| of silence elapsed, which$6#1$ were interrupted by$4$ the arrival
214:007,29['  ]| of M%*de*Bellegarde. He came in$5$ with his hat in$4$ his
214:007,30['  ]| hand, gloved, and was followed by$4$ his brother Valentin,
214:007,31['  ]| who$6#1$ appeared to$9$ have just entered the house. M%*de*Bellegarde
214:007,32['  ]| looked around the circle and greeted Newman
214:007,33['  ]| with his usual finely-measured courtesy. Valentin saluted
214:007,34['  ]| his mother and his sisters, and, as he shook hands with
214:007,35['  ]| Newman, gave him a glance of acute interrogation.
214:007,36[L  ]| "\9Arrivez 9donc, 9Messieurs\!" 
214:007,36['  ]| cried young Madame*de*Bellegarde.
214:007,37[L  ]| "We have great news for$4$ you."
214:008,01[C  ]| "Speak to$4$ your brother, my daughter," 
214:008,01['  ]| said the old
214:008,02['  ]| lady.
214:008,03['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= had been looking at her tapestry.
214:008,04['  ]| She raised her eyes to$4$ her brother. 
214:008,04[A  ]| "I have accepted
214:008,05[A  ]| Mr%*Newman."
214:008,06[B  ]| "Your sister has consented," 
214:008,06['  ]| said Newman. 
214:008,06[B  ]| "You
214:008,07[B  ]| see, after all, I knew what I was about."
214:008,08[D  ]| "I am charmed!" 
214:008,08['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde, with
214:008,09['  ]| superior benignity.
214:008,10[E  ]| "So$5#2$ am I," 
214:008,10['  ]| said Valentin to$4$ Newman. 
214:008,10[E  ]| "The
214:008,11[E  ]| Marquis and I are charmed. I can not marry, myself, but
214:008,12[E  ]| I can understand it. I can not stand on$4$ my head, but I
214:008,13[E  ]| can applaud a clever acrobat. My dear sister, I bless
214:008,14[E  ]| your union."
214:008,15['  ]| The Marquis stood looking for$4$ a while into the crown
214:008,16['  ]| of his hat. 
214:008,16[D  ]| "We have been prepared," 
214:008,16['  ]| he said at last,
214:008,17[D  ]| "but it is inevitable that$3$ in$4$ the face of the event one
214:008,18[D  ]| should experience a certain emotion." 
214:008,18['  ]| And he gave a
214:008,19['  ]| most unhilarious smile.
214:008,20[C  ]| "I feel no$2$ emotion that$6#1$ I was not perfectly prepared
214:008,21[C  ]| for$4$," 
214:008,21['  ]| said his mother.
214:008,22[B  ]| "I can not say that$6#2$ for$4$ myself," 
214:008,22['  }| said Newman, smiling,
214:008,23['  ]| but differently from the Marquis. 
214:008,23[B  ]| "I am happier than
214:008,24[B  ]| I expected to$9$ be. I suppose it is the sight of your happiness!"
214:008,25[B  ]|
214:008,26[C  ]| "Do not exaggerate that$6#2$," 
214:008,26['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde,
214:008,27['  ]| getting up$5$ and laying her hand upon$4$ her
214:008,28['  ]| daughter's arm. 
214:008,28[C  ]| "You can not expect an honest old
214:008,29[C  ]| woman to$9$ thank you for$4$ taking away her beautiful only
214:008,30[C  ]| daughter."
214:008,31[L  ]| "You forget me, dear Madame," 
214:008,31['  ]| said the young Marquise,
214:008,32['  ]| demurely.
214:008,33[B  ]| "Yes, she is very beautiful," 
214:008,33['  ]| said Newman.
214:008,34[L  ]| "And when is the wedding, pray?" 
214;008,34['  ]| asked young
214:008,35['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde; 
214:008,35[L  ]| "I must have a month to$9$ think
214:008,36[L  ]| over a dress."
214:008,37[C  ]| "That$6#2$ must be discussed," 
214:008,37['  ]| said the Marquise.
214:009,01[B  ]| "Oh, we will$1$ discuss it, and let you know!" 
214:009,01['  ]| Newman
214:009,02['  ]| exclaimed.
214:009,03[D  ]| "I have no$2$ doubt we shall agree," 
214:009,03['  ]| said Urbain.
214:009,04[D  ]| "If you do not agree with Madame*de*Cintre=, you will$1$
214:009,05[D  ]| be very unreasonable."
214:009,06[L  ]| "Come, come, Urbain," 
214;009,06['  ]| said young Madame*de*Bellegarde.
214:009,07[L  ]| "I must go straight to$4$ my tailor's."
214:009,08['  ]| The old lady had been standing with her hand on$4$ her
214:009,09['  ]| daughter's arm, looking at her fixedly. She gave a little
214:009,10['  ]| sigh, and murmured, 
214:009,10[C  ]| "No$7$, I did \not\ expect it! You are
214:009,11[C  ]| a fortunate man," 
214:009,11['  ]| she added, turning to$4$ Newman with
214:009,12['  ]| an expressive nod.
214:009,13[B  ]| "Oh, I know that$6#2$!" 
214:009,13['  ]| he answered. 
214:009,13[B  ]| "I feel tremendously
214:009,14[B  ]| proud. I feel like$4$ crying it on$4$ the housetops ~~ like$4$
214:009,15[B  ]| stopping people in$4$ the street to$9$ tell them."
214:009,16['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde narrowed her lips. 
214:009,16[C  ]| "Pray
214:009,17[C  ]| do not," 
214:009,17['  ]| she said.
214:009,18[B  ]| "The more people that$6#1$ know it, the better," 
214:009,18['  ]| Newman
214:009,19['  ]| declared. 
214:009,19[B  ]| "I have not yet announced it here, but I telegraphed
214:009,20[B  ]| it this morning to$4$ America."
214:009,21[C  ]| "Telegraphed it to$4$ America?" 
214:009,21['  ]| the old lady murmured.
214:009,22['  ]| 
214:009,23[B  ]| "To$4$ New*York, to$4$ St%*Louis, and to$4$ San*Francisco;
214:009,24[B  ]| those are the principal cities, you know. To-morrow I
214:009,25[B  ]| shall tell my friends here."
214:009,26[C  ]| "Have you many?" 
214:009,26['  ]| asked Madame*de*Bellegarde, in$4$
214:009,27['  ]| a tone of which$6#1$ I am afraid that$3$ Newman but partly
214:009,28['  ]| measured the impertinence.
214:009,29[B  ]| "Enough to$9$ bring me a great many hand-shakes and
214:009,30[B  ]| congratulations. To$9$ say nothing," 
214:009,30['  ]| he added, in$4$ a moment,
214:009,31[B  ]| "of those I shall receive from your friends."
214:009,32[C  ]| "They will$1$ not use the telegraph," 
214:009,32['  ]| said the Marquise,
214:009,33['  ]| taking her departure.
214:009,34['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde, whose wife, her imagination having
214:009,35['  ]| apparently taken flight to$4$ the tailor's, was flutterng her
214:009,36['  ]| silken wings in$4$ emulation, shook hands with Newman,
214:009,37['  ]| and said, with a more persuasive accent than the latter
214:010,01['  ]| had ever heard him use: 
214:010,01[D  ]| "You may count upon$4$ me."
214:010,02['  ]| Then his wife led him away.
214:010,03['  ]| Valentin stood looking from his sister to$4$ our hero.
214:010,04[E  ]| "I hope you have both reflected seriously," 
214:101,04['  ]| he said.
214:010,05['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= smiled. 
214:101,05[A  ]| "We have neither your
214:010,06[A  ]| powers of reflection nor your depth of seriousness; but
214:010,07[A  ]| we have done our best."
214:010,08[E  ]| "Well, I have a great regard for$4$ each of you," 
214:010,08['  ]| Valentin
214:010,09['  ]| continued. 
214:010,09[E  ]| "You are charming young people. But
214:010,10[E  ]| I am not satisfied, on$4$ the whole, that$3$ you belong to$4$ that$6#2$
214:010,11[E  ]| small and superior class ~~ that$6#2$ exquisite group ~~ composed
214:010,12[E  ]| of persons who$6#1$ are worthy to$9$ remain unmarried. These
214:010,13[E  ]| are rare souls; they are the salt of the earth. But I
214:010,14[E  ]| do not mean to$9$ be invidious; the marrying people are
214:010,15[E  ]| often very nice."
214:010,16[A  ]| "Valentin holds that$3$ women should marry, and that$3$
214:010,17[A  ]| men should not," 
214:010,17['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
214:010,17[A  ]| "I do not
214:010,18[A  ]| know how he arranges it."
214:010,19[E  ]| "I arrange it by$4$ adoring you, my sister," 
214:010,19['  ]| said Valentin,
214:010,20['  ]| ardently. 
214:010,20[E  ]| "Good-bye."
214:010,21[B  ]| "Adore some*one whom you can marry," 
214:010,21['  ]| said Newman.
214:010,22[B  ]| "I will$1$ arrange that$6#2$ for$4$ you some day. I foresee
214:010,23[B  ]| that$3$ I am going to$9$ turn apostle."
214:010,24['  ]| Valentin was on$4$ the threshold; he looked back a
214:010,25['  ]| moment, with a face that$6#1$ had turned grave. 
214:010,25[E  ]| "I adore
214:010,26[E  ]| some*one I can not marry!" 
214:010,26['  ]| he said. And he dropped
214:010,27['  ]| the \9portie`re\ and departed.
214:010,28[B  ]| "They do not like$1$ it," 
214:010,28['  ]| said Newman, standing alone
214:010,29['  ]| before Madame*de*Cintre=.
214:010,30[A  ]| "No$7$," 
214:010,30['  ]| she said, after a moment; 
214:010,30[A  ]| "they do not like$1$ it."
214:010,31[B  ]| "Well, now, do you mind that$6#2$?" 
214:010,31['  ]| asked Newman.
214:010,32[A  ]| "Yes!" 
214:010,32['  ]| she said, after another interval.
214:010,33[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is a mistake."
214:010,34[A  ]| "I can not help it. I should prefer that$3$ my mother
214:010,35[A  ]| were pleased."
214:010,36[B  ]| "Why the deuce," 
214:010,36['  ]| demanded Newman, 
214:010,36[B  ]| "is she not
214:010,37[B  ]| pleased? She gave you leave to$9$ marry me."
214:011,01[A  ]| "Very true; I do not understand it. And yet I do
214:011,02[A  ]| ""mind it,"" as you say. You will$1$ call it superstitious."
214:011,03[B  ]| "That$6#2$ will$1$ depend upon$4$ how much you let it bother
214:011,04[B  ]| you. Then I shall call it an awful bore."
214:011,05[A  ]| "I will$1$ keep it to$4$ myself," 
214:011,05['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
214:011,06[A  ]| "It shall not bother you." 
214:011,06['  ]| And they then talked of
214:011,07['  ]| their marriage day, and Madame*de*Cintre= assented unreservedly
214:011,08['  ]| to$4$ Newman's desire to$9$ have it fixed for$4$ an
214:011,09['  ]| early date.
214:011,10['  ]| Newman's telegrams were answered with interest.
214:011,11['  ]| Having despatched but three electric missives, he received
214:011,12['  ]| no$2$ less than eight gratulatory bulletins in$4$ return.
214:011,13['  ]| He put them into his pocket-book, and the next
214:011,14['  ]| time he encountered old Madame*de*Bellegarde drew
214:011,15['  ]| them forth and displayed them to$4$ her. This, it must be
214:011,16['  ]| confessed, was a slightly malicious stroke; the reader
214:011,17['  ]| must judge in$4$ what degree the offence was venial. Newman
214:011,18['  ]| knew that$3$ the Marquise disliked his telegrams,
214:011,19['  ]| though he could see no$2$ sufficient reason for$4$ it. Madame*de*Cintre=,
214:011,20['  ]| on$4$ the other hand, liked them; and, most of
214:011,21['  ]| them being of a humorous cast, laughed at them immoderately,
214:011,22['  ]| and inquired into$4$ the character of their
214:011,23['  ]| authors. Newman, now that$3$ his prize was gained, felt
214:011,24['  ]| a peculiar desire that$3$ his triumph should be manifest.
214:011,25['  ]| He more than suspected that$3$ 
214:011,25@b   | the Bellegardes were keeping
214:011,26@b   | quiet about it, and allowing it, in$4$ their select circle,
214:011,27@b   | but a limited resonance; 
214:011,27['  ]| and it pleased him to$9$ think
214:011,28['  ]| that$3$ 
214:011,28@b   | if he were to$9$ take the trouble, he might, 
214:011,28['  ]| as he phrased
214:011,29['  ]| it, 
214:011,29@b   | break all the windows. 
214:011,29['  ]| No$2$ man likes being repudiated,
214:011,30['  ]| and yet Newman, if he was not flattered, was not
214:011,31['  ]| exactly offended. He had not this good excuse for$4$ his
214:011,32['  ]| somewhat aggressive impulse to$9$ promulgate his felicity;
214:011,33['  ]| his sentiment was of another quality. 
214:011,33@b   | He wanted for$4$
214:011,34@b   | once to$9$ make the heads of the house of Bellegarde \feel\
214:011,35@b   | him; he knew not when he should have another chance.
214:011,36['  ]| He had had for$4$ the past six months a sense of the old
214:011,37['  ]| lady and her son looking straight over his head, and he
214:012,01['  ]| was now resolved that$3$ 
214:012,01@b   | they should toe a mark which$6#1$ he
214:012,02@b   | would give himself the satisfaction of drawing.
214:012,03[B  ]| "It is like$4$ seeing a bottle emptied when the wine is
214:012,04[B  ]| poured too slowly," 
214:012,04['  ]| he said to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram. 
214:012,04[B  ]| "They
214:012,05[B  ]| make me want to$9$ joggle their elbows and force them to$9$
214:012,06[B  ]| spill their wine."
214:012,07['  ]| To$4$ this Mrs%*Tristram answered that$3$ 
214:012,07@i   | he had better
214:012,08@i   | leave them alone, and let them do things in$4$ their own
214:012,09@i   | way. 
214:012,09[I  ]| "You must make allowances for$4$ them," 
214:012,09['  ]| she said.
214:012,10[I  ]| "It is natural enough that$3$ they should hang fire a little.
214:012,11[I  ]| They thought they accepted you when you made your
214:012,12[I  ]| application; but they are not people of imagination, they
214:012,13[I  ]| could not project themselves into the future, and now
214:012,14[I  ]| they will$1$ have to$9$ begin again. But they \are\ people of
214:012,15[I  ]| honour, and they will$1$ do whatever is necessary."
214:012,16['  ]| Newman spent a few moments in$4$ narrow-eyed meditation.
214:012,17['  ]| 
214:012,18[B  ]| "I am not hard on$4$ them," 
214:012,18['  ]| he presently said; 
214:012,18[B  ]| "and
214:012,19[B  ]| to$9$ prove it I will$1$ invite them all to$4$ a festival."
214:012,20[I  ]| "To$4$ a festival?"
214:012,21[B  ]| "You have been laughing at my great gilded rooms all
214:012,22[B  ]| winter; I will$1$ show you that$3$ they are good for$4$ something.
214:012,23[B  ]| I will$1$ give a party. What is the grandest thing
214:012,24[B  ]| one can do here? I will$1$ hire all the great singers from
214:012,25[B  ]| the opera, and all the first people from the The=a^tre*Francaise,
214:012,26[B  ]| and I will$1$ give an entertainment."
214:012,27[I  ]| "And whom will$1$ you invite?"
214:012,28[B  ]| "You, first of all. And then the old lady and her
214:012,29[B  ]| son. And then every*one among her friends whom I
214:012,30[B  ]| have met at her house or elsewhere, every*one who$6#1$ has
214:012,31[B  ]| shown me the minimum of politeness, every duke of them
214:012,32[B  ]| and his wife. And then all my friends, without exception
214:012,33[B  ]| ~~ Miss*Kitty*Upjohn, Miss*Dora*Finch, General*Packard,
214:012,34[B  ]| C%*P%*Hatch, and all the rest. And every*one
214:012,35[B  ]| shall know what it is about; that$6#2$ is, to$9$ celebrate my
214:012,36[B  ]| engagement to$4$ the Countess*de*Cintre=. What do you
214:012,37[B  ]| think of the idea?"
214:013,01[I  ]| "I think it is odious!" 
214:013,01['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram. And
214:013,02['  ]| then in$4$ a moment: 
214:013,02[I  ]| "I think it is delicious!"
214:013,03['  ]| The very next evening Newman repaired to$4$ Madame*de*Bellegarde's
214:013,04['  ]| salon, where he found her surrounded by$4$
214:013,05['  ]| her children, and invited her to$9$ honour his poor dwelling
214:013,06['  ]| by$4$ her presence on$4$ a certain evening a fortnight distant.
214:013,07['  ]| The Marquise stared a moment. 
214:013,07[C  ]| "My dear sir," 
214:013,07['  ]| she
214:013,08['  ]| cried, 
214:013,08[C  ]| "What do you want to$9$ do to$4$ me?"
214:013,09[B  ]| "To$9$ make you acquainted with a few people, and then
214:013,10[B  ]| to$9$ place you in$4$ a very easy chair and ask you to$9$ listen to$4$ 
214:013,11[B  ]| Madame*Frezzolini's singing."
214:013,12[C  ]| "You mean to$9$ give a concert?"
214:013,13[B  ]| "Something of that$6#2$ sort."
214:013,14[C  ]| "And to$9$ have a crowd of people?"
214:013,15[B  ]| "All my friends, and I hope some of yours and your
214:013,16[B  ]| daughter's. I want to$9$ celebrate my engagement."
214:013,17['  ]| It seemed to$4$ Newman that$3$ Madame*de*Bellegarde
214:013,18['  ]| turned pale. She opened her fan, a fine old painted fan
214:013,19['  ]| of the last century, and looked at the picture, which$6#1$ represented
214:013,20['  ]| a \fe^te*champe^tre\ ~~ a lady with a guitar, singing,
214:013,21['  ]| and a group of dancers round a garlanded Hermes.
214:013,22[D  ]| "We go out so$5#1$ little," 
214:013,22['  ]| murmured the Marquis, 
214:013,22[D  ]| "since
214:013,23[D  ]| my poor father's death."
214:013,24[L  ]| "But \my\ dear father is still alive, my friend," 
214:013,24['  ]| said
214:013,25['  ]| his wife. 
214:013,25[L  ]| "I am only waiting for$4$ my invitation to$9$ accept
214:013,26[L  ]| it," 
214:013,26['  ]| and she glanced with amiable confidence at Newman.
214:013,27[L  ]| "It will$1$ be magnificent; I am very sure of that$6#2$."
214:013,28['  ]| I am sorry to$9$ say, to$4$ the discredit of Newman's gallantry,
214:013,29['  ]| that$3$ this lady's invitation was not then and there
214:013,30['  ]| bestowed; he was giving all his attention to$4$ the old
214:013,31['  ]| Marquise. She looked up$5$ at last smiling. 
214:013,31[C  ]| "I can not
214:013,32[C  ]| think of letting you offer me a fe^te," 
214:013,32['  ]| she said, 
214:013,32[C  ]| "until I
214:013,33[C  ]| have offered you one. We want to$9$ present you to$4$ our
214:013,34[C  ]| friends; we will$1$ invite them all. We have it very much
214:013,35[C  ]| at heart. We must do things in$4$ order. Come to$4$ me
214:013,36[C  ]| about the 25th; I will$1$ let you know the exact day immediately.
214:013,37[C  ]| We shall not have any*one so$5#1$ fine as Madame*Frezzolini,
214:014,01[C  ]| but we shall have some very good people.
214:014,02['  ]| After that$6#2$ you may talk of your own fe^te." 
214:014,02['  ]| The old
214:014,03['  ]| lady spoke with a certain quick eagerness, smiling more
214:014,04['  ]| agreeably as she went on$5$.
214:014,05['  ]| It seemed to$4$ Newman a handsome proposal, and such
214:014,06['  ]| proposals always touched the sources of his good-nature.
214:014,07['  ]| He said to$4$ Madame*de*Bellegarde that$3$ 
214:014,07@b   | he should be
214:014,08@b   | glad to$9$ come on$4$ the 25th or any other day, and that$3$ it
214:014,09@b   | mattered very little whether he met his friends at her
214:014,10@b   | house or at his own. 
214:014,10['  ]| I have said that$3$ Newman was
214:014,11['  ]| observant, but it must be admitted that$3$ on$4$ this occasion
214:014,12['  ]| he failed to$9$ notice a certain delicate glance which$6#1$ passed
214:014,13['  ]| between Madame*de*Bellegarde and the Marquis, and
214:014,14['  ]| which$6#1$ we may presume to$9$ have been a commentary
214:014,15['  ]| upon$4$ the innocence displayed in$4$ that$6#2$ latter clause of his
214:014,16['  ]| speech.
214:014,17['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde walked away with Newman
214:014,18['  ]| that$6#2$ evening, and when they had left the Rue*de*l'Universite=
214:014,19['  ]| some distance behind them he said reflectively:
214:014,20[E  ]| "My mother is very strong ~~ very strong." 
214:014,20['  ]| Then in$4$
214:014,21['  ]| answer to$4$ an interrogative movement of Newman's he
214:014,22['  ]| continued: 
214:014,22[E  ]| "She was driven to$4$ the wall; but you
214:014,23[E  ]| would never have thought it. Her fe^te of the 25th was
214:014,24[E  ]| an invention of the moment. She had no$2$ idea whatever
214:014,25[E  ]| of giving a fe^te, but finding it the only issue from
214:014,26[E  ]| your proposal, she looked straight at the dose ~~ excuse
214:014,27[E  ]| the expression ~~ and bolted it, as you saw, without winking.
214:014,28[E  ]| She is very strong."
214:014,29[B  ]| "Dear me!" 
214:014,29['  ]| said Newman, divided between relish
214:014,30['  ]| and compassion. 
214:014,30[B  ]| "I do not care a straw for$4$ her fe^te; I
214:014,31[B  ]| am willing to$9$ take the will$0$ for$4$ the deed."
214:014,32[E  ]| "No$7$, no$7$,"
214:014,32['  ]| said Valentin, with a little inconsequent
214:014,33['  ]| touch of family pride. 
214:014,33[E  ]| "The thing will$1$ be done now,
214:014,34[E  ]| and done handsomely."
215:015,01['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde's announcement of the
215:015,02['  ]| secession of Mademoiselle*Nioche from her father's domicile,
215:015,03['  ]| and his irreverent reflections upon$4$ the attitude of
215:015,04['  ]| this anxious parent in$4$ so$5#1$ grave a catastrophe, received a 
215:015,05['  ]| practical commentary in$4$ the fact that$3$ M%*Nioche was
215:015,06['  ]| slow to$9$ seek another interview with his late pupil. It
215:015,07['  ]| had cost Newman some disgust to$9$ be forced to$9$ assent to$4$ 
215:015,08['  ]| Valentin's somewhat cynical interpretation of the old
215:015,09['  ]| man's philosophy, and, though circumstances seemed to$9$
215:015,10['  ]| indicate that$3$ he had not given himself up$5$ to$4$ a noble
215:015,11['  ]| despair, Newman thought it very possible 
214:015,11@b   | he might be
215:015,12@b   | suffering more keenly than was apparent. M%*Nioche
215:015,13@b   | had been in$4$ the habit of paying him a respectful little
215:015,14@b   | visit every two or three weeks, and his absence might
215:015,15@b   | be a proof quite as much of extreme depression as of a
215:015,16@b   | desire to$9$ conceal the success with which$6#1$ he had patched
215:015,17@b   | up$5$ his sorrow. 
214:015,17['  ]| Newman presently learned from Valentin
215:015,18['  ]| several details touching this new phase of Mademoiselle*Noe=mie's
215:015,19['  ]| career.
215:015,20[E  ]| "I told you she was remarkable," 
215:015,20['  ]| this unshrinking
215:015,21['  ]| observer declared, 
215:015,21[E  ]| "and the way she has managed this
215:015,22[E  ]| performance proves it. She has had other chances, but
215:015,23[E  ]| she was resolved to$9$ take none but the best. She did you
215:015,24[E  ]| the honour to$9$ think for$4$ a while that$3$ you might be such a
215:015,25[E  ]| chance. You were not; so$3$ she gathered up$5$ her patience
215:015,26[E  ]| and waited a while longer. At last her occasion came
215:015,27[E  ]| along, and she made her move with her eyes wide open.
215:015,28[E  ]| I am very sure she had no$2$ innocence to$9$ lose, but she
215:015,29[E  ]| had all her respectability. Dubious little damsel as you
215:015,30[E  ]| thought her, she had kept a firm hold of that$6#2$; nothing
215:015,31[E  ]| could be proved against her, and she was determined not
215:015,32[E  ]| to$9$ let her reputation go till she had got her equivalent.
215:015,33[E  ]| About her equivalent she had high ideas. Apparently
215:016,01[E  ]| her ideal has been satisfied. It is fifty years old, bald-headed,
215:016,02[E  ]| and deaf, but it is very easy about money."
215:016,03[B  ]| "And where in$4$ the world," 
215:016,03['  ]| asked Newman, 
215:016,03[B  ]| "did you
215:016,04[B  ]| pick up$5$ this valuable information?"
215:016,05[E  ]| "In$4$ conversation. Remember my frivolous habits.
215:016,06[E  ]| In$4$ conversation with a young woman engaged in$4$ the
215:016,07[E  ]| humble trade of glove-cleaner, who$6#1$ keeps a small shop in$4$
215:016,08[E  ]| the Rue*St%*Roch. M%*Nioche lives in$4$ the same house,
215:016,09[E  ]| up$4$ six pair of stairs, across the court, in$5$ and out of whose
215:016,10[E  ]| ill-swept doorway Miss*Noe=mie has been flitting for$4$ the
215:016,11[E  ]| last five years. The little glove-cleaner was an old
215:016,12[E  ]| acquaintance; she used to$9$ be the friend of a friend of
215:016,13[E  ]| mine, who$6#1$ has married and dropped such friends. I
215:016,14[E  ]| often saw her in$4$ his society. As soon as I espied her
215:016,15[E  ]| behind her clear little window-pane, I recollected her. I
215:016,16[E  ]| had on$4$ a spotlessly fresh pair of gloves, but I went in$5$
215:016,17[E  ]| and held up$5$ my hands, and said to$4$ her: 
215:016,17@e   | ""Dear Mademoiselle,
215:016,18@e   | what will$1$ you ask me for$4$ cleaning these?"" 
215:016,18@v   | ""Dear
215:016,19@v   | Count,"" 
215:016,19[E  ]| she answered immediately, 
215:016,19@v   | ""I will$1$ clean them for$4$
215:016,20@v   | you for$4$ nothing."" 
215:016,20[E  ]| She had instantly recognised me, and
215:016,21[E  ]| I had to$9$ hear her history for$4$ the last six years. But
215:016,22[E  ]| after that$6#2$, I put her upon$4$ that$6#2$ of her neighbours. She
215:016,23[E  ]| knows and admires Noe=mie, and she told me what I have
215:016,24[E  ]| just repeated."
215:016,25['  ]| A month elapsed without M%*Nioche reappearing, and
215:016,26['  ]| Newman, who$6#1$ every morning read two or three suicides
215:016,27['  ]| in$4$ the \Figaro\, began to$9$ suspect that$3$, mortification proving
215:016,28['  ]| stubborn, he had sought a balm for$4$ his wounded
215:016,29['  ]| pride in$4$ the waters of the Seine. He had a note of M%*Nioche's
215:016,30['  ]| address in$4$ his pocket-book, and finding himself
215:016,31['  ]| one day in$4$ the \quartier\, he determined, in$4$ so$5#1$ far as he
215:016,32['  ]| might, to$9$ clear up$5$ his doubts. He repaired to$4$ the house
215:016,33['  ]| in$4$ the Rue*St%*Roch which$6#1$ bore the recorded number,
215:016,34['  ]| and observed in$4$ a neighbouring basement, behind a dangling
215:016,35['  ]| row of neatly inflated gloves, the attentive physiognomy
215:016,36['  ]| of Bellegarde's informant ~~ a sallow person in$4$ a
215:016,37['  ]| dressing-gown ~~ peering into the street as if she were
215:017,01['  ]| expecting that$6#2$ amiable nobleman to$9$ pass again. But it
215:017,02['  ]| was not to$4$ her that$6#1$ Newman applied; he simply asked
215:017,03['  ]| of the portress if M%*Nioche were at home. The portress
215:017,04['  ]| replied, as the portress invariably replies, that$3$ 
215:017,04@v   | her lodger
215:017,05@v   | had gone out barely three minutes before; 
215:017,05['  ]| but then,
215:017,06['  ]| through the little square hole of her lodge-window taking
215:017,07['  ]| the measure of Newman's fortunes, and seeing them, by$4$
215:017,08['  ]| an unspecified process, refresh the dry places of servitude
215:017,09['  ]| to$4$ occupants of fifth floors on$4$ courts, she added that$3$ 
215:017,09@v   | M%*Nioche 
215:017,10@v   | would have had just time to$9$ reach the Cafe=*de*la*Patrie,
215:017,11@v   | round the second corner to$4$ the left, at which$6#1$
215:017,12@v   | establishment he regularly spent his afternoons. 
215:017,12['  ]| Newman
215:017,13['  ]| thanked her for$4$ the information, took the second
215:017,14['  ]| turning to$4$ the left, and arrived at the Cafe=*de*la*Patrie.
215:017,15['  ]| He felt a momentary hesitation to$9$ go in$5$; 
215:017,15@b   | was it not
215:017,16@b   | rather mean to$9$ "follow up$5$" poor old Nioche at that$6#2$ rate?
215:017,17['  ]| But there passed across his vision an image of a haggard
215:017,18['  ]| little septuagenarian taking measured sips of a glass
215:017,19['  ]| of sugar and water, and finding them quite impotent
215:017,20['  ]| to$9$ sweeten his desolation. He opened the door and
215:017,21['  ]| entered, perceiving nothing at first but a dense cloud of
215:017,22['  ]| tobacco smoke. Across this, however, in$4$ a corner, he
215:017,23['  ]| presently descried the figure of M%*Nioche, stirring the
215:017,24['  ]| contents of a deep glass, with a lady seated in$4$ front of
215:017,25['  ]| him. The lady's back was turned to$4$ Newman, but M%*Nioche
215:017,26['  ]| very soon perceived and recognised his visitor.
215:017,27['  ]| Newman had gone toward him, and the old man rose
215:017,28['  ]| slowly, gazing at him with a more blighted expression
215:017,29['  ]| even than usual.
215:017,30[B  ]| "If you are drinking hot punch," 
215:017,30['  ]| said Newman, 
215:017,30[B  ]| "I
215:017,31[B  ]| suppose you are not dead. That$6#2$ is all right. Do not
215:017,32[B  ]| move."
215:017,33['  ]| M%*Nioche stood staring with a fallen jaw, not daring
215:017,34['  ]| to$9$ put out his hand. The lady who$6#1$ sat facing him
215:017,35['  ]| turned round in$4$ her place and glanced upward with a
215:017,36['  ]| spirited toss of her head, displaying the agreeable features
215:017,37['  ]| of his daughter. She looked at Newman, sharply, to$9$ see
215:018,01['  ]| how he was looking at her, then ~~ I do not know what
215:018,02['  ]| she discovered ~~ she said graciously: 
215:018,02[G  ]| "How d'ye do,
215:018,03[G  ]| Monsieur? will$1$ not you come into our little corner?"
215:018,04[F  ]| "Did you come ~~ did you come after \me\?" 
215:018,04['  ]| asked
215:018,05['  ]| M%*Nioche, very softly.
215:018,06[B  ]| "I went to$4$ your house to$9$ see what had become of
215:018,07[B  ]| you. I thought you might be sick," 
215:018,07['  ]| said Newman.
215:018,08[F  ]| "It is very good of you, as always," 
215:018,08['  ]| said the old man.
215:018,09[F  ]| "No$7$, I am not well. Yes, I am \seek\."
215:018,10[G  ]| "Ask Monsieur to$9$ sit down," 
215:018,10['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Nioche.
215:018,11[G  ]| "Garc^on, bring a chair."
215:018,12[F  ]| "Will$1$ you do us the honour to$9$ \seat\?" 
215:018,12['  ]| said M%*Nioche,
215:018,13['  ]| timorously, and with a double foreigness of
215:018,14['  ]| accent.
215:018,15['  ]| Newman said to$4$ himself that$3$ 
215:018,15@b   | he had better see the 
215:018,16@b   | thing out, 
215:018,16['  ]| and he took a chair at the end of the table,
215:018,17['  ]| with Mademoiselle*Nioche on$4$ his left and her father on$4$
215:018,18['  ]| the other side. 
215:018,18[G  ]| "You will$1$ take something, of course,"
215:018,19['  ]| said Miss*Noe=mie, who$6#1$ was sipping a glass of madeira.
215:018,20['  ]| Newman said that$3$ 
215:018,20@b   | he believed not, 
215:018,20['  ]| and then she turned
215:018,21['  ]| to$4$ her papa with a smile. 
215:018,21[G  ]| "What an honour, eh? he
215:018,22[G  ]| has come only for$4$ us." 
215:018,22['  ]| M%*Nioche drained his pungent
215:018,23['  ]| glass at a long draught, and looked out from eyes more
215:018,24['  ]| lachrymose in$4$ consequence. 
215:018,24[G  ]| "But you did not come for$4$
215:018,25[G  ]| me, eh?" 
215:018,25['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie went on$5$. 
215:018,25[G  ]| "You did not
215:018,26[G  ]| expect to$9$ find me here?"
215:018,27['  ]| Newman observed the change in$4$ her appearance. 
215:018,27@b   | She
215:018,28@b   | was very elegant, and prettier than before; she looked a
215:018,29@b   | year or two older, and it was noticeable that$3$, to$4$ the eye,
215:018,30@b   | she had only gained in$4$ respectability. She looked
215:018,31@b   | "lady-like." She was dressed in$4$ quiet colours, and she
215:018,32@b   | wore her expensively unobtrusive toilet with a grace that$6#1$
215:018,33@b   | might have come from years of practice. 
215:018,33['  ]| Her present
215:018,34['  ]| self-possession and \aplomb\ struck Newman as really infernal,
215:018,35['  ]| and he inclined to$9$ agree with Valentin*de*Bellegarde
215:018,36['  ]| that$3$ 
215:018,36@b   | the young lady was very remarkable. 
215:018,36[B  ]| "No$7$,
215:018,37[B  ]| to$9$ tell the truth, I did not come for$4$ you," 
215:018,37['  ]| he said, 
215:018,37[B  ]| "and
215:019,01[B  ]| I did not expect to$9$ find you. I was told," 
215:019,01['  ]| he added in$4$ a
215:019,02['  ]| moment, 
215:019,02[B  ]| "that$3$ you had left your father."
215:019,03[G  ]| "\9Quelle 9horreur\!" 
215:019,03['  ]| cried Mademoiselle*Nioche, with
215:019,04['  ]| a smile. 
215:019,04[G  ]| "Does one leave one's father? You have the
215:019,05[G  ]| proof of the contrary."
215:019,06[B  ]| "Yes, convincing proof," 
215:019,06['  ]| said Newman, glancing at
215:019,07['  ]| M%*Nioche. The old man caught his glance obliquely,
215:019,08['  ]| with his faded deprecating eye, and then, lifting his
215:019,09['  ]| empty glass, pretended to$9$ drink again.
215:019,10[G  ]| "Who$6#2$ told you that$6#2$?" 
215:019,10['  ]| Noe=mie demanded. 
215:019,10[G  ]| "I
215:019,11[G  ]| know very well. It was M%*de*Bellegarde. Why do not
215:019,12[G  ]| you say yes? You are not polite."
215:019,13[B  ]| "I am embarrassed," 
215:109,13['  ]| said Newman.
215:019,14[G  ]| "I set you a better example. I know M%*de*Bellegarde
215:019,15[G  ]| told you. He knows a great deal about me ~~ or
215:019,16[G  ]| he thinks he does. He has taken a great deal of trouble
215:019,17[G  ]| to$9$ find out, but half of it is not true. In$4$ the first place,
215:019,18[G  ]| I have not left my father; I am much too fond of him.
215:019,19[G  ]| Is not it so$5#2$, little father? M%*de*Bellegarde is a charming
215:019,20[G  ]| young man; it is impossible to$9$ be cleverer. I know a
215:019,21[G  ]| good deal about him too; you can tell him that$6#2$ when
215:019,22[G  ]| you next see him."
215:019,23[B  ]| "No$7$," 
215:019,23['  ]| said Newman, with a sturdy grin; 
215:019,23[B  ]| "I will$1$ not
215:019,24[B  ]| carry any messages for$4$ you."
215:019,25[G  ]| "Just as you please," 
215:019,25['  ]| said Mademoiselle*Nioche. 
215:019,25[G  ]| "I
215:019,26[G  ]| do not depend upon$4$ you, nor does M%*de*Bellegarde
215:019,27[G  ]| either. He is very much interested in$4$ me; he can be
215:019,28[G  ]| left to$4$ his own devices. He is a contrast to$4$ you."
215:019,29[B  ]| "Oh, he is a great contrast to$4$ me, I have no$2$ doubt,"
215:019,30['  ]| said Newman. 
215:019,30[B  ]| "But I do not exactly know how you
215:019,31[B  ]| mean it."
215:019,32[G  ]| "I mean it in$4$ this way. First of all, he never offered
215:019,33[G  ]| to$9$ help me to$4$ a \dot\ and a husband." 
215:019,33['  ]| And Mademoiselle*Nioche
215:019,34['  ]| paused, smiling. 
215:019,34[G  ]| "I will$1$ not say that$6#2$ is in$4$ his
215:019,35[G  ]| favour, for$3$ I do you justice. What led you, by$4$ the way,
215:019,36[G  ]| to$9$ make me such a queer offer? You did not care for$4$
215:019,37[G  ]| me."
215:020,01[B  ]| "Oh yes, I did," 
215:020,01['  ]| said Newman.
215:020,02[G  ]| "How so$5#2$?"
215:020,03[B  ]| "It would have given me real pleasure to$9$ see you
215:020,04[B  ]| married to$4$ a respectable young fellow."
215:020,05[G  ]| "With six thousand francs of income!" 
215:020,05['  ]| cried Mademoiselle*Nioche.
215:020,06[G  ]| "Do you call that$6#2$ caring for$4$ me?
215:020,07[G  ]| I am afraid you know little about women. You were not
215:020,08[G  ]| \galant\; you were not what you might have been."
215:020,09['  ]| Newman flushed, a trifle fiercely. 
215:020,09[B  ]| "Come!" 
215:020,09['  ]| he exclaimed,
215:020,10[B  ]| "that$6#2$ is rather strong. I had no$2$ idea I had
215:020,11[B  ]| been so$5#1$ shabby."
215:020,12['  ]| Mademoiselle*Nioche smiled as she took up$5$ her muff.
215:020,13[G  ]| "It is something, at any rate, to$9$ have made you angry."
215:020,14['  ]| Her father had leaned both his elbows on$4$ the table,
215:020,15['  ]| and his head, bent forward, was supported in$4$ his hands,
215:020,16['  ]| the thin white fingers of which$6#1$ were pressed over his ears.
215:020,17['  ]| In$4$ this position he was staring fixedly at the bottom of
215:020,18['  ]| his empty glass, and Newman supposed he was not hearing.
215:020,19['  ]| Mademoiselle*Noe=mie buttoned her furred jacket
215:020,20['  ]| and pushed back her chair, casting a glance charged with
215:020,21['  ]| the consciousness of an expensive appearance first down
215:020,22['  ]| over her flounces and then up$5$ at Newman.
215:020,23[B  ]| "You had better have remained an honest girl,"
215:020,24['  ]| Newman said, quietly.
215:020,25['  ]| M%*Nioche continued to$9$ stare at the bottom of his
215:020,26['  ]| glass, and his daughter got up$5$, still bravely smiling.
215:020,27[G  ]| "You mean that$3$ I look so$5#1$ much like$4$ one? That$6#2$ is more
215:020,28[G  ]| than most women do nowadays. Do not judge me yet
215:020,29[G  ]| a while," 
215:020,29['  ]| she added. 
215:020,29[G  ]| "I mean to$9$ succeed; that$6#2$ is what
215:020,30[G  ]| I mean to$9$ do. I leave you; I do not mean to$9$ be seen in$4$
215:020,31[G  ]| cafe=s, for$4$ one thing. I can not think what you want of
215:020,32[G  ]| my poor father; he is very comfortable now. It is not
215:020,33[G  ]| his fault either. \9Au*revoir\, little father," 
215:020,33['  ]| And she
215:020,34['  ]| tapped the old man on$4$ the head with her muff. Then
215:020,35['  ]| she stopped a minute, looking at Newman. 
215:020,35[G  ]| "Tell M%*de*Bellegarde,
215:020,36[G  ]| when he wants news of me, to$9$ come and
215:020,37[G  ]| get it from \me\!" 
215:020,37['  ]| And she turned and departed, the
215:021,01['  ]| white-aproned waiter, with a bow, holding the door wide
215:021,02['  ]| open for$4$ her.
215:021,03['  ]| M%*Nioche sat motionless, and Newman hardly knew
215:021,04['  ]| what to$9$ say to$4$ him. 
215:021,04@b   | The old man looked dismally
215:021,05@b   | foolish. 
215:021,05[B  ]| "So$3$ you determined not to$9$ shoot her, after
215:021,06[B  ]| all," 
215:021,06['  ]| Newman said presently.
215:021,07['  ]| M%*Nioche, without moving, raised his eyes and gave
215:021,08['  ]| him a long peculiar look. It seemed to$9$ confess everything,
215:021,09['  ]| and yet not to$9$ ask for$4$ pity, nor to$9$ pretend, on$4$ the
215:021,10['  ]| other hand, to$4$ a rugged ability to$9$ do without it. It
215:021,11['  ]| might have expressed the state of mind of an innocuous
215:021,12['  ]| insect, flat in$4$ shape, and conscious of the impending
215:021,13['  ]| pressure of a boot-sole, and reflecting that$3$ he was perhaps
215:021,14['  ]| too flat to$9$ be crushed. M%*Nioche's gaze was a
215:021,15['  ]| profession of moral flatness. 
215:021,15[F  ]| "You despise me terribly,"
215:021,16['  ]| he said, in$4$ the weakest possible voice.
215:021,17[B  ]| "Oh no$7$," 
215:021,17['  ]| said Newman; 
215:021,17[B  ]| "it is none of my business.
215:021,18[B  ]| It is a good plan to$9$ take things easily."
215:021,19[F  ]| "I made you too many fine speeches," 
215:021,19['  ]| M%*Nioche
215:021,20['  ]| added. 
215:021,20[F  ]| "I meant them at the time."
215:021,21[B  ]| "I am sure I am very glad you did not shoot her," 
215:021,21['  ]| said
215:021,22['  ]| Newman. 
215:021,22[B  ]| "I was afraid you might have shot yourself.
215:021,23[B  ]| That$6#2$ is why I came to$9$ look you up$5$." 
215:021,23['  ]| And he began to$9$
215:021,24['  ]| button his coat.
215:021,25[F  ]| "Neither," 
215:021,25['  ]| said M%*Nioche. 
215:021,25[F  ]| "You despise me, and
215:021,26[F  ]| I can not explain to$4$ you. I hoped I should not see you
215:021,27[F  ]| again."
215:021,28[B  ]| "Why, that$6#2$ is rather shabby," 
215:021,28['  ]| said Newman. 
215:021,28[B  ]| "You
215:021,29[B  ]| should not drop your friends that$6#2$ way. Besides, the last
215:021,30[B  ]| time you came to$9$ see me I thought you particularly jolly."
215:021,31[F  ]| "Yes, I remember," 
215:021,31['  ]| said M%*Nioche, musingly; 
215:021,31[F  ]| "I
215:021,32[F  ]| was in$4$ a fever. I did not know what I said, what I did.
215:021,33[F  ]| It was delirium."
215:021,34[B  ]| "Ah well, you are quieter now."
215:021,35['  ]| M%*Nioche was silent a moment. 
215:021,35[F  ]| "As quiet as the
215:021,36['  ]| grave," 
215:021,36['  ]| he whispered, softly.
215:021,37[B  ]| "Are you very unhappy?" 
215:021,37['  ]| asked Newman.
215:022,01['  ]| M%*Nioche rubbed his forehead slowly, and even
215:022,02['  ]| pushed back his wig a little, looking askance at his
215:022,03['  ]| empty glass. 
215:022,03[F  ]| "Yes ~~ yes. But that$6#2$ is an old story. I
215:022,04[F  ]| have always been unhappy. My daughter does what
215:022,05[F  ]| she will$1$ with me. I take what she gives me, good
215:022,06[F  ]| or bad. I have no$2$ spirit, and when you have no$2$
215:022,07[F  ]| spirit you must keep quiet. I sha' not trouble you any
215:022,08[F  ]| more."
215:022,09[B  ]| "Well," 
215:022,09['  ]| said Newman, rather disgusted at the smooth
215:022,10['  ]| operation of the old man's philosophy, 
215:022,10[B  ]| "that$6#2$ is as you
215:022,11[B  ]| please."
215:022,12['  ]| M%*Nioche seemed to$9$ have been prepared to$9$ be despised,
215:022,13['  ]| but nevertheless he made a feeble movement of
215:022,14['  ]| appeal from Newman's faint praise. 
215:022,14[F  ]| "After all," 
215:022,14['  ]| he
215:022,15['  ]| said, 
215:022,15[F  ]| "she is my daughter, and I can still look after her.
215:022,16[F  ]| If she will$1$ do wrong, why she will$1$. But there are many
215:022,17[F  ]| different paths, there are degrees. I can give her the
215:022,18[F  ]| benefit ~~ give her the benefit" 
215:022,18['  ]| ~~ and M%*Nioche paused,
215:022,19['  ]| staring vaguely at Newman, who$6#1$ began to$9$ suspect that$3$
215:022,20['  ]| his brain had softened ~~ 
215:022,20[F  ]| "the benefit of my experience,"
215:022,21['  ]| M%*Nioche added.
215:022,22[B  ]| "Your experience?" 
215:022,22['  ]| inquired Newman, both amused
215:022,23['  ]| and amazed.
215:022,24[F  ]| "My experience of business," 
215:022,24['  ]| said M%*Nioche, gravely.
215:022,25[B  ]| "Ah yes," 
215:022,25['  ]| said Newman, laughing, 
215:022,25[B  ]| "that$6#2$ will$1$ be a
215:022,26[B  ]| great advantage to$4$ her!" 
215:022,26['  ]| And then he said good-bye,
215:022,27['  ]| and offered the poor foolish old man his hand.
215:022,28['  ]| M%*Nioche took it and leaned back against the wall,
215:022,29['  ]| holding it a moment and looking up$5$ at him. 
215:022,29[F  ]| "I suppose
215:022,30[F  ]| you think my wits are going," 
215:022,30['  ]| he said. 
215:022,30[F  ]| "Very
215:022,31[F  ]| likely; I have always a pain in$4$ my head. That$6#2$ is why
215:022,32[F  ]| I can not explain, I can not tell you. And she is so$5#1$ strong,
215:022,33[F  ]| she makes me walk as she will$1$, anywhere! But there is
215:022,34[F  ]| this ~~ there is this." 
215:022,34['  ]| And he stopped, still staring up$5$ at
215:022,35['  ]| Newman. His little white eyes expanded and glittered
215:022,36['  ]| for$4$ a moment like$4$ those of a cat in$4$ the dark. 
215:022,36[F  ]| "It is not
215:022,37[F  ]| as it seems. I have not forgiven her. Oh no$7$!"
215:023,01[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is right; do not," 
215:023,01['  ]| said Newman. 
215:023,01[B  ]| "She is a bad
215:023,02[B  ]| case."
215:023,03[F  ]| "It is horrible, it is terrible," 
215:023,03['  ]| said M%*Nioche; 
215;023,03[F  ]| "but
215:023,04[F  ]| do you want to$9$ know the truth? I hate her! I take
215:023,05[F  ]| what she gives me, and I hate her more. To-day she
215:023,06[F  ]| brought me three hundred francs; they are here in$4$ my
215:023,07[F  ]| waistcoat pocket. Now I hate her almost cruelly. No$7$,
215:023,08[F  ]| I have not forgiven her."
215:023,09[B  ]| "Why did you accept the money?" 
215:023,09['  ]| Newman asked.
215:023,10[F  ]| "If I had not," 
215:023,10['  ]| said M%*Nioche, 
215:023,10[F  ]| "I should have hated
215:023,11[F  ]| her still more. That$6#2$ is what misery is. No$7$, I have not
215:023,12[F  ]| forgiven her."
215:023,13[B  ]| "Take care you do not hurt her!" 
215:023,13['  ]| said Newman,
215:023,14['  ]| laughing again. And with this he took his leave. As
215:023,15['  ]| he passed along the glazed side of the cafe=, on$4$ reaching the
215:023,16['  ]| street, he saw the old man motioning the waiter, with a
215:023,17['  ]| melancholy gesture, to$9$ replenish his glass.
215:023,18['  ]| One day, a week after his visit to$4$ the Cafe=*de*la*Patrie,
215:023,19['  ]| he called upon$4$ Valentin*de*Bellegarde, and by$4$
215:023,20['  ]| good fortune found him at home. Newman spoke of
215:023,21['  ]| his interview with M%*Nioche and his daughter, and said
215:023,22@b   | he was afraid Valentin had judged the old man correctly.
215:023,23@b   | He had found the couple hobnobbing together in$4$ amity;
215:023,24@b   | the old gentleman's rigour was purely theoretic. 
215:023,24['  ]| Newman
215:023,25['  ]| confessed that$3$ 
215:023,25@b   | he was disappointed; he should have
215:023,26@b   | expected to$9$ see M%*Nioche take high ground.
215:023,27[E  ]| "High ground, my dear fellow," 
215:023,27['  ]| said Valentin, laughing;
215:023,28[E  ]| "there is no$2$ high ground for$4$ him to$9$ take. The
215:023,29[E  ]| only perceptible eminence in$4$ M%*Nioche's horizon is
215:023,30[E  ]| Montmartre, which$6#1$ is not an edifying quarter. You
215:023,31[E  ]| can not go mountaineering in$4$ a flat country."
215:023,32[B  ]| "He remarked, indeed," 
215:023,32['  ]| said Newman, 
215:023,32[B  ]| "that$3$ he had
215:023,33[B  ]| not forgiven her. But she will$1$ never find it out."
215:023,34[E  ]| "We must do him the justice to$9$ suppose he does not
215:023,35[E  ]| like$1$ the thing," 
215:023,35['  ]| Valentin rejoined. 
215:023,35[E  ]| "Mademoiselle*Nioche
215:023,36[E  ]| is like$4$ the great artists whose biographies we
215:023,37[E  ]| read, who$6#1$ at the beginning of their career have suffered
215:024,01[E  ]| opposition in$4$ the domestic circle. Their vocation has
215:024,02[E  ]| not been recognised by$4$ their families, but the world
215:024,03[E  ]| has done it justice. Mademoiselle*Nioche has a vocation."
215:024,04[E  ]| 
215:024,05[B  ]| "Oh, come," 
215:024,05['  ]| said Newman, impatiently, 
215:024,05[B  ]| "you take
215:024,06[B  ]| the little baggage too seriously."
215:024,07[E  ]| "I know I do; but when one has nothing to$9$ think
215:024,08[E  ]| about, one must think of little baggages. I suppose it
215:024,09[E  ]| is better to$9$ be serious about light things than not to$9$ be
215:024,10[E  ]| serious at all. This little baggage entertains me."
215:024,11[B  ]| "Oh, she has discovered that$6#2$. She knows you have
215:024,12[B  ]| been hunting her up$5$ and asking questions about her.
215:024,13[B  ]| She is very much tickled by$4$ it. That$6#2$ is rather annoying."
215:024,14[E  ]| "Annoying, my dear fellow," 
215:024,14['  ]| laughed Valentin; 
215:024,14[E  ]| "not
215:024,15[E  ]| the least!"
215:024,16[B  ]| "Hanged if I should want to$9$ have a greedy little
215:024,17[B  ]| adventuress like$4$ that$6#2$ know I was giving myself such
215:024,18[B  ]| pains about her!" 
215:024,18['  ]| said Newman.
215:024,19[E  ]| "A pretty woman is always worth one's pains,"
215:024,20['  ]| objected Valentin. 
215:024,20[E  ]| "Mademoiselle*Nioche is welcome
215:024,21[E  ]| to$9$ be tickled by$4$ my curiosity, and to$9$ know that$3$ I am
215:024,22[E  ]| tickled that$3$ she is tickled. She is not so$5#1$ much tickled,
215:024,23[E  ]| by$4$ the way."
215:024,24[B  ]| "You had better go and tell her," 
215:024,24['  ]| Newman rejoined.
215:024,25[B  ]| "She gave me a message for$4$ you of some such drift."
215:024,26[E  ]| "Bless your quiet imagination," 
215:024,26['  ]| said Valentin. 
215:024,26[E  ]| "I
215:024,27[E  ]| have been to$9$ see her ~~ three times in$4$ five days. She is
215:024,28[E  ]| a charming hostess; we talk of Shakespeare and the
215:024,29[E  ]| musical glasses. She is extremely clever, and a very
215:024,30[E  ]| curious type; not at all coarse or wanting to$9$ be coarse ~
215:024,31[E  ]| determined not to$9$ be. She means to$9$ take very good
215:024,32[E  ]| care of herself. She is extremely perfect; she is as hard
215:024,33[E  ]| and clear-cut as some little figure of a sea-nymph in$4$ an
215:024,34[E  ]| antique intaglio, and I will$1$ warrant that$3$ she has not a
215:024,35[E  ]| grain more of sentiment or heart than if she were scooped
215:024,36[E  ]| out of a big amethyst. You can not scratch her even with
215:024,37[E  ]| a diamond. Extremely pretty ~~ really, when you know
215:025,01[E  ]| her, she is wonderfully pretty ~~ intelligent, determined,
215:025,02[E  ]| ambitious, unscrupulous, capable of looking at a man
215:025,03[E  ]| strangled without changing colour, she is, upon$4$ my
215:025,04[E  ]| honour, extremely entertaining."
215:025,05[B  ]| "It is a fine list of attractions," 
215:025,05['  ]| said Newman; 
215:025,05[B  ]| "they
215:025,06[B  ]| would serve as a police-detective's description of a
215:025,07[B  ]| favourite criminal. I should sum them up$5$ by$4$ another
215:025,08[B  ]| word than ""entertaining."" "
215:025,09[E  ]| "Why, that$6#2$ is just the word to$9$ use. I do not say she
215:025,10[E  ]| is laudable or lovable. I do not want her as my wife or
215:025,11[E  ]| my sister. But she is a very curious and ingenious piece
215:025,12[E  ]| of machinery; I like$1$ to$9$ see it in$4$ operation."
215:025,13[B  ]| "Well, I have seen some very curious machines, too,"
215:025,14['  ]| said Newman; 
215:025,14[B  ]| "and once, in$4$ a needle factory, I saw
215:025,15[B  ]| a gentleman from the city, who$6#1$ had stepped too near
215:025,16[B  ]| one of them, picked up$5$ as neatly as if he had been
215:025,17[B  ]| prodded by$4$ a fork, swallowed down straight, and ground
215:025,18[B  ]| into small pieces."
215:025,19['  ]| Re-entering his domicile, late in$4$ the evening, three
215:025,20['  ]| days after Madame*de*Bellegarde had made her bargain
215:025,21['  ]| with him ~~ the expression is sufficiently correct ~~ touching
215:025,22['  ]| the entertainment at which$6#1$ she was to$9$ present him to$4$
215:025,23['  ]| the world, he found on$4$ his table a card of goodly
215:025,24['  ]| dimensions bearing an announcement that$3$ this lady
215:025,25['  ]| would be at home on$4$ the 27th of the month, at ten
215:025,26['  ]| o'clock in$4$ the evening. He stuck it into the frame of
215:025,27['  ]| his mirror and eyed it with some complacency; it seemed
215:025,28@b   | an agreeable emblem of triumph, documentary evidence
215:025,29@b   | that$3$ his prize was gained. 
215:025,29['  ]| Stretched out on$4$ a chair, he
215:025,30['  ]| was looking at it lovingly, when Valentin*de*Bellegarde
215:025,31['  ]| was shown into the room. Valentin's glance presently
215:025,32['  ]| followed the direction of Newman's, and he perceived
215:025,33['  ]| his mother's invitation.
215:025,34[E  ]| "And what have they put into the corner?" 
215:025,34['  ]| he
215:025,35['  ]| asked. 
215:025,35[E  ]| "Not the customary ""music,"" ""dancing,"" or
215:025,36[E  ]| ""\9tableaux*vivants\""? They ought at least to$9$ put ""An
215:025,37[E  ]| American."" "
215:026,01[B  ]| "Oh, there are to$9$ be several of us," 
215:026,01['  ]| said Newman.
215:026,02[B  ]| "Mrs%*Tristram told me to-day that$3$ she had received a
215:026,03[B  ]| card and sent an acceptance."
215:026,04[E  ]| "Ah, then, with Mrs%*Tristram and her husband you
215:026,05[E  ]| will$1$ have support. My mother might have put on$4$ her
215:026,06[E  ]| card ""Three Americans."" But I suspect you will$1$ not
215:026,07[E  ]| lack amusement. You will$1$ see a great many of the
215:026,08[E  ]| best people in$4$ France. I mean the long pedigrees and
215:026,09[E  ]| the high noses, and all that$6#2$. Some of them are awful
215:026,10[E  ]| idiots; I advise you to$9$ take them up$5$ cautiously."
215:026,11[B  ]| "Oh, I guess I shall like$1$ them," 
215:026,11['  ]| said Newman. 
215:026,11[B  ]| "I
215:026,12[B  ]| am prepared to$9$ like$1$ every*one and everything in$4$ these
215:026,13[B  ]| days; I am in$4$ high good-humour."
215:026,14['  ]| Valentin looked at him a moment in$4$ silence, and then
215:026,15['  ]| dropped himself into a chair with an unwonted air of
215:026,16['  ]| weariness. 
215:026,16[E  ]| "Happy man!" 
215:026,16['  ]| he said, with a sigh. 
215:026,16[E  ]| "Take
215:026,17[E  ]| care you do not become offensive."
215:026,18[B  ]| "If any*one chooses to$9$ take offence, he may. I have
215:026,19[B  ]| a good conscience," 
215:026,19['  ]| said Newman.
215:026,20[E  ]| "So$3$ you are really in$4$ love with my sister?"
215:026,21[B  ]| "Yes, sir!" 
215:026,21['  ]| said Newman, after a pause.
215:026,22[E  ]| "And she also?"
215:026,23[B  ]| "I guess she likes me," 
215:026,23['  ]| said Newman.
215:026,24[E  ]| "What is the witchcraft you have used?" 
215:026,24['  ]| Valentin
215:026,25['  ]| asked. 
215:026,25[E  ]| "How do \you\ make love?"
215:026,26[B  ]| "Oh, I have not any general rules," 
215:026,26['  ]| said Newman.
215:026,27[B  ]| "In$4$ any way that$6#1$ seems acceptable."
215:026,28[E  ]| "I suspect that$3$, if one knew it," 
215:026,28['  ]| said Valentin, laughing,
215:026,29[E  ]| "you are a terrible customer. You walk in$4$ seven-league
215:026,30[E  ]| boots."
215:026,31[B  ]| "There is something the matter with you to-night,"
215:026,32['  ]| Newman said, in$4$ response to$4$ this. 
215:026,32[B  ]| "You are vicious.
215:026,33[B  ]| Spare me all discordant sounds until after my marriage.
215:026,34[B  ]| Then, when I have settled down for$4$ life, I shall be
215:026,35[B  ]| better able to$9$ take things as they come."
215:026,36[E  ]| "And when does your marriage take place?"
215:026,37[B  ]| "About six weeks hence."
215:027,01['  ]| Valentin was silent a while, and then he said: 
215:027,01[E  ]| "And
215:027,02[E  ]| you feel very confident about the future?"
215:027,03[B  ]| "Confident. I knew what I wanted, exactly, and I
215:027,04[B  ]| know what I have got."
215:027,05[E  ]| "You are sure you are going to$9$ be happy?"
215:027,06[B  ]| "Sure?" 
215:027,06['  ]| said Newman. 
215:027,06[B  ]| "So$5#1$ foolish a question deserves
215:027,07[B  ]| a foolish answer. Yes!"
215:027,08[E  ]| "You are not afraid of anything?"
215:027,09[B  ]| "What should I be afraid of? You can not hurt me
215:027,10[B  ]| unless you kill me by$4$ some violent means. That$6#2$ I
215:027,11[B  ]| should indeed consider a tremendous sell. I want to$9$
215:027,12[B  ]| live, and I mean to$9$ live. I can not die of illness, I am too
215:027,13[B  ]| ridiculously tough; and the time for$4$ dying of old age
215:027,14[B  ]| will$1$ not come round yet a while. I can not lose my wife,
215:027,15[B  ]| I shall take too good care of her. I may lose my money,
215:027,16[B  ]| or a large part of it; but that$6#2$ will$1$ not matter, for$3$ I shall
215:027,17[B  ]| make twice as much again. So$3$ what have I to$9$ be
215:027,18[B  ]| afraid of?"
215:027,19[E  ]| "You are not afraid it may be rather a mistake for$4$
215:027,20[E  ]| an American man of business to$9$ marry a French
215:027,21[E  ]| countess?"
215:027,22[B  ]| "For$4$ the countess, possibly; but not for$4$ the man
215:027,23[B  ]| of business, if you mean me! But my countess shall
215:027,24[B  ]| not be disappointed; I answer for$4$ her happiness!"
215:027,25['  ]| And as if he felt the impulse to$9$ celebrate his happy
215:027,26['  ]| certitude by$4$ a bonfire, he got up$5$ to$9$ throw a couple of
215:027,27['  ]| logs upon$4$ the already blazing hearth. Valentin watched
215:027,28['  ]| for$4$ a few moments the quickened flame, and then, with
215:027,29['  ]| his head leaning on$4$ his hand, gave a melancholy sigh.
215:027,30[B  ]| "Got a headache?" 
215:027,30['  ]| Newman asked.
215:027,31[E  ]| "\9Je 9suis 9triste\," 
215:027,31['  ]| said Valentin, with Gallic simplicity.
215:027,32[B  ]| "You are sad, eh? Is it about the lady you said
215:027,33[B  ]| the other night that$6#1$ you adored and that$6#1$ you could not
215:027,34[B  ]| marry?"
215:027,35[E  ]| "Did I really say that$6#2$? It seemed to$4$ me afterwards
215:027,36[E  ]| that$3$ the words had escaped me. Before Claire it was
215:027,37[E  ]| bad taste. But I felt gloomy as I spoke, and I feel
215:028,01[E  ]| gloomy still. Why did you ever introduce me to$4$ that$6#2$
215:028,02[E  ]| girl?"
215:028,03[B  ]| "Oh, it is Noe=mie, is it? Lord deliver us! You
215:028,04[B  ]| do not mean to$9$ say you are lovesick about her?"
215:028,05[E  ]| "Lovesick, no$7$; it is not a grand passion. But the
215:028,06[E  ]| cold-blooded little demon sticks in$4$ my thoughts; she
215:028,07[E  ]| has bitten me with those even little teeth of hers; I feel
215:028,08[E  ]| as if I might turn rabid and do something crazy in$4$ consequence.
215:028,09[E  ]| It is very low; it is disgustingly low. She is
215:028,10[E  ]| the most mercenary little jade in$4$ Europe. Yet she
215:028,11[E  ]| really affects my peace of mind; she is always running
215:028,12[E  ]| in$4$ my head. It is a striking contrast to$4$ your noble
215:028,13[E  ]| and virtuous attachment ~~ a vile contrast! It is rather
215:028,14[E  ]| pitiful that$3$ it should be the best I am able to$9$ do for$4$
215:028,15[E  ]| myself at my present respectable age. I am a nice
215:028,16[E  ]| young man, eh, \9en*somme\? You can not warrant my
215:028,17[E  ]| future, as you do your own."
215:028,18[B  ]| "Drop that$6#2$ girl, short," 
215:028,18['  ]| said Newman; 
215:028,18[B  ]| "do not go
215:028,19[B  ]| near her again, and your future will$1$ do. Come over to$4$
215:028,20[B  ]| American and I will$1$ get you a place in$4$ a bank."
215:028,21[E  ]| "It is easy to$9$ say drop her," 
218:028,21['  ]| said Valentin, with a 
215:028,22['  ]| light laugh. 
215:028,22[E  ]| "You can not drop a pretty woman like$4$
215:028,23[E  ]| that$6#2$. One must be polite, even with Noe=mie. Besides,
215:028,24[E  ]| I will$1$ not have her suppose I am afraid of her."
215:028,25[B  ]| "So$3$, between politeness and vanity, you will$1$ get
215:028,26[B  ]| deeper into the mud? Keep them both for$4$ something
215:028,27[B  ]| better. Remember, too, that$3$ I did not want to$9$ introduce
215:028,28[B  ]| you to$4$ her; you insisted. I had a sort of uneasy feeling
215:028,29[B  ]| about it."
215:028,30[E  ]| "Oh, I do not reproach you," 
215:028,30['  ]| said Valentin. 
215:028,30[E  ]| "Heaven
215:028,31[E  ]| forbid! I would not for$4$ the world have missed knowing
215:028,32[E  ]| her. She is really extraordinary. The way she has
215:028,33[E  ]| already spread her wings is amazing. I do not know
215:028,34[E  ]| when a woman has amused me more. But excuse me,"
215:028,35['  ]| he added in$4$ an instant; 
215:028,35[E  ]| "she does not amuse you, at
215:028,36[E  ]| second hand, and the subject is an impure one. Let us
215:028,37[E  ]| talk of something else." 
215:028,37['  ]| Valentin introduced another
215:029,01['  ]| topic, but within five minutes Newman observed that$3$,    
215:029,02@b   | by$4$ a bold transition, he had reverted to$4$ Mademoiselle*Nioche,
215:029,03@b   | and was giving pictures of her manners, and
215:029,04@b   | quoting specimens of her \9mots\. 
215:029,04['  ]| These were very witty,
215:029,05['  ]| and, for$4$ a young woman who$6#1$ six months before had
215:029,06['  ]| been painting the most artless Madonnas, startlingly
215:029,07['  ]| cynical. But at last, abruptly, he stopped, became
215:029,08['  ]| thoughtful, and for$4$ some time afterwards said nothing.
215:029,09['  ]| When he rose to$9$ go it was evident that$3$ 
215:029,09@b   | his thoughts
215:029,10@b   | were still running upon$4$ Mademoiselle*Nioche. 
215:029,10[E  ]| "Yes,
215:029,11[E  ]| she is a frightful little monster!" 
215:029,11['  ]| he said.
216:029,01['  ]| The next ten days were the happiest that$6#1$ Newman had
216:029,02['  ]| ever known. He saw Madame*de*Cintre= every day, and
216:029,03['  ]| never saw either old Madame*de*Bellegarde or the elder
216:029,04['  ]| of his prospective brothers-in-law. Madame*de*Cintre=
216:029,05['  ]| at last seemed to$9$ think it becoming to$9$ apologise for$4$ their
216:029,06['  ]| never being present. 
216:029,06[A  ]| "They are much taken up$5$," 
216:029,06['  ]| she
216:029,07['  ]| said, 
216:029,07[A  ]| "with doing the honours of Paris to$4$ Lord*Deepmere."
216:029,08['  ]| There was a smile in$4$ her gravity as she made
216:029,09['  ]| this declaration, and it deepened as she added: 
216:029,09[A  ]| "He is
216:029,10[A  ]| our seventh cousin, you know, and blood is thicker than
216:029,11[A  ]| water. And then, he is so$5#1$ interesting!" 
216:029,11['  ]| And with this
216:029,12['  ]| she laughed.
216:029,13['  ]| Newman met young Madame*de*Bellegarde two or
216:029,14['  ]| three times, always roaming about with graceful vagueness,
216:029,15['  ]| as if in$4$ search of an unattainable ideal of amusement.
216:029,16['  ]| She always reminded him of a painted perfume
216:029,17['  ]| bottle with a crack in$4$ it; but he had grown to$9$ have a
216:029,18['  ]| kindly feeling for$4$ her, based on$4$ the fact of her owing
216:029,19['  ]| conjugal allegiance to$4$ Urbain*de*Bellegarde. He pitied
216:029,20['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde's wife, especially since she was a silly,
216:030,01['  ]| thirstily-smiling little brunette, with a suggestion of an
216:030,02['  ]| unregulated heart. The small Marquise sometimes looked
216:030,03['  ]| at him with an intensity too marked not to$9$ be innocent,
216:030,04['  ]| for$3$ coquetry is more finely shaded. 
216:030,04@b   | She apparently
216:030,05@b   | wanted to$9$ ask him something or tell him something; he
216:030,06@b   | wondered what it was. But he was shy of giving her an
216:030,07@b   | opportunity, because, if her communication bore upon$4$
216:030,08@b   | the aridity of her matrimonial lot, he was at a loss to$9$ see
216:030,09@b   | how he could help her. He had a fancy, however, of
216:030,10@b   | her coming up$5$ to$4$ him some day and saying (after looking
216:030,11@b   | round behind her) with a little passionate hiss: "I know
216:030,12@b   | you detest my husband; let me have the pleasure of
216:030,13@b   | assuring you for$4$ once you are right. Pity a poor woman
216:030,14@b   | who$6#1$ is married to$4$ a clock-image in$4$ \9papier-ma^che=\!"
216:030,15['  ]| Possessing, however, in$4$ default of a competent knowledge
216:030,16['  ]| of the principles of etiquette, a very downright sense of
216:030,17['  ]| the "meanness" of certain actions, it seemed to$4$ him to$9$
216:030,18@b   | belong to$4$ his position to$9$ keep on$4$ his guard; he was not
216:030,19@b   | going to$9$ put it into the power of these people to$9$ say
216:030,20@b   | that$3$ in$4$ their house he had done anything unpleasant. 
216:030,20['  ]| As
216:030,21['  ]| it was, Madame*de*Bellegarde used to$9$ give him news of
216:030,22['  ]| the dress she meant to$9$ wear at his wedding, and which$6#1$
216:030,23['  ]| had not yet, in$4$ her creative imagination, in$4$ spite of many
216:030,24['  ]| interviews with the tailor, resolved itself into its composite
216:030,25['  ]| totality. 
216:030,25[L  ]| "I told you pale blue bows on$4$ the
216:030,26[L  ]| sleeves, at the elbows," 
216:030,26['  ]| she said. 
216:030,26[L  ]| "But to-day I do not
216:030,27[L  ]| see my blue bows at all. I do not know what has become
216:030,28[L  ]| of them. To-day I see pink ~~ a tender pink. And then
216:030,29[L  ]| I pass through strange dull phases in$4$ which$6#1$ neither blue
216:030,30[L  ]| nor pink says anything to$4$ me. And yet I must have the
216:030,31[L  ]| bows."
216:030,32[B  ]| "Have them green or yellow," 
216:030,32['  ]| said Newman.
216:030,33[L  ]| "\9Malheureux\!" 
216:030,33['  ]| the little Marquise would cry.
216:030,34[L  ]| "Green bows would break your marriage ~~ your children
216:030,35[L  ]| would be illegitimate!"
216:030,36['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= was calmly happy before the world,
216:030,37['  ]| and Newman had the felicity of fancying that$3$ before him,
216:031,01['  ]| when the world was absent, she was almost agitatedly
216:031,02['  ]| happy. She said very tender things. 
216:031,02[A  ]| "I take no$2$
216:031,03[A  ]| pleasure in$4$ you. You never give me a chance to$9$ scold
216:031,04[A  ]| you, to$9$ correct you. I bargained for$4$ that$6#2$; I expected
216:031,05[A  ]| to$9$ enjoy it. But you will$1$ not do anything dreadful; you
216:031,06[A  ]| are dismally inoffensive. It is very stupid; there is no$2$
216:031,07[A  ]| excitement for$4$ me; I might as well be marrying some*one
216:031,08[A  ]| else."
216:031,09[B  ]| "I am afraid it is the worst I can do," 
216:031,09['  ]| Newman would
216:031,10['  ]| say in$4$ answer to$4$ this. 
216:031,10[B  ]| "Kindly overlook the deficiency."
216:031,11['  ]| He assured her that$3$ 
216:031,11@b   | he, at least, would never scold her;
216:031,12@b   | she was perfectly satisfactory. 
216:031,12[B  ]| "If you only knew," 
216:031,12['  ]| he
216:031,13['  ]| said, 
216:031,13[B  ]| "how exactly you are what I coveted! And I am
216:031,14[B  ]| beginning to$9$ understand why I coveted it; the having it
216:031,15[B  ]| makes all the difference that$6#1$ I expected. Never was a
216:031,16[B  ]| man so$5#1$ pleased with his good fortune. You have been
216:031,17[B  ]| holding your head for$4$ a week past just as I wanted my
216:031,18[B  ]| wife to$9$ hold hers. You say just the things I want her
216:031,19[B  ]| to$9$ say. You walk about the room just as I want her to$9$
216:031,20[B  ]| walk. You have just the taste in$4$ dress that$6#1$ I want her
216:031,21[B  ]| to$9$ have. In$4$ short, you come up$5$ to$4$ the mark; and, I
216:031,22[B  ]| can tell you, my mark was high."
216:031,23['  ]| These observations seemed to$9$ make Madame*de*Cintre=
216:031,24['  ]| rather grave. At last she said: 
216:031,24[A  ]| "Depend upon$4$ it, I
216:031,25[A  ]| do not come up$5$ to$4$ the mark; your mark is too high. I
216:031,26[A  ]| am not all that$6#1$ you suppose; I am a much smaller affair.
216:031,27[A  ]| She is a magnificent woman, your ideal. Pray, how did
216:031,28[A  ]| she come to$4$ such perfection?"
216:031,29[B  ]| "She was never anything else," 
216:031,29['  ]| Newman said.
216:031,30[A  ]| "I really believe," 
216:031,30['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= went on$5$, 
216:031,30[A  ]| "that$3$
216:031,31[A  ]| she is better than my own ideal. Do you know that$6#2$ is a
216:031,32[A  ]| very handsome compliment? Well, sir, I will$1$ make her
216:031,33[A  ]| my own?"
216:031,34['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram came to$9$ see 
216:031,34@i   | her dear Claire 
216:031,34['  ]| after
216:031,35['  ]| Newman had announced his engagement, and she told
216:031,36['  ]| our hero the next day that$3$ 
216:031,36@i   | his good fortune was simply
216:031,37@i   | absurd. 
216:031,37[I  ]| "For$3$ the ridiculous part of it is," 
216:031,37['  ]| she said,
216:032,01[I  ]| "that$3$ you are evidently going to$9$ be as happy as if you
216:032,02[I  ]| were marrying Miss*Smith or Miss*Thompson. I call it
216:032,03[I  ]| a brilliant match for$4$ you, but you get brilliancy without
216:032,04[I  ]| paying any tax upon$4$ it. Those things are usually a
216:032,05[I  ]| compromise, but here you have everything, and nothing
216:032,06[I  ]| crowds anything else out. You will$1$ be brilliantly happy as
216:032,07[I  ]| well." 
216:032,07['  ]| Newman thanked her for$4$ her pleasant encouraging
216:032,08['  ]| way of saying things; no$2$ woman could encourage
216:032,09['  ]| or discourage better. Tristram's way of saying things
216:032,10['  ]| was different; he had been taken by$4$ his wife to$9$ call
216:032,11['  ]| upon$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=, and he gave an account of the
216:032,12['  ]| expedition.
216:032,13[H  ]| "You do not catch me giving an opinion on$4$ your
216:032,14[H  ]| countess this time," 
216:032,14['  ]| he said; 
216:032,14[H  ]| "I put my foot in$4$ it once.
216:032,15[H  ]| That$6#2$ is a d~~d underhand thing to$9$ do, by$4$ the way ~
216:032,16[H  ]| coming round to$9$ sound a fellow upon$4$ the woman you
216:032,17[H  ]| are going to$9$ marry. You deserve anything you get.
216:032,18[H  ]| Then of course you rush and tell her, and she takes care
216:032,19[H  ]| to$9$ make it pleasant for$4$ the poor spiteful wretch the first
216:032,20[H  ]| time he calls. I will$1$ do you the justice to$9$ say, however,
216:032,21[H  ]| that$3$ you do not seem to$9$ have told Madame*de*Cintre=; or,
216:032,22[H  ]| if you have, she is uncommonly magnanimous. She was
216:032,23[H  ]| very nice; she was tremendously polite. She and Lizzie
216:032,24[H  ]| sat on$4$ the sofa, pressing each other's hands and calling
216:032,25[H  ]| each other \9che`re*belle\, and Madame*de*Cintre= sent me
216:032,26[H  ]| with every third word a magnificent smile, as if to$9$ give
216:032,27[H  ]| me to$9$ understand that$3$ I too was a handsome dear. She
216:032,28[H  ]| quite made up$5$ for$4$ past neglect, I assure you; she was
216:032,29[H  ]| very pleasant and sociable. Only in$4$ an evil hour it came
216:032,30[H  ]| into her head to$9$ say that$3$ she must present us to$4$ her
216:032,31[H  ]| mother ~~ her mother wished to$9$ know your friends. I
216:032,32[H  ]| did not want to$9$ know her mother, and I was on$4$ the point
216:032,33[H  ]| of telling Lizzie to$9$ go in$5$ alone and let me wait for$4$ her
216:032,34[H  ]| outside. But Lizzie, with her usual infernal ingenuity,
216:032,35[H  ]| guessed my purpose, and reduced me by$4$ a glance of her
216:032,36[H  ]| eye. So$3$ they marched off arm-in-arm, and I followed
216:032,37[H  ]| as I could. We found the old lady in$4$ her armchair
216:033,01[H  ]| twiddling her aristocratic thumbs. She looked at Lizzie
216:033,02[H  ]| from head to$4$ foot; but at that$6#2$ game Lizzie, to$9$ do her
216:033,03[H  ]| justice, was a match for$4$ her. My wife told her we were
216:033,04[H  ]| great friends of Mr%*Newman. The Marquise stared a
216:033,05[H  ]| moment, and then said: 
216:033,05@c   | ""Oh, Mr%*Newman! My 
216:033,06@c   | daughter has made up$5$ her mind to$9$ marry a Mr%*Newman.""
216:033,07[H  ]| Then Madame*de*Cintre= began to$9$ fondle
216:033,08[H  ]| Lizzie again, and said it was this dear lady that$6#1$ had
216:033,09[H  ]| planned the match and brought them together. 
216:033,09@c   | ""Oh,
216:033,10@c   | 'tis you I have to$9$ thank for$4$ my American son-in-law,""
216:033,11[H  ]| the old lady said to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram. 
216:033,11@c   | ""It was a very
216:033,12@c   | clever thought of yours. Be sure of my gratitude."" 
216:033,12[H  ]| And
216:033,13[H  ]| then she began to$9$ look at me, and presently said:
216:033,14@c   | ""Pray, are you engaged in$4$ some species of manufacture?""
216:033,15[H  ]| I wanted to$9$ say that$3$ I manufactured broomsticks for$4$ old
216:033,16[H  ]| witches to$9$ ride on$5$, but Lizzie got in$5$ ahead of me. 
216:033,16@i   | ""My
216:033,17@i   | husband, Madame*la*Marquise,"" 
216:033,17[H  ]| she said, 
216:033,17@i   | ""belongs to$4$
216:033,18@i   | that$6#2$ unfortunate class of persons who$6#1$ have no$2$ profession
216:033,19@i   | and no$2$ business, and do very little good in$4$ the world.""
216:033,20[H  ]| To$9$ get her poke at the old woman she did not care where
216:033,21[H  ]| she shoved me. 
216:033,21@c   | ""Dear me,"" 
216:033,21[H  ]| said the Marquise, 
216:033,21@c   | ""we all
216:033,22@c   | have our duties."" 
216:033,22@i   | ""I am sorry mine compel me to$9$ take
216:033,23@i   | leave of you,"" 
216:033,23[H  ]| said Lizzie. And we bundled out again.
216:033,24[H  ]| But you have a mother-in-law, in$4$ all the force of the 
216:033,25[H  ]| term."
216:033,26[B  ]| "Oh," 
216:033,26['  ]| said Newman, 
216:033,26[B  ]| "my mother-in-law desires
216:033,27[B  ]| nothing better than to$9$ let me alone."
216:033,28['  ]| Betimes, on$4$ the evening of the 27th, he went to$4$
216:033,29['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde's ball. The old house in$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite=
216:033,30['  ]| looked strangely brilliant. In$4$ the circle
216:033,31['  ]| of light projected from the outer gate a detachment of
216:033,32['  ]| the populace stood watching the carriages roll in$5$; the
216:033,33['  ]| court was illumined with flaring torches, and the portico
216:033,34['  ]| carpeted with crimson. When Newman arrived there
216:033,35['  ]| were but a few people present. The Marquise and her
216:033,36['  ]| two daughters were at the top of the staircase, where the
216:033,37['  ]| sallow old nymph in$4$ the angle peeped out from a bower
216:034,01['  ]| of plants. Madame*de*Bellegarde, in$4$ purple and fine
216:034,02['  ]| laces, looked like$4$ an old lady painted by$4$ Vandyke;
216:034,03['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= was dressed in$4$ white. The old lady
216:034,04['  ]| greeted Newman with majestic formality, and, looking
216:034,05['  ]| round her, called several of the persons who$6#1$ were standing
216:034,06['  ]| near. They were elderly gentlemen, of what Valentin*de*Bellegarde
216:034,07['  ]| had designated as the high-nosed category;
216:034,08['  ]| two or three of them wore cordons and stars. They
216:034,09['  ]| approached with measured alertness, and the Marquise
216:034,10['  ]| said that$3$ 
216:034,10@c   | she wished to$9$ present them to$4$ Mr%*Newman,
216:034,11@c   | who$6#1$ was going to$9$ marry her daughter. 
216:034,11['  ]| Then she introduced
216:034,12['  ]| successivly three dukes, three counts, and a baron.
216:034,13['  ]| These gentlemen bowed and smiled most agreeably, and
216:034,14['  ]| Newman indulged in$4$ a series of impartial hand-shakes,
216:034,15['  ]| accompanied by$4$ a 
216:034,15[B  ]| "Happy to$9$ make your acquaintance,
216:034,16[B  ]| sir." 
216:034,16['  ]| He looked at Madame*de*Cintre=, but she was not
216:034,17['  ]| looking at him. If his personal self-consciousness had
216:034,18['  ]| been of a nature to$9$ make him constantly refer to$4$ her, as
216:034,19['  ]| the critic before whom, in$4$ company, he played his part,
216:034,20['  ]| he might have found it a flattering proof of her confidence
216:034,21['  ]| that$3$ he never caught her eyes resting upon$4$ him. It is a
216:034,22['  ]| reflection Newman did not make, but we may nevertheless
216:034,23['  ]| risk it, that$3$ in$4$ spite of this circumstance she probably
216:034,24['  ]| saw every movement of his little finger. Young Madame*de*Bellegarde
216:034,25['  ]| was dressed in$4$ an audacious toilet of
216:034,26['  ]| crimson crape, bestrewn with huge silver moons ~~ thin
216:034,27['  ]| crescents and full disks.
216:034,28[L  ]| "You do not say anything about my dress," 
216:034,28['  ]| she said to$4$
216:034,29['  ]| Newman.
216:034,30[B  ]| "I feel," 
216:034,30['  ]| he answered, 
216:034,30[B  ]| "as if I were looking at you
216:034,31[B  ]| through a telescope. It is very strange."
216:034,32[L  ]| "If it is strange it matches the occasion. But I am
216:034,33[L  ]| not a heavenly body."
216:034,34[B  ]| "I never saw the sky at midnight that$6#2$ particular
216:034,35[B  ]| shade of crimson," 
216:034,35['  ]| said Newman.
216:034,36[L  ]| "That$6#2$ is my originality; any*one could have chosen
216:034,37[L  ]| blue. My sister-in-law would have chosen a lovely shade
216:035,01[L  ]| of blue, with a dozen little delicate moons. But I think
216:035,02[L  ]| crimson is much more amusing.  And I give my idea,
216:035,03[L  ]| which$6#1$ is moonshine."
216:035,04[B  ]| "Moonshine and bloodshed," 
216:035,04['  ]| said Newman.
216:035,05[L  ]| "A murder by$4$ moonlight," 
216:035,05['  ]| laughed Madame*de*Bellegarde.
216:035,06[L  ]| "What a delicious idea for$4$ a toilet! To$9$
216:035,07[L  ]| make it complete, there is a dagger of diamonds, you see,
216:035,08[L  ]| stuck into my hair. But here comes Lord*Deepmere,"
216:035,09['  ]| she added in$4$ a moment; 
216:035,09[L  ]| "I must find out what he
216:035,10[L  ]| thinks of it." 
216:035,10['  ]| Lord*Deepmere came up$5$, looking very
216:035,11['  ]| red in$4$ the face, and laughing. 
216:035,11[L  ]| "Lord*Deepmere can not
216:035,12[L  ]| decide which$6#1$ he prefers, my sister-in-law or me," 
216:035,12['  ]| said
216:035,13['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde. 
216:035,13[L  ]| "He likes Claire because she
216:035,14[L  ]| is his cousin, and me because I am not. But he has no$2$
216:035,15[L  ]| right to$9$ make love to$4$ Claire, whereas I am perfectly
216:035,16[L  ]| \9disponible\. It is very wrong to$9$ make love to$4$ a woman
216:035,17[L  ]| who$6#1$ is engaged, but it is very wrong not to$9$ make love
216:035,18[L  ]| to$4$ a woman who$6#1$ is married."
216:035,19[W  ]| "Oh, it is very jolly making love to$4$ married women,"
216:035,20['  ]| said Lord*Deepmere, 
216:035,20[W  ]| "because they can not ask you to$9$
216:035,21[W  ]| marry them."
216:035,22[B  ]| "Is that$6#2$ what the others do ~~ the spinsters?" 
216:035,22['  ]| Newman
216:035,23['  ]| inquired.
216:035,24[W  ]| "Oh dear, yes," 
216:035,25['  ]| said Lord*Deepmere; 
216:035,25[W  ]| "in$4$ England
216:035,25[W  ]| all the girls ask a fellow to$9$ marry them."
216:035,26[L  ]| "And a fellow brutally refuses," 
216:035,26['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
216:035,27['  ]| 
216:035,28[W  ]| "Why, really, you know, a fellow can not marry any
216:035,29[W  ]| girl that$6#1$ asks him," 
216:035,29['  ]| said his lordship.
216:035,30[L  ]| "Your cousin will$1$ not ask you. She is going to$9$ marry
216:035,31[L  ]| Mr%*Newman."
216:035,32[W  ]| "Oh, that$6#2$ is a very different thing!" 
216:035,32['  ]| laughed Lord*Deepmere.
216:035,33['  ]| 
216:035,34[L  ]| "You would have accepted \her\, I suppose. That$6#2$
216:035,35[L  ]| makes me hope that$3$, after all, you prefer me."
216:035,36[W  ]| "Oh, when things are nice I never prefer one to$4$ the
216:035,37[W  ]| other," 
216:035,37['  ]| said the young Englishman. 
216:035,37[W  ]| "I take them all."
216:036,01[L  ]| "Ah, what a horror! I will$1$ not be taken in$4$ that$6#2$ way;
216:036,02[L  ]| I must be kept apart," 
216:036,02['  ]| cried Madame*de*Bellegarde.
216:036,03[L  ]| "Mr%*Newman is much better; he knows how to$9$
216:036,04[L  ]| choose. Oh, he chooses as if he were threading a needle.
216:036,05[L  ]| He prefers Madame*de*Cintre= to$4$ any conceivable creature
216:036,06[L  ]| or thing."
216:036,07[W  ]| "Well, you can not help my being her cousin," 
216:036,07['  ]| said
216:036,08['  ]| Lord*Deepmere to$4$ Newman, with candid hilarity.
216:036,09[B  ]| "Oh no$7$, I can not help that$6#2$," 
216:036,09['  ]| said Newman, laughing
216:036,10['  ]| back; 
216:036,10[B  ]| "neither can she!"
216:036,11[W  ]| "And you can not help my dancing with her," 
216:036,11['  ]| said
216:036,12['  ]| Lord*Deepmere, with sturdy simplicity.
216:036,13[B  ]| "I could prevent that$6#2$ only by$4$ dancing with her myself," 
216:036,14['  ]| said Newman. 
216:036,14[B  ]| "But unfortunately I do not know
216:036,15[B  ]| how to$9$ dance."
216:036,16[L  ]| "Oh, you may dance without knowing how; may
216:036,17[L  ]| you not, milord?" 
216:036,17['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde. But to$4$
216:036,18['  ]| this Lord*Deepmere replied that$3$ 
216:036,18@w   | a fellow ought to$9$ know
216:036,19@w   | how to$9$ dance if he did not want to$9$ make an ass of himself
216:036,20['  ]| and at this same moment Urbain*de*Bellegarde joined
216:036,21['  ]| the group, slow-stepping and with his hands behind him.
216:036,22[B  ]| "This is a very splendid entertainment," 
216:036,22['  ]| said Newman,
216:036,23['  ]| cheerfully. 
216:036,23[B  ]| "The old house looks very bright."
216:036,24[D  ]| "If \you\ are pleased, we are content," 
216:036,24['  ]| said the Marquis,
216:036,25['  ]| lifting his shoulders and bending them forward.
216:036,26[B  ]| "Oh, I suspect every*one is pleased," 
216:036,26['  ]| said Newman.
216:036,27[B  ]| "How can they help being pleased when the first thing
216:036,28[B  ]| they see as they come in$5$ is your sister, standing there as
216:036,29[B  ]| beautiful as an angel?"
216:036,30[D  ]| "Yes, she is very beautiful," 
216:036,30['  ]| rejoined the Marquis,
216:036,31['  ]| solemnly. 
216:036,31[D  ]| "But that$6#2$ is not so$5#1$ great a source of satisfaction
216:036,32[D  ]| to$4$ other people, naturally as to$4$ you."
216:036,33[B  ]| "Yes, I am satisfied, Marquis, I am satisfied," 
216:036,33['  ]| said
216:036,34['  ]| Newman, with his protracted enunciation. 
215:036,34[B  ]| "And now
216:036,35[B  ]| tell me," 
216:036,35['  ]| he added, looking round, 
216:036,35[B  ]| "who$6#1$ some of your
216:036,36[B  ]| friends are."
216:036,37['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde looked about him in$4$ silence, with
216:037,01['  ]| his head bent and his hand raised to$4$ his lower lip, which$6#1$
216:037,02['  ]| he slowly rubbed. A stream of people had been pouring
216:037,03['  ]| into the salon in$4$ which$6#1$ Newman stood with his host, the
216:037,04['  ]| rooms were filling up$5$, and the spectacle had become
216:037,05['  ]| brilliant. It borrowed its splendour chiefly from the
216:037,06['  ]| shining shoulders and profuse jewels of the women, and
216:037,07['  ]| from the voluminous elegance of their dresses. There
216:037,08['  ]| were no$2$ uniforms, as Madame*de*Bellegarde's door was
216:037,09['  ]| inexorably closed against the myrmidons of the upstart
216:037,10['  ]| power which$6#1$ then ruled the fortunes of France, and the
216:037,11['  ]| great company of smiling and chattering faces was not
216:037,12['  ]| graced by$4$ any very frequent suggestions of harmonious
216:037,13['  ]| beauty. It is a pity, nevertheless, that$3$ Newman had
216:037,14['  ]| not been a physiognomist, for$3$ a great many of the faces
216:037,15['  ]| were irregularly agreeable, expressive, and suggestive.
216:037,16['  ]| If the occasion had been different they would hardly have
216:037,17['  ]| pleased him; he would have thought the women not
216:037,18['  ]| pretty enough and the men too smirking; but he was
216:037,19['  ]| now in$4$ a humour to$9$ receive none but agreeable impressions,
216:037,20['  ]| and he looked no$2$ more narrowly than to$9$ perceive
216:037,21['  ]| that$3$ 
216:037,21@b   | every*one was brilliant, and to$9$ feel that$3$ the sum of
216:037,22@b   | their brilliancy was a part of his credit. 
216:037,22[D  ]| "I will$1$ present
216:037,23[D  ]| you to$4$ some people," 
216:037,23['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde after a while.
216:037,24[D  ]| "I will$1$ make a point of it, in$4$ fact. You will$1$ allow
216:037,25[D  ]| me?"
216:037,26[B  ]| "Oh, I will$1$ shake hands with any*one you want," 
216:037,26['  ]| said
216:037,27['  ]| Newman. 
216:037,27[B  ]| "Your mother just introduced me to$4$ half a
216:037,28[B  ]| dozen old gentlemen. Take care you do not pick up$5$ the
216:037,29[B  ]| same parties again."
216:037,30[D  ]| "Who$6#2$ are the gentlemen to$4$ whom my mother presented
216:037,31[D  ]| you?"
216:037,32[B  ]| "Upon$4$ my word, I forget them," 
216:037,32['  ]| said Newman,
216:037,33['  ]| laughing. 
216:037,33[B  ]| "The people here look very much alike."
216:037,34[D  ]| "I suspect they have not forgotten you," 
216:037,34['  ]| said the
216:037,35['  ]| Marquis, and he began to$9$ walk through the rooms.
216:037,36['  ]| Newman, to$9$ keep near him in$4$ the crowd, took his arm;
216:037,37['  ]| after which$6#1$, for$4$ some time, the Marquis walked straight
216:038,01['  ]| along, in$4$ silence. At last, reaching the farther end of
216:038,02['  ]| the suite of reception-rooms, Newman found himself in$4$
216:038,03['  ]| the presence of a lady of monstrous proportions, seated
216:038,04['  ]| in$4$ a very capacious armchair, with several persons standing
216:038,05['  ]| in$4$ a semicircle round her. This little group had
216:038,06['  ]| divided as the Marquis came up$5$, and M%*de*Bellegarde
216:038,07['  ]| stepped forward and stood for$4$ an instant silent and
216:038,08['  ]| obsequious, with his hat raised to$4$ his lips, as Newman
216:038,09['  ]| had seen some gentlemen stand in$4$ churches as soon as
216:038,10['  ]| they entered their pews. The lady, indeed, bore a very
216:038,11['  ]| fair likeness to$4$ a reverend effigy in$4$ some idolatrous
216:038,12['  ]| shrine. She was monumentally stout and imperturbably
216:038,13['  ]| serene. Her aspect was to$4$ Newman almost formidable;
216:038,14['  ]| he had a troubled consciousness of a triple chin, a small
216:038,15['  ]| piercing eye, a vast expanse of uncovered bosom, a nodding
216:038,16['  ]| and twinkling tiara of plumes and gems, and an
216:038,17['  ]| immense circumference of satin petticoat. With her
216:038,18['  ]| little circle of beholders this remarkable woman reminded
216:038,19['  ]| him of the Fat*Lady at a fair. She fixed her small, unwinking
216:038,20['  ]| eyes at the newcomers.
216:038,21[D  ]| "Dear Duchess," 
216:038,21['  ]| said the Marquis, 
216:038,21[D  ]| "let me present
216:038,22[D  ]| you our good friend, Mr%*Newman, of whom you have
216:038,23[D  ]| heard us speak. Wishing to$9$ make Mr%*Newman known
216:038,24[D  ]| to$4$ those who$6#1$ are dear to$4$ us, I could not possibly fail to$9$
216:038,25[D  ]| begin with you."
216:038,26[V  ]| "Charmed, dear friend; charmed, Monsieur," 
216:038,26['  ]| said
216:038,27['  ]| the Duchess in$4$ a voice which$6#1$, though small and shrill,
216:038,28['  ]| was not disagreeable, while Newman executed his
216:038,29['  ]| obeisance. 
216:038,29[V  ]| "I came on$4$ purpose to$9$ see Monsieur. I
216:038,30[V  ]| hope he appreciates the compliment. You have only to$9$
216:038,31[V  ]| look at me to$9$ do so$5#2$, sir," 
216:038,31['  ]| she continued, sweeping her
216:038,32['  ]| person with a much-encompassing glance. Newman
216:038,33['  ]| hardly knew what to$9$ say, though it seemed that$3$ 
216:038,33@b   | to$4$ a
216:038,34@b   | Duchess who$6#1$ joked about her corpulence one might say
216:038,35@b   | almost anything. 
216:038,35['  ]| On$4$ hearing that$3$ the Duchess had come
216:038,36['  ]| on$4$ purpose to$9$ see Newman, the gentlemen who$6#1$ surrounded
216:038,37['  ]| her turned a little and looked at him with sympathetic
216:039,01['  ]| curiosity. The Marquis with supernatural gravity mentioned
216:039,02['  ]| to$4$ him the name of each, while the gentleman
216:039,03['  ]| who$6#1$ bore it bowed; they were all what are called in$4$
216:039,04['  ]| France \9beaux*noms\. 
216:039,04[V  ]| "I wanted extremely to$9$ see you,"
216:039,05['  ]| the Duchess went on$5$. 
216:039,05[V  ]| "\9C'est 9positif\. In$4$ the first place,
216:039,06[V  ]| I am very fond of the person you are going to$9$ marry;
216:039,07[V  ]| she is the most charming creature in$4$ France. Mind you
216:039,08[V  ]| treat her well, or you shall hear some news of me. But
216:039,09[V  ]| you look as if you were good. I am told you are very
216:039,10[V  ]| remarkable. I have heard all sorts of extraordinary
216:039,11[V  ]| things about you. \9Voyons\, are they true?"
216:039,12[B  ]| "I do not know what you can have heard," 
216:039,12['  ]| said
216:039,13['  ]| Newman.
216:039,14[V  ]| "Oh, you have your \9le=gende\. We have heard that$3$
216:039,15[V  ]| you have had a career the most chequered, the most
216:039,16[V  ]| \9bizarre\. What is that$6#2$ about your having founded a city
216:039,17[V  ]| some ten years ago in$4$ the great West, a city which$6#1$ contains
216:039,18[V  ]| to-day half a million of inhabitants? Is not it half
216:039,19[V  ]| a million, Messieurs? You are exclusive proprietor of
216:039,20[V  ]| this flourishing settlement, and are consequently fabulously
216:039,21[V  ]| rich, and you would be richer still if you did not
216:039,22[V  ]| grant lands and houses free of rent to$4$ all newcomers
216:039,23[V  ]| who$6#1$ will$1$ pledge them never to$9$ smoke cigars. At
216:039,24[V  ]| this game, in$4$ three years, we are told, you are going to$9$
216:039,25[V  ]| be made President of America."
216:039,26['  ]| The Duchess recited this amusing "legend" with a
216:039,27['  ]| smooth self-possession which$6#1$ gave the speech, to$4$ Newman's
216:039,28['  ]| mind, the air of being a bit of amusing dialogue
216:039,29['  ]| in$4$ a play, delivered by$4$ a veteran comic actress. Before
216:039,30['  ]| she had ceased speaking he had burst into loud, irrepressible
216:039,31['  ]| laughter. 
216:039,31[D  ]| "Dear Duchess, dear Duchess," 
216:039,31['  ]| the
216:039,32['  ]| Marquis began to$9$ murmur, soothingly. Two or three
216:039,33['  ]| persons came to$4$ the door of the room to$9$ see who$6#1$ was
216:039,34['  ]| laughing at the Duchess. But the lady continued with
216:039,35['  ]| the soft, serene assurance of a person who$6#1$, as a Duchess,
216:039,36['  ]| was certain of being listened to$4$, and, as a garrulous
216:039,37['  ]| woman, was independent of the pulse of her auditors.
216:040,01[V  ]| "But I know you are very remarkable. You must be
216:040,02[V  ]| to$9$ have endeared yourself to$4$ this good Marquis and to$4$
216:040,03[V  ]| his admirable mother. They do not bestow their esteem
216:040,04[V  ]| on$4$ all the world. They are very exacting. I myself
216:040,05[V  ]| am not very sure at this hour of really possessing it. Eh,
216:040,06[V  ]| Bellegarde? To$9$ please you, I see, one must be an
216:040,07[V  ]| American millionaire. But your real triumph, my dear
216:040,08[V  ]| sir, is pleasing the Countess; she is as difficult as a princess
216:040,09[V  ]| in$4$ a fairy tale. Your success is a miracle. What
216:040,10[V  ]| is your secret? I do not ask you to$9$ reveal it before all
216:040,11[V  ]| these gentlemen, but come and see me some day and
216:040,12[V  ]| give me a specimen of your talents."
216:040,13[B  ]| "The secret is with Madame*de*Cintre=," 
216:040,13['  ]| said Newman.
216:040,14[B  ]| "You must ask her for$4$ it. It consists in$4$ her having a
216:040,15[B  ]| great deal of charity."
216:040,16[V  ]| "Very pretty!" 
216:040,16['  ]| said the Duchess. 
216:040,16[V  ]| "That$6#2$ is a very
216:040,17[V  ]| nice specimen to$9$ begin with. What, Bellegarde, are you
216:040,18[V  ]| already taking Monsieur away?"
216:040,19[D  ]| "I have a duty to$9$ perform, dear friend," 
216:040,19['  ]| said the
216:040,20['  ]| Marquis, pointing to$4$ the other groups.
216:040,21[V  ]| "Ah, for$4$ you I know what that$6#2$ means. Well, I have
216:040,22[V  ]| seen Monsieur; that$6#2$ is what I wanted. He can not persuade
216:040,23[V  ]| me that$3$ he is not very clever. Farewell."
216:040,24['  ]| As Newman passed on$5$ with his host, he asked who$6#1$
216:040,25['  ]| the Duchess was. 
216:040,25[D  ]| "The greatest lady in$4$ France," 
216:040,25['  ]| said
216:040,26['  ]| the Marquis. M%*de*Bellegarde then presented his
216:040,27['  ]| prospective brother-in-law to$4$ some twenty other persons
216:040,28['  ]| of both sexes, selected apparently for$4$ their typically
216:040,29['  ]| august character. In$4$ some cases this character was
216:040,30['  ]| written in$4$ a good round hand upon$4$ the countenance of
216:040,31['  ]| the wearer; in$4$ others Newman was thankful for$4$ such
216:040,32['  ]| help as his companion's impressively brief intimation
216:040,33['  ]| contributed to$4$ the discovery of it. There were large,
216:040,34['  ]| majestic men, and small, demonstrative men; there were
216:040,35['  ]| ugly ladies in$4$ yellow lace and quaint jewels, and pretty
216:040,36['  ]| ladies with white shoulders from which$6#1$ jewels and everything
216:040,37['  ]| else were absent. Every*one gave Newman extreme
216:041,01['  ]| attention, every*one smiled, every*one was charmed to$9$
216:041,02['  ]| make his acquaintance, every*one looked at him with that$6#2$
216:041,03['  ]| soft hardness of good society which$6#1$ puts out its hand but
216:041,04['  ]| keeps its fingers closed over the coin. If the Marquis
216:041,05['  ]| was going about as a bear-leader, if the fiction of Beauty
216:041,06['  ]| and the Beast was supposed to$9$ have found its companion-piece,
216:041,07['  ]| the general impression appeared to$9$ be that$3$ the
216:041,08['  ]| bear was a very fair imitation of humanity. Newman
216:041,09['  ]| found his reception among the Marquis's friends very
216:041,10['  ]| "pleasant;" he could not have said more for$4$ it. 
216:041,10@b   | It was
216:041,11@b   | pleasant to$9$ be treated with so$5#1$ much explicit politeness;
216:041,12@b   | it was pleasant to$9$ hear neatly-turned civilities, with a
216:041,13@b   | flavour of wit, uttered from beneath carefully-shaped
216:041,14@b   | moustaches; it was pleasant to$9$ see clever Frenchwomen
216:041,15@b   | ~~ they all seemed clever ~~ turn their backs to$4$ their
216:041,16@b   | partners to$9$ get a good look at the strange American
216:041,17@b   | whom Claire*de*Cintre= was to$9$ marry, and reward the
216:041,18@b   | object of the exhibition with a charming smile. 
216:041,18['  ]| At last,
216:041,19['  ]| as he turned away from a battery of smiles and other
216:041,20['  ]| amenities, Newman caught the eye of the Marquis looking
216:041,21['  ]| at him heavily; and thereupon, for$4$ a single instant, he
216:041,22['  ]| checked himself. 
216:041,22@b   | "Am I behaving like$4$ a d~~d fool?"
216:041,23['  ]| he asked himself. 
216:041,23@b   | "Am I stepping about like$4$ a terrier
216:041,24@b   | on$4$ his hind legs?" 
216:041,24['  ]| At this moment he perceived Mrs%*Tristram
216:041,25['  ]| at the other side of the room, and he waved his
216:041,26['  ]| hand in$4$ farewell to$4$ M%*de*Bellegarde and made his way
216:041,27['  ]| toward her.
216:041,28[B  ]| "Am I holding my head too high?" 
216:041,28['  ]| he asked. 
216:041,28[B  ]| "Do
216:041,29[B  ]| I look as if I had the lower end of a pulley fastened to$4$
216:041,30[B  ]| my chin?"
216:041,31[I  ]| "You look like$4$ all happy men, very ridiculous," 
216:041,31['  ]| said
216:041,32['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram. 
216:041,32[I  ]| "It is the usual thing, neither better
216:041,33[I  ]| nor worse. I have been watching you for$4$ the last ten
216:041,34[I  ]| minutes, and I have been watching M%*de*Bellegarde.
216:041,35[I  ]| He does not like$1$ it."
216:041,36[B  ]| "The more credit to$4$ him for$4$ putting it through,"
216:041,37['  ]| replied Newman. 
216:041,37[B  ]| "But I shall be generous. I sha' not
216:042,01[B  ]| trouble him any more. But I am very happy. I can not
216:042,02[B  ]| stand still here. Please to$9$ take my arm and we will$1$ go
216:042,03[B  ]| for$4$ a walk."
216:042,04['  ]| He led Mrs%*Tristram through all the rooms. There
216:042,05['  ]| were a great many of them, and, decorated for$4$ the
216:042,06['  ]| occasion and filled with a stately crowd, their somewhat
216:042,07['  ]| tarnished nobleness recovered its lustre. Mrs%*Tristram,
216:042,08['  ]| looking about her, dropped a series of softly-incisive
216:042,09['  ]| comments upon$4$ her fellow-guests. But Newman made
216:042,10['  ]| vague answers; he hardly heard her; his thoughts were
216:042,11['  ]| elsewhere. They were lost in$4$ a cheerful sense of success,
216:042,12['  ]| of attainment and victory. His momentary care as to$4$
216:042,13['  ]| whether he looked like$4$ a fool passed away, leaving him
216:042,14['  ]| simply with a rich contentment. 
216:042,14@b   | He had got what he
216:042,15@b   | wanted. 
216:042,15['  ]| The savour of success had always been highly
216:042,16['  ]| agreeable to$4$ him, and it had been his fortune to$9$ know it
216:042,17['  ]| often. But it had never before been so$5#1$ sweet, been
216:042,18['  ]| associated with so$5#1$ much that$6#1$ was brilliant and suggestive
216:042,19['  ]| and entertaining. The lights, the flowers, the music,
216:042,20['  ]| the crowd, the splendid women, the jewels, the strangeness
216:042,21['  ]| even of the universal murmur of a clever foreign
216:042,22['  ]| tongue, were all a vivid symbol and assurance of his
216:042,23['  ]| having grasped his purpose and forced along his groove.
216:042,24['  ]| If Newman's smile was larger than usual, it was not
216:042,25['  ]| tickled vanity that$6#1$ pulled the strings; he had no$2$ wish to$9$
216:042,26['  ]| be shown with the finger or to$9$ achieve a personal success.
216:042,27['  ]| If he could have looked down at the scene, invisible,
216:042,28['  ]| from a hole in$4$ the roof, he would have enjoyed it quite
216:042,29['  ]| as much. It would have spoken to$4$ him about his own
216:042,30['  ]| prosperity and deepened that$6#2$ easy feeling about life to$4$
216:042,31['  ]| which$6#1$, sooner or later, he made all experience contribute.
216:042,32['  ]| Just now the cup seemed full.
216:042,33[I  ]| "It is a very pretty party," 
216:042,33['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, after
216:042,34['  ]| they had walked a while. 
216:042,34[I  ]| "I have seen nothing objectionable
216:042,35[I  ]| except my husband leaning against the wall and
216:042,36[I  ]| talking to$4$ an individual whom I suppose he takes for$4$ a
216:042,37[I  ]| duke, but whom I more than suspect to$9$ be the functionary
216:043,01[I  ]| who$6#1$ attends to$4$ the lamps.  Do you think you could
216:043,02[I  ]| separate them? Knock over a lamp!"
216:043,03['  ]| I doubt whether Newman, who$6#1$ saw no$2$ harm in$4$ Tristram's
216:043,04['  ]| conversing with an ingenious mechanic, would
216:043,05['  ]| have complied with this request; but at this moment
216:043,06['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde drew near. Newman, some
216:043,07['  ]| weeks previously, had presented Madame*de*Cintre='s
216:043,08['  ]| younger brother to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram, for$4$ whose merits
216:043,09['  ]| Valentin professed a discriminating relish, and to$4$ whom
216:043,10['  ]| he had paid several visits.
216:043,11[I  ]| "Did you ever read Keat's ""Belle*Dame*sans*Merci""?" 
216:043,12[I  ]|  
216:043,12['  ]| asked Mrs%*Tristram. 
216:043,12[I  ]| "You remind me of
216:043,13[I  ]| the hero of the ballad:
216:043,14@z   | " ""Oh, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
216:043,15[I  ]| Alone and palely loitering?"" "
216:043,16[E  ]| "If I am alone, it is because I have been deprived of
216:043,17[E  ]| your society," 
216:043,17['  ]| said Valentin. 
216:043,17[E  ]| "Besides, it is good
216:043,18[E  ]| manners for$4$ no$2$ man except Newman to$9$ look happy.
216:043,19[E  ]| This is all to$4$ his address. It is not for$4$ you and me to$9$
216:043,20[E  ]| go before the curtain."
216:043,21[B  ]| "You promised me last spring," 
216:043,21['  ]| said Newman to$4$
216:043,22['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram, 
216:043,22[B  ]| "that$3$ six months from that$6#2$ time I should
216:043,23[B  ]| get into a monstrous rage. It seems to$4$ me the time is
216:043,24[B  ]| up$5$, and yet the nearest I can come to$4$ doing anything
216:043,25[B  ]| rough now is to$9$ offer you a \9cafe=*glace=\. 
216:043,26[E  ]| "I told you we should do things grandly," 
216:043,26['  ]| said
216:043,27['  ]| Valentin. 
216:043,27[E  ]| "I do not allude to$4$ the \9cafe=s*glace=s\. But
216:043,28[E  ]| every*one is here, and my sister told me just now that$3$
216:043,29[E  ]| Urbain had been adorable."
216:043,30[B  ]| "He is a good fellow, he is a good fellow," 
216:043,30['  ]| said Newman.
216:043,31[B  ]| "I love him as a brother. That$6#2$ reminds me
216:043,32[B  ]| that$3$ I ought to$9$ go and say something polite to$4$ your
216:043,33[B  ]| mother."
216:043,34[E  ]| "Let it be something very polite indeed," 
216:043,34['  ]| said
216:043,35['  ]| Valentin. 
216:043,35[E  ]| "It may be the last time you will$1$ feel so$5#1$
216:043,36[E  ]| much like$4$ it!"
216:044,01['  ]| Newman walked away, almost disposed to$9$ clasp old
216:044,02['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde round the waist. He passed
216:044,03['  ]| through several rooms, and at last found the old Marquise
216:044,04['  ]| in$4$ the first saloon, seated on$4$ a sofa, with her young
216:044,05['  ]| kinsman, Lord*Deepmere, beside her. 
216:044,05@b   | The young man
216:044,06@b   | looked somewhat bored; his hands were thrust into his
216:044,07@b   | pockets and his eyes were fixed upon$4$ the toes of his shoes,
216:044,08@b   | his feet being thrust out in$4$ front of him. Madame*de*Bellegarde
216:044,09@b   | appeared to$9$ have been talking to$4$ him with
216:044,10@b   | some intensity, and to$9$ be waiting for$4$ an answer to$4$ what
216:044,11@b   | she had said, or for$4$ some sign of the effect of her words.
216:044,12@b   | Her hands were folded in$4$ her lap, and she was looking
216:044,13@b   | at his lordship's simple physiognomy with an air of
216:044,14@b   | politely-suppressed irritation.
216:044,15['  ]| Lord*Deepmere looked up$5$ as Newman approached,
216:044,16['  ]| met his eyes, and changed colour.
216:044,17[B  ]| "I am afraid I disturb an interesting interview," 
216:044,17['  ]| said
216:044,18['  ]| Newman.
216:044,19['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde rose, and her companion rising
216:044,20['  ]| at the same time, she put her hand into his arm. She
216:044,21['  ]| answered nothing for$4$ an instant, and then, as he remained
216:044,22['  ]| silent, she said with a smile: 
216:044,22[C  ]| "It would be polite for$4$
216:044,23[C  ]| Lord*Deepmere to$9$ say it was very interesting."
216:044,24[W  ]| "Oh, I am not polite!" 
216:044,24['  ]| cried his lordship. 
216:044,24[W  ]| "But it
216:044,25[W  ]| \was\ interesting."
216:044,26[B  ]| "Madame*de*Bellegarde was giving you some good
216:044,27[B  ]| advice, eh?" 
216:044,27['  ]| said Newman: 
216:044,27[B  ]| "toning you down a
216:044,28[B  ]| little?"
216:044,29[C  ]| "I was giving him some excellent advice," 
216:044,29['  ]| said the
216:044,30['  ]| Marquise, fixing her fresh cold eyes upon$4$ our hero.
216:044,31[C  ]| "It is for$4$ him to$9$ take it."
216:044,32[B  ]| "Take it, sir, take it!" 
216:044,32['  ]| Newman exclaimed. 
216:044,32[B  ]| "Any
216:044,33[B  ]| advice the Marquise gives you to-night must be good;
216:044,34[B  ]| for$3$ to-night, Marquise, you must speak from a cheerful,
216:044,35[B  ]| comfortable spirit, and that$6#2$ makes good advice. You
216:044,36[B  ]| see everything going on$5$ so$5#1$ brightly and successfully round
216:044,37[B  ]| you. Your party is magnificent; it was a very happy
216:045,01[B  ]| thought. It is much better than that$6#2$ thing of mine
216:045,02[B  ]| would have been."
216:045,03[C  ]| "If you are pleased I am satisfied," 
216:045,03['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
216:045,04[C  ]| "My desire was to$9$ please you."
216:045,05[B  ]| "Do you want to$9$ please me a little more?" 
216:045,05['  ]| said
216:045,06['  ]| Newman. 
216:045,06[B  ]| "Just drop our lordly friend; I am sure he
216:045,07[B  ]| wants to$9$ be off and shake his heels a little. Then take
216:045,08[B  ]| my arm and walk through the rooms."
216:045,09[C  ]| "My desire was to$9$ please you," 
216:045,09['  ]| the old lady repeated.
216:045,10['  ]| And she liberated Lord*Deepmere, Newman rather wondering
216:045,11['  ]| at her docility. 
216:045,11[C  ]| "If this young man is wise,"
216:045,12['  ]| she added, 
216:045,12[C  ]| "he will$1$ go and find my daughter and ask
216:045,13[C  ]| her to$9$ dance."
216:045,14[B  ]| "I have been endorsing your advice," 
216:045,14['  ]| said Newman,
216:045,15['  ]| bending over her and laughing, 
216:045,15[B  ]| "I suppose I must
216:045,16[B  ]| swallow that$6#2$!"
216:045,17['  ]| Lord*Deepmere wiped his forehead and departed, and
216:045,18['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde took Newman's arm. 
216:045,18[B  ]| "Yes, it is a
216:045,19[B  ]| very pleasant, sociable entertainment," 
216:045,19['  ]| the latter declared,
216:045,20['  ]| as they proceeded on$4$ their circuit. 
216:045,20[B  ]| "Every*one seems to$9$
216:045,21[B  ]| know every*one, and to$9$ be glad to$9$ see every*one. The
216:045,22[B  ]| Marquis has made me acquainted with ever so$5#1$ many
216:045,23[B  ]| people, and I feel quite like$4$ one of the family. It is an
216:045,24[B  ]| occasion," 
216:045,24['  ]| Newman continued, wanting to$9$ say something
216:045,25['  ]| thoroughly kind and comfortable, 
216:045,25[B  ]| "that$6#1$ I shall always
216:045,26[B  ]| remember, and remember very pleasantly."
216:045,27[C  ]| "I think it is an occasion that$6#1$ we shall none of us
216:045,28[C  ]| forget," 
216:045,28['  ]| said the Marquise, with her pure, neat enunciation.
216:045,29['  ]| People made way for$4$ her as she passed, others turned
216:045,30['  ]| round and looked at her, and she received a great many
216:045,31['  ]| greetings and pressings of the hand, all of which$6#1$ she
216:045,32['  ]| accepted with the most delicate dignity. But though
216:045,33['  ]| she smiled upon$4$ every*one, she said nothing until she
216:045,34['  ]| reached the last of the rooms, where she found her elder
216:045,35['  ]| son. Then, 
216:045,35[C  ]| "This is enough, sir," 
216:045,35['  ]| she declared, with
216:045,36['  ]| measured softness to$4$ Newman, and turned to$4$ the Marquis.
216:045,37['  ]| He put out both his hands and took both hers, drawing
216:046,01['  ]| her to$4$ a seat with an air of the tenderest veneration. It
216:046,02['  ]| was a most harmonious family group, and Newman discreetly
216:046,03['  ]| retired. He moved through the rooms for$4$ some
216:046,04['  ]| time longer, circulating freely, overtopping most people
216:046,05['  ]| by$4$ his great height, renewing acquaintance with some of
216:046,06['  ]| the groups to$4$ which$6#1$ Urbain*de*Bellegarde had presented
216:046,07['  ]| him, and expending generally the surplus of his equanimity.
216:046,08['  ]| He continued to$9$ find it all extremely agreeable;
216:046,09['  ]| but the most agreeable things have an end, and the
216:046,10['  ]| revelry on$4$ this occasion began to$9$ deepen to$4$ a close.
216:046,11['  ]| The music was sounding its ultimate strains, and people
216:046,12['  ]| were looking for$4$ the Marquise, to$9$ make their farewells.
216:046,13['  ]| There seemed to$9$ be some difficulty in$4$ finding her, and
216:046,14['  ]| Newman heard a report that$3$ she had left the ball, feeling
216:046,15['  ]| faint. 
216:046,15[X  ]| "She has succumbed to$4$ the emotions of the
216:046,16[X  ]| evening," 
216:046,16['  ]| he heard a lady say. 
216:046,16[X  ]| "Poor, dear Marquise;
216:046,17[X  ]| I can imagine all that$6#1$ they may have been for$4$ her!"
216:046,18['  ]| But he learned immediately afterwards that$3$ she had
216:046,19['  ]| recovered herself and was seated in$4$ an armchair near the
216:046,20['  ]| doorway, receiving parting compliments from great ladies
216:046,21['  ]| who$6#1$ insisted upon$4$ her not rising. He himself set out in$4$
216:046,22['  ]| quest of Madame*de*Cintre=. He had seen her move
216:046,23['  ]| past him many times in$4$ the rapid circles of a waltz,
216:046,24['  ]| but, in$4$ accordance with her explicit instructions, he had
216:046,25['  ]| exchanged no$2$ words with her since the beginning of the
216:046,26['  ]| evening. The whole house having been thrown open,
216:046,27['  ]| the apartments of the \9rez-de-chausse=e\ were also accessible,
216:046,28['  ]| though a smaller number of persons had gathered there.
216:046,29['  ]| Newman wandered through them, observing a few scattered
216:046,30['  ]| couples to$4$ whom this comparative seclusion appeared
216:046,31['  ]| grateful, and reached a small conservatory which$6#1$ opened
216:046,32['  ]| into the garden. The end of the conservatory was
216:046,33['  ]| formed by$4$ a clear sheet of glass, unmasked by$4$ plants,
216:046,34['  ]| and admitting the winter starlight so$5#1$ directly that$3$ a
216:046,35['  ]| person standing there would seem to$9$ have passed into the
216:046,36['  ]| open air. Two persons stood there now, a lady and a
216:046,37['  ]| gentleman; the lady Newman, from within the room
216:047,01['  ]| and although she had turned her back to$4$ it, immediately
216:047,02['  ]| recognised as Madame*de*Cintre=. He hesitated as to$4$
216:047,03['  ]| whether he would advance, but as he did so$5#2$ she looked
216:047,04['  ]| round, feeling apparently that$3$ he was there. She rested
216:047,05['  ]| her eyes on$4$ him a moment, and then turned again to$4$
216:047,06['  ]| her companion.
216:047,07[A  ]| "It is almost a pity not to$9$ tell Mr%*Newman," 
216:047,07['  ]| she
216:047,08['  ]| said softly, but in$4$ a tone that$6#1$ Newman could hear.
216:047,09[W  ]| "Tell him if you like$1$!" 
216:047,09['  ]| the gentleman answered, in$4$
216:047,10['  ]| the voice of Lord*Deepmere.
216:047,11[B  ]| "Oh, tell me by$4$ all means!" 
216:047,11['  ]| said Newman, advancing.
216:047,12@b   | Lord*Deepmere, 
216:047,12['  ]| he observed, 
216:047,12@b   | was very red in$4$ the
216:047,13@b   | face, and he had twisted his gloves into a tight cord as if
216:047,14@b   | he had been squeezing them dry. These, presumably,
216:047,15@b   | were tokens of violent emotion, 
216:047,15['  ]| and it seemed to$4$ Newman
216:047,16['  ]| that$3$ 
216:047,16@b   | the traces of a corresponding agitation were
216:047,17@b   | visible in$4$ Madame*de*Cintre='s face. The two had been
216:047,18@b   | talking with much vivacity. 
216:047,18[A  ]| "What I should tell you
216:047,19[A  ]| is only to$4$ my lord's credit," 
216:047,19['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=,
216:047,20['  ]| smiling frankly enough.
216:047,21[W  ]| "He would not like$1$ it any better for$4$ that$6#2$," 
216:047,21['  ]| said my
216:047,22['  ]| lord, with his awkward laugh.
216:047,23[B  ]| "Come; what is the mystery?" 
216:047,23['  ]| Newman demanded.
216:047,24[B  ]| "Clear it up$5$. I do not like$1$ mysteries."
216:047,25[W  ]| "We must have some things we do not like$1$, and go
216:047,26[W  ]| without some we do," 
216:047,26['  ]| said the ruddy young nobleman,
216:047,27['  ]| laughing still.
216:047,28[A  ]| "It is to$4$ Lord*Deepmere's credit, but it is not to$4$
216:047,29[A  ]| every*one's," 
216:047,29['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
216:047,29[A  ]| "So$3$ I shall say
216:047,30[A  ]| nothing about it. You may be sure," 
216:047,30['  ]| she added; and
216:047,31['  ]| she put out her hand to$4$ the Englishman, who$6#1$ took it
216:047,32['  ]| half shyly, half impetuously. 
216:047,32[A  ]| "And now go and dance!"
216:047,33['  ]| she said.
216:047,34[W  ]| "Oh yes, I feel awfully like$4$ dancing!" 
216:047,34['  ]| he answered.
216:047,35[W  ]| "I shall go and get tipsy." 
216:047,35['  ]| And he walked away with
216:047,36['  ]| a gloomy guffaw.
216:047,37[B  ]| "What has happened between you?" 
216:047,37['  ]| Newman asked.
216:048,01[A  ]| "I can not tell you ~~ now," 
216:048,01['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
216:048,02[A  ]| "Nothing that$6#1$ need make you unhappy."
216:048,03[B  ]| "Has the little Englishman been trying to$9$ make love
216:048,04[B  ]| to$4$ you?"
216:048,05['  ]| She hesitated, and then she uttered a grave 
216:048,05[A  ]| "No$7$!
216:048,06[A  ]| he is a very honest little fellow."
216:048,07[B  ]| "But you are agitated. Something is the matter."
216:048,08[A  ]| "Nothing, I repeat, that$6#1$ need make you unhappy.
216:048,09[A  ]| My agitation is over. Some day I will$1$ tell you what it
216:048,10[A  ]| was; not now. I can not now."
216:048,11[B  ]| "Well, I confess," 
216:048,11['  ]| remarked Newman, 
216:048,11[B  ]| "I do not want
216:048,12[B  ]| to$9$ hear anything unpleasant. I am satisfied with everything
216:048,13[B  ]| ~~ most of all with you. I have seen all the ladies
216:048,14[B  ]| and talked with a great many of them; but I am satisfied
216:048,15[B  ]| with you." 
216:048,15['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= covered him for$4$ a moment
216:048,16['  ]| with her large, soft glance, and then turned her eyes away
216:048,17['  ]| into the starry night. So$3$ they stood silent a moment,
216:048,18['  ]| side by$4$ side. 
216:048,18[B  ]| "Say you are satisfied with me," 
216:048,18['  ]| said
216:048,19['  ]| Newman.
216:048,20['  ]| He had to$9$ wait a moment for$4$ the answer; but it came
216:048,21['  ]| at last, low yet distinct: 
216:048,21[A  ]| "I am very happy."
216:048,22['  ]| It was presently followed by$4$ a few words from another
216:048,23['  ]| source, which$6#1$ made them both turn round. 
216:048,23[J  ]| "I am sadly
216:048,24[J  ]| afraid Madame*de*Cintre= will$1$ take a chill. I have ventured
216:048,25[J  ]| to$9$ bring a shawl." 
216:048,25['  ]| Mrs%*Bread stood there softly
216:048,26['  ]| solicitous, holding a white drapery in$4$ her hand.
216:048,27[A  ]| "Thank you," 
216:048,27['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, 
216:048,27[A  ]| "the sight of
216:048,28[A  ]| those cold stars gives one a sense of frost. I will$1$ not take
216:048,29[A  ]| your shawl, but we will$1$ go back into the house."
216:048,30['  ]| She passed back and Newman followed her, Mrs%*Bread
216:048,31['  ]| standing respectfully aside to$9$ make way for$4$ them.
216:048,32['  ]| Newman paused an instant before the old woman, and
216:048,33['  ]| she glanced up$5$ at him with a silent greeting. 
216:048,33[B  ]| "Oh
216:048,34[B  ]| yes," 
216:048,34['  ]| he said, 
216:048,34[B  ]| "you must come and live with us."
216:048,35[J  ]| "Well then, sir, if you will$1$," 
216:048,35['  ]| she answered, 
216:048,35[J  ]| "you
216:048,36[J  ]| have not seen the last of me!"
217:049,01['  ]| Newman was fond of music, and went often to$4$ the opera.
217:049,02['  ]| A couple of evenings after Madame*de*Bellegarde's ball
217:049,03['  ]| he sat listening to$4$ "Don*Giovanni," having in$4$ honour of
217:049,04['  ]| this work, which$6#1$ he had never yet seen represented,
217:049,05['  ]| come to$9$ occupy his orchestra chair before the rising of
217:049,06['  ]| the curtain. Frequently he took a large box and invited
217:049,07['  ]| a party of his compatriots; this was a mode of recreation
217:049,08['  ]| to$4$ which$6#1$ he was much addicted. He liked making up$5$
217:049,09['  ]| parties of his friends and conducting them to$4$ the theatre,
217:049,10['  ]| and taking them to$9$ drive on$4$ high drags or to$9$ dine at
217:049,11['  ]| remote restaurants. He liked doing things which$6#1$ involved
217:049,12['  ]| his paying for$4$ people; the vulgar truth is that$3$ he enjoyed
217:049,13['  ]| "treating" them. This was not because he was what is
217:049,14['  ]| called purse-proud; handling money in$4$ public was, on$4$
217:049,15['  ]| the contrary, positively disagreeable to$4$ him; he had a
217:049,16['  ]| sort of personal modesty about it, akin to$4$ what he would
217:049,17['  ]| have felt about making a toilet before spectators. But
217:049,18['  ]| just as it was a gratification to$4$ him to$9$ be handsomely
217:049,19['  ]| dressed, just so$5#2$ it was a private satisfaction to$4$ him (he 
217:049,20['  ]| enjoyed it very clandestinely) to$9$ have interposed, pecuniarily,
217:049,21['  ]| in$4$ a scheme of pleasure. To$9$ set a large group of
217:049,22['  ]| people in$4$ motion and transport them to$4$ a distance, to$9$
217:049,23['  ]| have special conveyances, to$9$ charter railway carriages
217:049,24['  ]| and steamboats, harmonised with his relish for$4$ bold
217:049,25['  ]| processes, and made hospitality seem more active and
217:049,26['  ]| more to$4$ the purpose. A few evenings before the occasion
217:049,27['  ]| of which$6#1$ I speak he had invited several ladies and gentlemen
217:049,28['  ]| to$4$ the opera to$9$ listen to$4$ Madame*Alboni ~~ a party
217:049,29['  ]| which$6#1$ included Miss*Dora*Finch. It befell, however,
217:049,30['  ]| that$3$ Miss*Dora*Finch, sitting near Newman in$4$ the box,
217:049,31['  ]| discoursed brilliantly, not only during the entr'actes, but
217:049,32['  ]| during many of the finest portions of the performance, so$3$
217:049,33['  ]| that$3$ Newman had really come away with an irritated
217:050,01['  ]| sense that$3$ Madame*Alboni had a thin, shrill voice, and
217:050,02['  ]| that$3$ her musical phrase was much garnished with a laugh
217:050,03['  ]| of the giggling order. After this he promised himself to$9$
217:050,04['  ]| go for$4$ a while to$4$ the opera alone.
217:050,05['  ]| When the curtain had fallen upon$4$ the first act of "Don*Giovanni,"
217:050,06['  ]| he turned round in$4$ his place to$9$ observe the
217:050,07['  ]| house. Presently, in$4$ one of the boxes, he perceived
217:050,08['  ]| Urbain*de*Bellegarde and his wife. The little Marquise
217:050,09['  ]| was sweeping the house very busily with a glass, and
217:050,10['  ]| Newman, supposing that$3$ she saw him, determined to$9$ go
217:050,11['  ]| and bid her good-evening. M%*de*Bellegarde was leaning
217:050,12['  ]| against a column, motionless, looking straight in$4$
217:050,13['  ]| front of him, with one hand in$4$ the breast of his white
217:050,14['  ]| waistcoat and the other resting his hat on$4$ his thigh.
217:050,15['  ]| Newman was about to$9$ leave his place when he noticed
217:050,16['  ]| in$4$ that$6#2$ obscure region devoted to$4$ the small boxes which$6#1$
217:050,17['  ]| in$4$ France are called, not inaptly, "bathing-tubs," a face
217:050,18['  ]| which$6#1$ even the dim light and the distance could not
217:050,19['  ]| make wholly indistinct. It was the face of a young and
217:050,20['  ]| pretty woman, and it was surmounted with a \9coiffure\ of
217:050,21['  ]| pink roses and diamonds. This person was looking
217:050,22['  ]| round the house, and her fan was moving to$8$ and fro
217:050,23['  ]| with the most practised grace; when she lowered it
217:050,24['  ]| Newman perceived a pair of plump white shoulders and
217:050,25['  ]| the edge of a rose-coloured dress. Beside her, very close
217:050,26['  ]| to$4$ the shoulders, and talking, apparently with an earnestness
217:050,27['  ]| which$6#1$ it pleased her scantily to$9$ heed, sat a young
217:050,28['  ]| man with a red face and a very low shirt collar. A
217:050,29['  ]| moment's gazing left Newman with no$2$ doubts; 
217:050,29@b   | the
217:050,30@b   | pretty young woman was Noe=mie*Nioche. 
217:050,30['  ]| He looked
217:050,31['  ]| hard into the depths of the box, thinking her father
217:050,32['  ]| might perhaps be in$4$ attendance, but from what he could
217:050,33['  ]| see the young man's eloquence had no$2$ other auditor.
217:050,34['  ]| Newman at last made his way out, and in$4$ doing so$5#2$ he
217:050,35['  ]| passed beneath the \9baignoire\ of Mademoiselle*Noe=mie.
217:050,36['  ]| She saw him as he approached, and gave him a nod and
217:050,37['  ]| smile which$6#1$ seemed meant as an assurance that$3$ she was
217:051,01['  ]| still a good-natured girl, in$4$ spite of her enviable rise in$4$
217:051,02['  ]| the world. Newman passed into the \9foyer\ and walked
217:051,03['  ]| through it. Suddenly he paused in$4$ front of a gentleman
217:051,04['  ]| seated in$4$ one of the divans. The gentleman's elbows
217:051,05['  ]| were on$4$ his knees; he was leaning forward and staring
217:051,06['  ]| at the pavement, lost apparently in$4$ meditations of a
217:051,07['  ]| somewhat gloomy cast. But in$4$ spite of his bent head
217:051,08['  ]| Newman recognised him, and in$4$ a moment sat down
217:051,09['  ]| beside him. Then the gentleman looked up$5$ and displayed
217:051,10['  ]| the expressive countenance of Valentin*de*Bellegarde.
217:051,11['  ]| 
217:051,12[B  ]| "What in$4$ the world are you thinking of so$5#1$ hard?"
217:051,13['  ]| asked Newman.
217:051,14[E  ]| "A subject that$6#1$ requires hard thinking to$9$ do it justice,"
217:051,15['  ]| said Valentin. 
217:051,15[E  ]| "My immeasurable idiocy."
217:051,16[B  ]| "What is the matter now?"
217:051,17[E  ]| "The matter now is that$3$ I am a man again, and no$2$
217:051,18[E  ]| more a fool than usual. But I came within an inch of
217:051,19[E  ]| taking that$6#2$ girl \9au*se=rieux."
217:051,20[B  ]| "You mean the young lady below stairs, in$4$ a \9baignoire\,
217:051,21[B  ]| in$4$ a pink dress?" 
217:051,21['  ]| said Newman.
217:051,22[E  ]| "Did you notice what a brilliant kind of pink it was?"
217:051,23['  ]| Valentin inquired, by$4$ way of answer. 
217:051,23[E  ]| "It makes her
217:051,24[E  ]| look as white as milk."
217:051,25[B  ]| "White or black, as you please. But you have
217:051,26[B  ]| stopped going to$9$ see her?"
217:051,27[E  ]| "Oh, bless you, no$7$. Why should I stop? I have
217:051,28[E  ]| changed, but she has not," 
217:051,28['  ]| said Valentin. 
217:051,28[E  ]| "I see she is
217:051,29[E  ]| a vulgar little wretch, after all. But she is as amusing
217:051,30[E  ]| as ever, and one \must\ be amused."
217:051,31[B  ]| "Well, I am glad she strikes you so$5#1$ unpleasantly,"
217:051,32['  ]| Newman rejoined. 
217:051,32[B  ]| "I suppose you have swallowed all
217:051,33[B  ]| those fine words you used about her the other night.
217:051,34[B  ]| You compared her to$4$ a sapphire, or a topaz, or an
217:051,35[B  ]| amethyst ~~ some precious stone; what was it?"
217:051,36[E  ]| "I do not remember," 
217:051,36['  ]| said Valentin, 
217:051,36[E  ]| "it may have
217:051,37[E  ]| been to$4$ a carbuncle! But she will$1$ not make a fool of me
217:052,01[E  ]| now. She has no$2$ real charm. It is an awfully low thing
217:052,02[E  ]| to$9$ make a mistake about a person of that$6#2$ sort."
217:052,03[B  ]| "I congratulate you," 
217:052,03['  ]| Newman declared, 
217:052,03[B  ]| "upon$4$ the
217:052,04[B  ]| scales having fallen from your eyes. It is a great triumph;
217:052,05[B  ]| it ought to$9$ make you feel better."
217:052,06[E  ]| "Yes, it makes me feel better!" 
217:052,06['  ]| said Valentin, gaily.
217:052,07['  ]| Then, checking himself, he looked askance at Newman.
217:052,08[E  ]| "I rather think you are laughing at me. If you were
217:052,09[E  ]| not one of the family I would take it up$5$."
217:052,10[B  ]| "Oh no$7$, I am not laughing, any more than I am one
217:052,11[B  ]| of the family. You make me feel badly. You are too 
217:052,12[B  ]| clever a fellow, you are made of too good stuff, to$9$ spend
217:052,13[B  ]| your time in$4$ ups and downs over that$6#2$ class of goods.
217:052,14[B  ]| The idea of splitting hairs about Miss*Nioche! It seems
217:052,15[B  ]| to$4$ me awfully foolish. You say you have given up$5$ taking
217:052,16[B  ]| her seriously; but you take her seriously so$5#1$ long as you
217:052,17[B  ]| take her at all."
217:052,18['  ]| Valentin turned round in$4$ his place and looked a while
217:052,19['  ]| at Newman, wrinkling his forehead and rubbing his
217:052,20['  ]| knees. 
217:052,20[E  ]| "\9Vous 9parlez 9d'or\. but she has wonderfully
217:052,21[E  ]| pretty arms. Would you believe I did not know it till
217:052,22[E  ]| this evening?"
217:052,23[B  ]| "But she is a vulgar little wretch, remember, all the
217:052,24[B  ]| same," 
217:052,24['  ]| said Newman.
217:052,25[E  ]| "Yes; the other day she had the bad taste to$9$ begin
217:052,26[E  ]| to$9$ abuse her father, to$4$ his face, in$4$ my presence. I
217:052,27[E  ]| should not have expected it of her; it was a disappointment;
217:052,28[E  ]| heigho!"
217:052,29[B  ]| "Why, she cares no$2$ more for$4$ her father than for$4$ her
217:052,30[B  ]| door-mat," 
217:052,30['  ]| said Newman. 
217:052,30[B  ]| "I discovered that$6#2$ the first
217:052,31[B  ]| time I saw her."
217:052,32[E  ]| "Oh, that$6#2$ is another affair; she may think of the poor
217:052,33[E  ]| old beggar what she pleases. But it was low in$4$ her to$9$
217:052,34[E  ]| call him bad names; it quite threw me off. It was
217:052,35[E  ]| about a frilled petticoat that$6#1$ he was to$9$ have fetched from
217:052,36[E  ]| the washerwoman's; he appeared to$9$ have neglected this
217:052,37[E  ]| graceful duty. She almost boxed his ears. He stood
217:053,01[E  ]| there staring at her with his little blank eyes and smoothing
217:053,02[E  ]| his old hat with his coat-tail. At last he turned
217:053,03[E  ]| round and went out without a word. Then I told her
217:053,04@e   | it was in$4$ very bad taste to$9$ speak so$5#2$ to$4$ one's papa. 
217:053,04[E  ]| She
217:053,05[E  ]| said 
217:053,05@g   | she should be so$5#1$ thankful to$4$ me if I would mention
217:053,06@g   | it to$4$ her whenever her taste was at fault; she had
217:053,07@g   | immense confidence in$4$ mine. 
217:053,07[E  ]| I told her 
217:053,07@e   | I could not have
217:053,08@e   | the bother of forming her manners; I had had an idea
217:053,09@e   | they were already formed, after the best models. 
217:053,09[E  ]| She
217:053,10[E  ]| had disappointed me. But I shall get over it," 
217:053,10['  ]| said
217:053,11['  ]| Valentin, gaily.
217:053,12[B  ]| "Oh, time is a great consoler!" 
217:053,12['  ]| Newman answered,
217:053,13['  ]| with humorous sobriety. He was silent a moment, and
217:053,14['  ]| then he added in$4$ another tone: 
217:053,14[B  ]| "I wish you would
217:053,15[B  ]| think of what I said to$4$ you the other day. Come over
217:053,16[B  ]| to$4$ American with us, and I will$1$ put you in$4$ the way of
217:053,17[B  ]| doing some business. You have got a very good head if
217:053,18[B  ]| you will$1$ only use it."
217:053,19['  ]| Valentin made a genial grimace. 
217:053,19[E  ]| "My head is
217:053,20[E  ]| much obliged to$4$ you. Do you mean the place in$4$ a 
217:053,21[E  ]| bank?"
217:053,22[B  ]| "There are several places, but I suppose you would
217:053,23[B  ]| consider the bank the most aristocratic."
217:053,24['  ]| Valentin burst into a laugh. 
217:053,24[E  ]| "My dear fellow, at
217:053,25[E  ]| night all cats are gray! When one derogates there are
217:053,26[E  ]| no$2$ degrees."
217:053,27['  ]| Newman answered nothing for$4$ a minute. Then, 
217:053,27[B  ]| "I
217:053,28[B  ]| think you will$1$ find there are degrees in$4$ success," 
217:053,28['  ]| he said,
217:053,29['  ]| with a certain dryness.
217:053,30['  ]| Valentin had leaned forward again, with his elbows on$4$
217:053,31['  ]| his knees, and he was scratching the pavement with his
217:053,32['  ]| stick. At last he said, looking up$5$: 
217:053,32[E  ]| "Do you really
217:053,33[E  ]| think I ought to$9$ do something?"
217:053,34['  ]| Newman laid his hand on$4$ his companion's arm and
217:053,35['  ]| looked at him a moment through sagaciously-narrowed
217:053,36['  ]| eyelids. 
217:053,36[B  ]| "Try it and see. You are not good enough
217:053,37[B  ]| for$4$ it, but we will$1$ stretch a point."
217:054,01[E  ]| "Do you really think I can make some money? I
217:054,02[E  ]| should like$1$ to$9$ see how it feels to$9$ have a little."
217:054,03[B  ]| "Do what I tell you, and you shall be rich," 
217:054,03['  ]| said
217:054,04['  ]| Newman. 
217:054,04[B  ]| "Think of it." 
217:054,04['  ]| And he looked at his watch
217:054,05['  ]| and prepared to$9$ resume his way to$4$ Madame*de*Bellegarde's
217:054,06['  ]| box.
217:054,07[E  ]| "Upon$4$ my word I will$1$ think of it," 
217:054,07['  ]| said Valentin.
217:054,08[E  ]| "I will$1$ go and listen to$4$ Mozart another half-hour ~~ I can
217:054,09[E  ]| always think better to$4$ music ~~ and profoundly meditate
217:054,10[E  ]| upon$4$ it."
217:054,11['  ]| The Marquis was with his wife when Newman entered
217:054,12['  ]| their box; he was bland, remote, and correct as usual;
217:054,13['  ]| or, as it seemed to$4$ Newman, even more than usual.
217:054,14[B  ]| "What do you think of the opera?" 
217:054,14['  ]| asked our hero.
217:054,15[B  ]| "What do you think of the Don?"
217:054,16[D  ]| "We all know what Mozart is," 
217:054,16['  ]| said the Marquis;
217:054,17[D  ]| "our impressions do not date from this evening. Mozart
217:054,18[D  ]| is youth, freshness, brilliancy, facility ~~ a little too great
217:054,19[D  ]| facility, perhaps. But the execution is here and there
217:054,20[D  ]| deplorably rough."
217:054,21[B  ]| "I am very curious to$9$ see how it ends," 
217:054,21['  ]| said Newman.
217:054,22[D  ]| "You speak as if it were a \9feuilleton\ in$4$ the \Figaro\,"
217:054,23['  ]| observed the Marquis. 
217:054,23[D  ]| "You have surely seen the opera
217:054,24[D  ]| before?"
217:054,25[B  ]| "Never," 
217:054,25['  ]| said Newman. 
217:054,25[B  ]| "I am sure I should have
217:054,26[B  ]| remembered it. Donna*Elvira reminds me of Madame*de*Cintre=;
217:054,27[B  ]| I do not mean in$4$ her circumstances, but in$4$
217:054,28[B  ]| the music she sings."
217:054,29[D  ]| "It is a very nice distinction," 
217:054,29['  ]| laughed the Marquis,
217:054,30['  ]| lightly. 
217:054,30[D  ]| "There is no$2$ great possibility, I imagine, of
217:054,31[D  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= being forsaken."
217:054,32[B  ]| "Not much!" 
217:054,32['  ]| said Newman. 
217:054,32[B  ]| "But what becomes
217:054,33[B  ]| of the Don?"
217:054,34[L  ]| "The devil comes down ~~ or comes up$5$," 
217:054,34['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde,
217:054,35[L  ]| "and carries him off. I suppose Zerlina
217:054,36[L  ]| reminds you of me."
217:054,37[D  ]| "I will$1$ go to$4$ the \foyer\ for$4$ a few moments," 
217:054,37['  ]| said the
217:055,01['  ]| Marquis, 
217:055,01[D  ]| "and give you a chance to$9$ say that$3$ the Commander ~
217:055,02[D  ]| the man of stone ~~ resembles me." 
217:055,02['  ]| And he
217:055,03['  ]| passed out of the box.
217:055,04['  ]| The little Marquise stared an instant at the velvet
217:055,05['  ]| ledge of the balcony, and then murmured: 
217:055,05[L  ]| "Not a man
217:055,06[L  ]| of stone, a man of wood." 
217:055,06['  ]| Newman had taken her
217:055,07['  ]| husband's empty chair. She made no$2$ protest, and then
217:055,08['  ]| she turned suddenly and laid her closed fan upon$4$ his arm.
217:055,09[L  ]| "I am very glad you came in$5$," 
217:055,09['  ]| she said. 
217:055,09[L  ]| "I want to$9$
217:055,10[L  ]| ask you a favour. I wanted to$9$ do so$5#2$ on$4$ Thursday, at
217:055,11[L  ]| my mother-in-law's ball, but you would give me no$2$
217:055,12[L  ]| chance. You were in$4$ such very good spirits that$3$ I
217:055,13[L  ]| thought you might grant my little favour then; not that$3$
217:055,14[L  ]| you look particularly doleful now. It is something you
217:055,15[L  ]| must promise me; now is the time to$9$ take you; after
217:055,16[L  ]| you are married you will$1$ be good for$4$ nothing. Come,
217:055,17[L  ]| promise!"
217:055,18[B  ]| "I never sign a paper without reading it first," 
217:055,18['  ]| said
217:055,19['  ]| Newman. 
217:055,19[B  ]| "Show me your document."
217:055,20[L  ]| "No$7$, you must sign with your eyes shut; I will$1$ hold
217:055,21[L  ]| your hand. Come, before you put your head into the
217:055,22[L  ]| noose. You ought to$9$ be thankful for$4$ me giving you a
217:055,23[L  ]| chance to$9$ do something amusing."
217:055,24[B  ]| "If it is so$5#1$ amusing," 
217:055,24['  ]| said Newman, 
217:055,24[B  ]| "it will$1$ be in$4$
217:055,25[B  ]| even better season after I am married."
217:055,26[L  ]| "In$4$ other words," 
217:055,26['  ]| cried Madame*de*Bellegarde, 
217:055,26[L  ]| "you
217:055,27[L  ]| will$1$ not do it at all. You will$1$ be afraid of your wife."
217:055,28[B  ]| "Oh, if the thing is intrinsically improper," 
217:055,28['  ]| said
217:055,29['  ]| Newman, 
217:055,29[B  ]| "I will$1$ not go into it. If it is not, I will$1$ do it
217:055,30[B  ]| after my marriage."
217:055,31[L  ]| "You talk like$4$ a treatise on$4$ logic, and English logic
217:055,32[L  ]| into the bargain!" 
217:055,32['  ]| exclaimed Madame*de*Bellegarde.
217:055,33[L  ]| "Promise, then, after you are married. After all, I
217:055,34[L  ]| shall enjoy keeping you to$4$ it."
217:055,35[B  ]| "Well, then, after I am married," 
217:055,35['  ]| said Newman,
217:055,36['  ]| serenely.
217:055,37['  ]| The little Marquise hesitated a moment, looking at
217:056,01['  ]| him, and he wondered 
217:056,01@b   | what was coming. 
217:056,01[L  ]| "I suppose
217:056,02[L  ]| you know what my life is," 
217:056,02['  ]| she presently said. 
217:056,02[L  ]| "I have
217:056,03[L  ]| no$2$ pleasure, I see nothing, I do nothing. I live in$4$ Paris
217:056,04[L  ]| as I might live at Poitiers. My mother-in-law calls me
217:056,05[L  ]| ~~ what is the pretty word? ~~ a gad-about? accuses me of
217:056,06[L  ]| going to$4$ unheard-of places, and thinks it ought to$9$ be joy
217:056,07[L  ]| enough for$4$ me to$9$ sit at home and count over my ancestors
217:056,08[L  ]| on$4$ my fingers. But why should I bother about my
217:056,09[L  ]| ancestors? I am sure they never bothered about me.
217:056,10[L  ]| I do not propose to$9$ live with a green shade on$4$ my eyes;
217:056,11[L  ]| I hold that$3$ things were made to$9$ look at. My husband,
217:056,12[L  ]| you know, has principles, and the first on$4$ the list is that$3$
217:056,13[L  ]| the Tuileries are dreadfully vulgar. If the Tuileries are
217:056,14[L  ]| vulgar, his principles are tiresome. If I chose I might
217:056,15[L  ]| have principles quite as well as he. If they grew on$4$
217:056,16[L  ]| one's family tree I should only have to$9$ give mine a shake
217:056,17[L  ]| to$9$ bring down a shower of the finest. At any rate, I
217:056,18[L  ]| prefer clever Bonapartes to$4$ stupid Bourbons."
217:056,19[B  ]| "Oh, I see; you want to$9$ go to$4$ court," 
217:056,19['  ]| said Newman,
217:056,20['  ]| vaguely conjecturing that$3$ she might wish him to$9$ appeal
217:056,21['  ]| to$4$ the United*States Legation to$9$ smooth her way to$4$ the
217:056,22['  ]| imperial halls.
217:056,23['  ]| The Marquise gave a little sharp laugh. 
217:056,23[L  ]| "You are a
217:056,24[L  ]| thousand miles away. I will$1$ take care of the Tuileries
217:056,25[L  ]| myself; the day I decide to$9$ go they will$1$ be very glad to$9$
217:056,26[L  ]| have me. Sooner or later I shall dance in$4$ an imperial
217:056,27[L  ]| quadrille. I know what you are going to$9$ say: ""How
217:056,28[L  ]| will$1$ you dare?"" But I \shall\ dare. I am afraid of my
217:056,29[L  ]| husband; he is soft, smooth, irreproachable, everything
217:056,30[L  ]| that$6#1$ you know; but I am afraid of him ~~ horribly afraid
217:056,31[L  ]| of him. And yet I shall arrive at the Tuileries. But
217:056,32[L  ]| that$6#2$ will$1$ not be this winter, nor perhaps next, and meantime
217:056,33[L  ]| I must live. For$4$ the moment, I want to$9$ go somewhere
217:056,34[L  ]| else; it is my dream. I want to$9$ go to$4$ the Bal*Bullier."
217:056,35[L  ]| 
217:056,36[B  ]| "To$4$ the Bal*Bullier?" 
217:056,36['  ]| repeated Newman, for$4$ whom
217:056,37['  ]| the words at first meant nothing.
217:057,01[L  ]| "The ball in$4$ the Latin*Quarter, where the students
217:057,02[L  ]| dance with their mistresses. Do not tell me you have not
217:057,03[L  ]| heard of it."
217:057,04[B  ]| "Oh yes," 
217:057,04['  ]| said Newman; 
217:057,04[B  ]| "I have heard of it; I remember
217:057,05[B  ]| now. I have even been there. And you want
217:057,06[B  ]| to$9$ go there?"
217:057,07[L  ]| "It is silly, it is low, it is anything you please. But
217:057,08[L  ]| I want to$9$ go. Some of my friends have been, and they
217:057,09[L  ]| say it is awfully \9dro^le\. My friends go everywhere; it is
217:057,10[L  ]| only I who$6#1$ sit moping at home."
217:057,11[B  ]| "It seems to$4$ me you are not at home now," 
217:057,11['  ]| said Newman,
217:057,12[B  ]| "and I should not exactly say you were moping."
217:057,13[L  ]| "I am bored to$4$ death. I have been to$4$ the opera
217:057,14[L  ]| twice a week for$4$ the last eight years. Whenever I ask
217:057,15[L  ]| for$4$ anything my mouth is stopped with that$6#2$: Pray,
217:057,16[L  ]| Madame, have not you an opera-box? Could a woman of
217:057,17[L  ]| taste want more? In$4$ the first place, my opera-box was
217:057,18[L  ]| down in$4$ my \9contrat\; they have to$9$ give it to$4$ me. Tonight,
217:057,19[L  ]| for$4$ instance, I should have preferred a thousand
217:057,20[L  ]| times to$9$ go to$4$ the Palais*Royal. But my husband will$1$ not
217:057,21[L  ]| go to$4$ the Palais*Royal because the ladies of the court
217:057,22[L  ]| go there so$5#1$ much. You may imagine, then, whether he
217:057,23[L  ]| would take me to$4$ Bullieer's; he says it is a mere imitation
217:057,24[L  ]| ~~ and a bad one ~~ of what they do at the Princess*Kleinfuss's.
217:057,25[L  ]| But as I do not go to$4$ the Princess*Kleinfuss's,
217:057,26[L  ]| the next best thing is to$9$ go to$4$ Bullier's. It is my
217:057,27[L  ]| dream at any rate; it is a fixed idea. All I ask of you
217:057,28[L  ]| is to$9$ give me your arm; you are less compromising than
217:057,29[L  ]| any*one else. I do not know why, but you are. I can
217:057,30[L  ]| arrange it. I shall risk something, but that$6#2$ is my own
217:057,31[L  ]| affair. Besides, fortune favours the bold. Do not refuse
217:057,32[L  ]| me; it is my dream!"
217:057,33['  ]| Newman gave a loud laugh. It seemed to$4$ him 
217:057,33@b   | hardly
217:057,34@b   | worth while to$9$ be the wife of the Marquis*de*Bellegarde,
217:057,35@b   | a daughter of the crusaders, heiress of six centuries of
217:057,36@b   | glories and traditions, to$9$ have centred one's aspirations
217:057,37@b   | upon$4$ the sight of a couple of hundred young ladies kicking
217:058,01@b   | off young men's hats. 
217:058,01['  ]| It struck him as 
217:058,01@b   | a theme for$4$
217:058,02@b   | the moralist; 
217:058,02['  ]| but he had no$2$ time to$9$ moralise upon$4$ it.
217:058,03['  ]| The curtain rose again; M%*de*Bellegarde returned, and
217:058,04['  ]| Newman went back to$4$ his seat.
217:058,05['  ]| He observed that$3$ 
217:058,05@b   | Valentin*de*Bellegarde had taken
217:058,06@b   | his place in$4$ the \9baignoire\ of Mademoiselle*Nioche, behind
217:058,07@b   | this young lady and her companion, where he was
217:058,08@b   | visible only if one carefully looked for$4$ him. 
217:058,08['  ]| In$4$ the next
217:058,09['  ]| act Newman met him in$4$ the lobby and asked him 
217:058,09@b   | if he
217:058,10@b   | had reflected upon$4$ possible emigration. 
217:058,10[B  ]| "If you really
217:058,11[B  ]| meant to$9$ meditate," 
217:058,11['  ]| he said, 
217:058,11[B  ]| "you might have chosen
217:058,12[B  ]| a better place for$4$ it."
217:058,13[E  ]| "Oh, the place was not bad," 
217:058,13['  ]| said Valentin. 
217:058,13[E  ]| "I
217:058,14[E  ]| was not thinking of that$6#2$ girl. I listened to$4$ the music,
217:058,15[E  ]| and without thinking of the play or looking at the stage,
217:058,16[E  ]| I turned over your proposal. At first it seemed quite
217:058,17[E  ]| fantastic. And then a certain fiddle in$4$ the orchestra ~
217:058,18[E  ]| I could distinguish it ~~ began to$9$ say as it scraped away:
217:058,19@x   | ""Why not, why not?"" 
217:058,19[E  ]| And then, in$4$ that$6#2$ rapid movement,
217:058,20[E  ]| all the fiddles took it up$5$, and the conductor's
217:058,21[E  ]| stick seemed to$9$ beat it in$4$ the air: 
217:058,21@x   | ""Why not, why not?""
217:058,22[E  ]| I am sure I can not say! I do not see why not. I do not see
217:058,23[E  ]| why I should not do something. It appears to$4$ me really
217:058,24[E  ]| a very bright idea. This sort of thing is certainly very
217:058,25[E  ]| stale. And then I could come back with a trunk full
217:058,26[E  ]| of dollars. Besides, I might possibly find it amusing.
217:058,27[E  ]| They call me a \9raffine=\; who$6#2$ knows but that$3$ I might
217:058,28[E  ]| discover an unsuspected charm in$4$ shopkeeping? It
217:058,29[E  ]| would really have a certain romantic, picturesque side;
217:058,30[E  ]| it would look well in$4$ my biography. It would look as
217:058,31[E  ]| if I were a strong man, a first-rate man, a man who$6#1$
217:058,32[E  ]| dominated circumstances."
217:058,33[B  ]| "Never mind how it would look," 
217:058,33['  ]| said Newman.
217:058,34[B  ]| "It always looks well to$9$ have half a million of dollars.
217:058,35[B  ]| There is no$2$ reason why you should not have them if you
217:058,36[B  ]| will$1$ mind what I tell you ~~ I alone ~~ and not talk to$4$
217:058,36[B  ]| other parties." 
217:058,36['  ]| He passed his arm into that$6#2$ of his
217:059,01['  ]| companion, and the two walked for$4$ some time up$4$ and 
217:059,02['  ]| down one of the less frequented corridors. Newman's
217:059,03['  ]| imagination began to$9$ glow with the idea of 
217:059,03@b   | converting
217:059,04@b   | his bright, impracticable friend into a first-class man of
217:059,05@b   | business. 
217:059,05['  ]| He felt for$4$ the moment a sort of spiritual
217:059,06['  ]| zeal, the zeal of the propagandist. Its ardour was in$4$
217:059,07['  ]| part the result of that$6#2$ general discomfort which$6#1$ the sight
217:059,08['  ]| of all uninvested capital produced in$4$ him; 
217:059,08@b   | so$5#1$ fine an
217:059,09@b   | intelligence as Bellegarde's ought to$9$ be dedicated to$4$ high
217:059,10@b   | uses. 
217:059,10['  ]| The highest uses known to$4$ Newman's experience
217:059,11['  ]| were certain transcendent sagacities in$4$ the handling of
217:059,12['  ]| railway stock. And then his zeal was quickened by$4$ his
217:059,13['  ]| personal kindness for$4$ Valentin; he had a sort of pity for$4$
217:059,14['  ]| him which$6#1$ he was well aware 
217:059,14@b   | he never could have made
217:059,15@b   | the Comte*de*Bellegarde understand. 
217:059,15['  ]| He never lost a
217:059,16['  ]| sense of 
217:059,16@b   | its being pitiable that$3$ Valentin should think it
217:059,17@b   | a large life to$9$ revolve in$4$ varnished boots between the
217:059,18@b   | Rue*d'Anjou and the Rue*de*l'Universite=, taking the
217:059,19@b   | Boulevarde*des*Italiens on$4$ the way, when over there in$4$
217:059,20@b   | American one's promenade was a continent, and one's
217:059,21@b   | boulevarde stretched from New*York to$4$ San*Francisco.
217:059,22['  ]| It mortified him, moreover, to$9$ think that$3$ 
217:059,22@b   | Valentin lacked
217:059,23@b   | money; there was a painful grotesqueness in$4$ it. 
217:059,23['  ]| It
217:059,24['  ]| affected him as the ignorance of a companion, otherwise
217:059,25['  ]| without reproach, touching some rudimentary branch of
217:059,26['  ]| learning would have done. 
217:059,26@b   | There were things that$6#1$ one
217:059,27@b   | knew about as a matter of course, 
217:059,27['  ]| he would have said
217:059,28['  ]| in$4$ such a case. 
217:059,28@b   | Just so$5#2$, if one pretended to$9$ be easy in$4$
217:059,29@b   | the world, one had money as a matter of course; one
217:059,30@b   | had made it! 
217:059,30['  ]| There was something almost ridiculously
217:059,31['  ]| anomalous to$4$ Newman in$4$ the sight of lively pretensions
217:059,32['  ]| unaccompanied by$4$ large investments in$4$ railroads; though
217:059,33['  ]| I may add that$3$ he would not have maintained that$3$ such
217:059,34['  ]| investments were in$4$ themselves a proper ground for$4$ pretensions.
217:059,35[B  ]| "I will$1$ make you do something," 
217:059,35['  ]| he said to$4$
217:059,36['  ]| Valentin; 
217:059,36[B  ]| "I will$1$ put you through. I know half a
217:059,37[B  ]| dozen things in$4$ which$6#1$ we can make a place for$4$ you.
217:060,01[B  ]| You will$1$ see some lively work. It will$1$ take you a little
217:060,02[B  ]| while to$9$ get used to$4$ the life, but you will$1$ work in$4$ before
217:060,03[B  ]| long, and at the end of six months ~~ after you have done
217:060,04[B  ]| a thing or two on$4$ your own account ~~ you will$1$ like$1$ it.
217:060,05[B  ]| And then it will$1$ be very pleasant for$4$ you, having your
217:060,06[B  ]| sister over there. It will$1$ be pleasant for$4$ her to$9$ have
217:060,07[B  ]| you, too. Yes, Valentin," 
217:060,07['  ]| continued Newman, pressing
217:060,08['  ]| his friend's arm genially, 
217:060,08[B  ]| "I think I see just the opening
217:060,09[B  ]| for$4$ you. Keep quiet, and I will$1$ push you right in$5$."
217:060,10['  ]| Newman pursued this favouring strain for$4$ some time
217:060,11['  ]| longer. The two men strolled about for$4$ a quarter of an
217:060,12['  ]| hour. Valentin listened and questioned, many of his
217:060,13['  ]| questions making Newman laugh loud at the \9naivete=\ of
217:060,14['  ]| his ignorance of the vulgar processes of money-getting;
217:060,15['  ]| smiling himself, too, half ironical and half curious. And
217:060,16['  ]| yet he was serious; he was fascinated by$4$ Newman's
217:060,17['  ]| plain prose version of the legend of El*Dorado. It is
217:060,18['  ]| true, however, that$3$ though to$9$ accept an "opening" in$4$
217:060,19['  ]| an American mercantile house might be a bold, original,
217:060,20['  ]| and in$4$ its consequences extremely agreeable thing to$9$ do,
217:060,21['  ]| he did not quite see himself objectively doing it. So$3$ that$3$
217:060,22['  ]| when the bell rang to$9$ indicate the close of the 9entr'acte,
217:060,23['  ]| there was a certain mock-heroism in$4$ his saying, with his 
217:060,24['  ]| brilliant smile: 
217:060,24[E  ]| "Well, then, put me through; push me
217:060,25[E  ]| in$5$! I make myself over to$4$ you. Dip me into the pot
217:060,26[E  ]| and turn me into gold."
217:060,27['  ]| They had passed into the corridor which$6#1$ encircled the
217:060,28['  ]| row of \9baignoires\, and Valentin stopped in$4$ front of the
217:060,29['  ]| dusky little box in$4$ which$6#1$ Mademoiselle*Nioche had bestowed
217:060,30['  ]| herself, laying his hand on$4$ the door-knob. 
217:060,30[B  ]| "Oh,
217:060,31[B  ]| come, are you going back there?" 
217:060,31['  ]| asked Newman.
217:060,32[E  ]| "\9Mon*Dieu, 9oui\," 
217:060,32['  ]| said Valentin.
217:060,33[B  ]| "Have not you another place?"
217:060,34[E  ]| "Yes, I have my usual place, in$4$ the stalls."
217:060,35[B  ]| "You had better go and occupy it, then."
217:060,36[E  ]| "I see her very well from there, too," 
217:060,36['  ]| added Valentin,
217:060,37['  ]| serenely; 
217:060,37[E  ]| "and to-night she is worth seeing. But." 
217:060,37['  ]| he
217:061,01['  ]| added, in$4$ a moment, 
217:061,01[E  ]| "I have a particular reason for$4$
217:061,02[E  ]| going back just now."
217:061,03[B  ]| "Oh, I give you up$5$," 
217:061,03['  ]| said Newman. 
217:061,03[B  ]| "You are infatuated!"
217:061,04['  ]| 
217:061,05[E  ]| "No$7$, it is only this. There is a young man in$4$ the
217:061,06[E  ]| box whom I shall annoy by$4$ going in$5$, and I want to$9$
217:061,07[E  ]| annoy him."
217:061,08[B  ]| "I am sorry to$9$ hear it," 
217:061,08['  ]| said Newman. 
217:061,08[B  ]| "can not you
217:061,09[B  ]| leave the poor fellow alone?"
217:061,10[E  ]| "No$7$, he has given me cause. The box is not his:
217:061,11[E  ]| Noe=mie came in$5$ alone and installed herself. I went and
217:061,12[E  ]| spoke to$4$ her, and in$4$ a few moments she asked me to$9$ go
217:061,13[E  ]| and get her fan from the pocket of her cloak, which$6#1$ the
217:061,14[E  ]| \9ouvreuse\ had carried off. In$4$ my absence this gentleman
217:061,15[E  ]| came in$5$ and took the chair beside Noe=mie in$4$ which$6#1$ I
217:061,16[E  ]| had been sitting. My reappearance disgusted him, and
217:061,17[E  ]| he had the grossness to$9$ show it. He came within an
217:061,18[E  ]| ace of being impertinent. I do not know who$6#1$ he is; he
217:061,19[E  ]| is some vulgar wretch. I can not think where she picks
217:061,20[E  ]| up$5$ such acquaintances. He has been drinking, too, but
217:061,21[E  ]| he knows what he is about. Just now, in$4$ the second
217:061,22[E  ]| act, he was unmannerly again. I shall put in$5$ another
217:061,23[E  ]| appearance for$4$ ten minutes ~~ time enough to$9$ give him an
217:061,24[E  ]| opportunity to$9$ commit himself, if he feels inclined. I
217:061,25[E  ]| really can not let the brute suppose that$3$ he is keeping me
217:061,26[E  ]| out of the box."
217:061,27[B  ]| "My dear fellow," 
217:061,27['  ]| said Newman, remonstrantly,
217:061,28[B  ]| "What child's play! You are not going to$9$ pick a
217:061,29[B  ]| quarrel about that$6#2$ girl, I hope."
217:061,30[E  ]| "That$6#2$ girl has nothing to$9$ do with it, and I have no$2$ intention
217:061,31[E  ]| of picking a quarrel. I am not a bully nor a fire-eater.
217:061,32[E  ]| I simply wish to$9$ make a point that$6#1$ a gentlemen must."
217:061,33[B  ]| "Oh, damn your point!" 
217:061,33['  ]| said Newman. 
217:061,33[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is
217:061,34[B  ]| the trouble with you Frenchmen; you must be always
217:061,35[B  ]| making points. Well," 
217:061,35['  ]| he added, 
217:061,35[B  ]| "be short. But if
217:061,36[B  ]| you are going in$5$ for$4$ this kind of thing, we must ship you
217:061,37[B  ]| off to$4$ American in$4$ advance."
217:062,01[E  ]| "Very good," 
217:062,01['  ]| Valentin answered, 
217:062,01[E  ]| "whenever you
217:062,02[E  ]| please. But if I go to$4$ America, I must not let this
217:062,03[E  ]| gentleman suppose that$3$ it is to$9$ run away from him."
217:062,04['  ]| And they separated. At the end of the act Newman
217:062,05['  ]| observed that$3$ Valentin was still in$4$ the \9baignoire\. He
217:062,06['  ]| strolled into the corridor again, expecting to$9$ meet him,
217:062,07['  ]| and when he was within a few yards of Mademoiselle*Nioche's
217:062,08['  ]| box, saw his friend pass out, accompanied by$4$
217:062,09['  ]| the young man who$6#1$ had been seated beside its fair occupant.
217:062,10['  ]| The two gentlemen walked with some quickness
217:062,11['  ]| of step to$4$ a distant part of the lobby, where Newman
217:062,12['  ]| perceived them stop and stand talking. The manner of
217:062,13['  ]| each was perfectly quiet, but the stranger, who$6#1$ looked
217:062,14['  ]| flushed, had begun to$9$ wipe his face very emphatically
217:062,15['  ]| with his pocket-handkerchief. By$4$ this time Newman
217:062,16['  ]| was abreast of the \9baignoire\; the door had been left ajar,
217:062,17['  ]| and he could see a pink dress inside. He immediately
217:062,18['  ]| went in$5$. Mademoiselle*Nioche turned and greeted him
217:062,19['  ]| with a brilliant smile.
217:062,20[G  ]| "Ah, you have at last decided to$9$ come and see me?"
217:062,21['  ]| she exclaimed. 
217:062,21[G  ]| "You just save your politeness. You
217:062,22[G  ]| find me in$4$ a fine moment. Sit down." 
217:062,22['  ]| There was a 
217:062,23['  ]| very becoming little flush in$4$ her cheek, and her eye had
217:062,24['  ]| a noticeable spark. You would have said that$3$ she had
217:062,25['  ]| received some very good news.
217:062,26[B  ]| "Something has happened here!" 
217:062,26['  ]| said Newman,
217:062,27['  ]| without sitting down.
217:062,28[G  ]| "You find me in$4$ a very fine moment," 
217:062,28['  ]| she repeated.
217:062,29[G  ]| "Two gentlemen ~~ one of them is M%*de*Bellegarde,
217:062,30[G  ]| the pleasure of whose acquaintance I owe to$4$ you ~~ have
217:062,31[G  ]| just had words about your humble servant. Very big
217:062,32[G  ]| words too. They can not come off without crossing swords.
217:062,33[G  ]| A duel ~~ that$6#2$ will$1$ give me a push!" 
217:062,33['  ]| cried Mademoiselle*Noe=mie,
217:062,34['  ]| clapping her little hands. 
217:062,34[G  ]| "\9C'est 9c^a 9qui 9pose
217:062,35[G  ]| 9une 9femme\!"
217:062,36[B  ]| "You do not mean to$9$ say that$3$ Bellegarde is going to$9$
217:062,37[B  ]| fight about \you\!" 
217:062,37['  ]| exclaimed Newman, disgustedly.
217:063,01[G  ]| "Nothing less!" 
217:063,01['  ]| and she looked at him with a hard
217:063,02['  ]| little smile. 
217:063,02[G  ]| "No$7$, no$7$, you are not \9galant\! And if
217:063,03[G  ]| you prevent this affair I shall owe you a grudge ~~ and
217:063,04[G  ]| pay my debt!"
217:063,05['  ]| Newman uttered an imprecation which$6#1$, though brief
217:063,06['  ]| ~~ it consisted simply of the interjection 
217:063,06[B  ]| "Oh!" 
217:063,06['  ]| followed
217:063,07['  ]| by$4$ a geographical, or more correctly, perhaps, a theological
217:063,08['  ]| noun in$4$ four letters ~~ had better not be transferred
217:063,09['  ]| to$4$ these pages. He turned his back without more ceremony
217:063,10['  ]| upon$4$ the pink dress and went out of the box. In$4$
217:063,11['  ]| the corridor he found Valentin and his companion walking
217:063,12['  ]| towards him. The latter was thrusting a card into
217:063,13['  ]| his waistcoat pocket. Mademoiselle*Noe=mie's jealous
217:063,14['  ]| votary was a tall robust young man with a thick nose, a
217:063,15['  ]| prominent blue eye, a Germanic physiognomy, and a
217:063,16['  ]| massive watch-chain. When they reached the box,
217:063,17['  ]| Valentin with an emphasised bow made way for$4$ him to$9$
217:063,18['  ]| pass in$5$ first. Newman touched Valentin's arm as a sign
217:063,19['  ]| that$3$ he wished to$9$ speak with him, and Bellegarde
217:063,20['  ]| answered that$3$ 
217:063,20@e   | he would be with him in$4$ an instant.
217:063,21['  ]| Valentin entered the box after the robust young man,
217:063,22['  ]| but a couple of minutes afterwards he reappeared, largely
217:063,23['  ]| smiling.
217:063,24[E  ]| "She is immensely tickled," 
217:063,24['  ]| he said. 
217:063,24[E  ]| "She says we
217:063,25[E  ]| will$1$ make her fortune. I do not want to$9$ be fatuous, but
217:063,26[E  ]| I think it is very possible."
217:063,27[B  ]| "So$3$ you are going to$9$ fight?" 
217:063,27['  ]| said Newman.
217:063,28[E  ]| "My dear fellow, do not look so$5#1$ mortally disgusted.
217:063,29[E  ]| It was not my own choice. The thing is all arranged."
217:063,30[B  ]| "I told you so$5#2$!" 
217:063,30['  ]| groaned Newman.
217:063,31[E  ]| "I told \him\ so$5#2$," 
217:063,31['  ]| said Valentin, smiling.
217:063,32[B  ]| "What did he do to$4$ you?"
217:063,33[E  ]| "My good friend, it does not matter what. He used
217:063,34[E  ]| an expression ~~ I took it up$5$."
217:063,35[B  ]| "But I insist upon$4$ knowing; I can not, as your elder
217:063,36[B  ]| brother, have you rushing into this sort of nonsense."
217:063,37[E  ]| "I am very much obliged to$4$ you," 
217:063,37['  ]| said Valentin.
217:064,01[E  ]| "I have nothing to$9$ conceal, but I can not go into particulars
217:064,02[E  ]| now and here."
217:064,03[B  ]| "We will$1$ leave this place, then. You can tell me
217:064,04[B  ]| outside."
217:064,05[E  ]| "Oh no$7$, I can not leave this place; why should I hurry
217:064,06[E  ]| away? I will$1$ go to$4$ my orchestra stall and sit out the
217:064,07[E  ]| opera."
217:064,08[B  ]| "You will$1$ not enjoy it; you will$1$ be preoccupied."
217:064,09['  ]| Valentin looked at him a moment, coloured a little,
217:064,10['  ]| smiled, and patted him on$4$ the arm. 
217:064,10[E  ]| "You are delightfully
217:064,11[E  ]| simple! Before an affair a man is quiet. The
217:064,12[E  ]| quietest thing I can do is to$9$ go straight to$4$ my place."
217:064,13[B  ]| "Ah," 
217:064,13['  ]| said Newman, 
217:064,13[B  ]| "you want her to$9$ see you there
217:064,14[B  ]| ~~ you and your quietness. I am not so$5#1$ simple! It is
217:064,15[B  ]| a poor business."
217:064,16['  ]| Valentin remained, and the two men, in$4$ their respective
217:064,17['  ]| places, sat out the rest of the performance, which$6#1$
217:064,18['  ]| was also enjoyed by$4$ Mademoiselle*Nioche and her truculent
217:064,19['  ]| admirer. At the end Newman joined Valentin
217:064,20['  ]| again, and they went into the street together. Valentin
217:064,21['  ]| shook his head at his friend's proposal that$3$ he should
217:064,22['  ]| get into Newman's own vehicle, and stopped on$4$ the edge
217:064,23['  ]| of the pavement. 
217:064,23[E  ]| "I must go off alone," 
217:064,23['  ]| he said; 
217:064,23[E  ]| "I
217:064,24[E  ]| must look up$5$ a couple of friends who$6#1$ will$1$ take charge of
217:064,25[E  ]| this matter."
217:064,26[B  ]| "I will$1$ take charge of it," 
217:064,26['  ]| Newman declared. 
217:064,26[B  ]| "Put
217:064,27[B  ]| it into my hands."
217:064,28[E  ]| "You are very kind, but that$6#2$ is hardly possible. In$4$
217:064,29[E  ]| the first place, you are, as you said just now, almost my
217:064,30[E  ]| brother; you are about to$9$ marry my sister. That$6#2$ alone
217:064,31[E  ]| disqualifies you; it casts doubts on$4$ your impartiality.
217:064,32[E  ]| And if it did not it would be enough for$4$ me that$3$ I strongly
217:064,33[E  ]| suspect you of disapproving of the affair. You would
217:064,34[E  ]| try to$9$ prevent a meeting."
217:064,35[B  ]| "Of course I should," 
217:064,35['  ]| said Newman. 
217:064,35[B  ]| "Whoever
217:064,36[B  ]| your friends are, I hope they will$1$ do that$6#2$."
217:064,37[E  ]| "Unquestionably they will$1$. They will$1$ urge that$3$ excuses
217:065,01[E  ]| be made, proper excuses. But you would be too
217:065,02[E  ]| good-natured. You will$1$ not do."
217:065,03['  ]| Newman was silent a moment. He was keenly annoyed,
217:065,04['  ]| but he saw 
217:065,04@b   | it was useless to$9$ attempt interference.
217:065,05[B  ]| "When is this precious performance to$9$ come off?" 
217:065,05['  ]| he
217:065,06['  ]| asked.
217:065,07[E  ]| "The sooner the better," 
217:065,07['  ]| said Valentin. 
217:065,07[E  ]| "The day
217:065,08[E  ]| after to-morrow, I hope."
217:065,09[B  ]| "Well," 
217:065,09['  ]| said Newman, 
217:065,09[B  ]| "I have certainly a claim to$9$
217:065,10[B  ]| know the facts. I can not consent to$9$ shut my eyes to$4$ the
217:065,11[B  ]| matter."
217:065,12[E  ]| "I shall be most happy to$9$ tell you the facts," 
217:065,12['  ]| said
217:065,13['  ]| Valentin. 
217:065,13[E  ]| "They are very simple, and it will$1$ be quickly
217:065,14[E  ]| done. But now everything depends on$4$ my putting my
217:065,15[E  ]| hands on$4$ my friends without delay. I will$1$ jump into a
217:065,16[E  ]| cab; you had better drive to$4$ my room and wait for$4$ me
217:065,17[E  ]| there. I will$1$ turn up$5$ at the end of an hour."
217:065,18['  ]| Newman assented protestingly, let his friend go, and
217:065,19['  ]| then betook himself to$4$ the picturesque little apartment
217:065,20['  ]| in$4$ the Rue*d'Anjou. It was more than an hour before
217:065,21['  ]| Valentin returned, but when he did so$5#2$ he was able to$9$
217:065,22['  ]| announce that$3$ 
217:065,22@e   | he had found one of his desired friends,
217:065,23@e   | and that$3$ this gentleman had taken upon$4$ himself the care
217:065,24@e   | of securing an associate. 
217:065,24['  ]| Newman had been sitting
217:065,25['  ]| without lights by$4$ Valentin's faded fire, upon$4$ which$6#1$ he
217:065,26['  ]| had thrown a log; the blaze played over the richly-encumbered 
217:065,27['  ]| little sitting-room and produced fantastic
217:065,28['  ]| gleams and shadows. He listened in$4$ silence to$4$ Valentin's
217:065,29['  ]| account of what had passed between him and the gentleman
217:065,30['  ]| whose card he had in$4$ his pocket ~~ M%*Stanislas*Kapp,
217:065,31['  ]| of Strasbourg ~~ after his return to$4$ Mademoiselle*Nioche's
217:065,32['  ]| box. 
217:065,32@e   | This hospitable young lady had espied
217:065,33@e   | an acquaintance on$4$ the other side of the house, and had
217:065,34@e   | expressed her displeasure at his not having the civility to$9$
217:065,35@e   | come and pay her a visit. 
217:065,35@w   | "Oh, let him alone!" 
217:065,35@e   | M%*Stanislas*Kapp
217:065,36@e   | had hereupon exclaimed. 
217:065,36@w   | "There are
217:065,37@w   | too many people in$4$ the box already." 
217:065,37@e   | And he had fixed
217:066,01@e   | his eyes with a demonstrative stare upon$4$ M%*de*Bellegarde.
217:066,02@e   | Valentin had promptly retorted that$3$ if there
217:066,03@e   | were too many people in$4$ the box it was easy for$4$ M%*Kapp
217:066,04@e   | to$9$ diminish the number. 
217:066,04@w   | "I shall be most happy to$9$
217:066,05@w   | open the door for$4$ \you\!" 
217:066,05@e   | M%*Kapp exclaimed. "I shall 
217:066,06@e   | be delighted to$9$ fling you into the pit!" Valentin had
217:066,07@e   | answered. 
217:066,07@g   | "Oh, do make a rumpus and get into the
217:066,08@g   | papers!" 
217:066,08@e   | Miss%*Noe=mie had gleefully ejaculated. 
217:066,08@g   | "M%*Kapp,
217:066,09@g   | turn him out; or, M%*de*Bellegarde, pitch him
217:066,10@g   | into the pit, into the orchestra ~~ anywhere! I do not care
217:066,11@g   | who$6#1$ does which$6#1$, so$5#1$ long as you make a scene." 
217:066,11@e   | Valentin
217:066,12@e   | answered that$3$ they would make no$2$ scene, but that$3$ the
217:066,13@e   | gentleman would be so$5#1$ good as to$9$ step into the corridor
217:066,14@e   | with him. In$4$ the corridor, after a brief further exchange
217:066,15@e   | of words, there had been an exchange of cards. M%*Stanislas*Kapp
217:066,16@e   | was very stiff. He evidently meant to$9$
217:066,17@e   | force his offence home.
217:066,18[B  ]| "The man, no$2$ doubt, was insolent," 
217:066,18['  ]| Newman said;
217:066,19[B  ]| "but if you had not gone back into the box the thing
217:066,20[B  ]| would not have happened."
217:066,21[E  ]| "Why, do not you see," 
217:066,21['  ]| Valentin replied, 
217:066,21[E  ]| "that$3$ the
217:066,22[E  ]| event proves the extreme propriety of my going back
217:066,23[E  ]| into the box? M%*Kapp wished to$9$ provoke me; he was
217:066,24[E  ]| awaiting his chance. In$4$ such a case ~~ that$6#2$ is, when he
217:066,25[E  ]| has been, so$5#2$ to$9$ speak, notified ~~ a man must be on$4$ hand
217:066,26[E  ]| to$9$ receive the provocation. My not returning would
217:066,27[E  ]| simply have been tantamount to$4$ my saying to$4$ M%*Stanislas*Kapp:
217:066,28[E  ]| ""Oh, if you are going to$9$ be disagreeable""~"
217:066,29[E  ]| 
217:066,30[B  ]| " ""You must manage it by$4$ yourself; damned if I will$1$
217:066,31[B  ]| help you!"" That$6#2$ would have been a thoroughly sensible
217:066,32[B  ]| thing to$9$ say. The only attraction for$4$ you seems to$9$ have
217:066,33[B  ]| been the prospect of M%*Kapp's impertinence," 
217:066,33['  ]| Newman
217:066,34['  ]| went on$5$. 
217:066,34[B  ]| "You told me that$3$ you were not going back
217:066,35[B  ]| for$4$ that$6#2$ girl."
217:066,36[E  ]| "Oh, do not mention that$6#2$ girl any more," 
217:066,36['  ]| murmured
217:066,37['  ]| Valentin. 
217:066,37[E  ]| "She is a bore."
217:067,01[B  ]| "With all my heart. But if that$6#2$ is the way you feel
217:067,02[B  ]| about her, why could not you let her alone?"
217:067,03['  ]| Valentin shook his head with a fine smile. 
217:067,03[E  ]| "I do not
217:067,04[E  ]| think you quite understand, and I do not believe I can
217:067,05[E  ]| make you. She understood the situation; she knew
217:067,06[E  ]| what was in$4$ the air; she was watching us."
217:067,07[B  ]| "A cat may look at a king! What difference does
217:067,08[B  ]| that$6#2$ make?"
217:067,09[E  ]| "Why, a man can not back down before a woman."
217:067,10[B  ]| "I do not call her a woman. You said yourself she
217:067,11[B  ]| was a stone," 
217:067,11['  ]| cried Newman.
217:067,12[E  ]| "Well," 
217:067,12['  ]| Valentin rejoined, 
217:067,12[E  ]| "there is no$2$ disputing
217:067,13[E  ]| about tastes. It is a matter of feeling; it is measured by$4$
217:067,14[E  ]| one's sense of honour."
217:067,15[B  ]| "Oh, confound your sense of honour!" 
217:067,15['  ]| cried Newman.
217:067,16[E  ]| "It is vain talking," 
217:067,16['  ]| said Valentin; 
217:067,16[E  ]| "words have
217:067,17[E  ]| passed, and the thing is settled."
217:067,18['  ]| Newman turned away, taking his hat. Then pausing
217:067,19['  ]| with his hand on$4$ the door, 
217:067,19[B  ]| "What are you going to$9$
217:067,20[B  ]| use?" 
217:067,20['  ]| he asked.
217:067,21[E  ]| "That$6#2$ is for$4$ M%*Stanislas*Kapp, as the challenged
217:067,22[E  ]| party, to$9$ decide. My own choice would be a short, light
217:067,23[E  ]| sword. I handle it well. I am an indifferent shot."
217:067,24['  ]| Newman had put on$4$ his hat; he pushed it back, gently
217:067,25['  ]| scratching his forehead high up$5$. 
217:067,25[B  ]| "I wish it were pistols,"
217:067,26['  ]| he said. 
217:067,26[B  ]| "I could show you how to$9$ lodge a bullet!"
217:067,27['  ]| Valentin broke into a laugh. 
217:067,27[E  ]| "What is it some
217:067,28[E  ]| English poet says about consistency? It is a flower, or a
217:067,29[E  ]| star, or a jewel. Yours has the beauty of all three!"
217:067,30['  ]| But he agreed to$9$ see Newman again on$4$ the morrow, after
217:067,31['  ]| the details of his meeting with M%*Stanislas*Kapp should
217:067,32['  ]| have been arranged.
217:067,33['  ]| In$4$ the course of the day Newman received three lines
217:067,34['  ]| from him, saying that$3$ 
217:067,34@e   | it had been decided that$3$ he should
217:067,35@e   | cross the frontier, with his adversary, and that$3$ he was to$9$
217:067,36@e   | take the night express to$4$ Geneva. He should have time,
217:067,37@e   | however, to$9$ dine with Newman. 
217:067,37['  ]| In$4$ the afternoon Newman
217:068,01['  ]| called upon$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=, but his visit was
217:068,02['  ]| brief. She was as gracious and sympathetic as he had
217:068,03['  ]| ever found her, but she was sad, and she confessed, on$4$
217:068,04['  ]| Newman's charging her with her red eyes, that$3$ 
217:068,04@a   | she had been
217:068,05@a   | crying. Valentin had been with her a couple of hours
217:068,06@a   | before, and his visit had left her with a painful impression.
217:068,07@a   | He had laughed and gossiped, he had brought her
217:068,08@a   | no$2$ bad news, he had only been, in$4$ his manner, rather
217:068,09@a   | more affectionate than usual. His fraternal tenderness
217:068,10@a   | had touched her, and on$4$ his departure she had burst into
217:068,11@a   | tears. She had felt as if something strange and sad were
217:068,12@a   | going to$9$ happen; she had tried to$9$ reason away the fancy,
217:068,13@a   | and the effort had only given her a headache. 
217:068,13['  ]| Newman,
217:068,14['  ]| of course, was perforce tongue-tied about Valentin's projected
217:068,15['  ]| duel, and his dramatic talent was not equal to$4$
217:068,16['  ]| satirising Madame*de*Cintre='s presentiment as pointedly
217:068,17['  ]| as perfect security demanded. Before he went away he
217:068,18['  ]| asked Madame*de*Cintre= 
217:068,18@b   | whether Valentin had seen his
217:068,19@b   | mother.
217:068,20[A  ]| "Yes," 
217:068,20['  ]| she said, 
217:068,20[A  ]| "but he did not make her cry."
217:068,21['  ]| It was in$4$ Newman's own apartment that$3$ Valentin
217:068,22['  ]| dined, having brought his portmanteau, so$3$ that$3$ he might
217:068,23['  ]| adjourn directly to$4$ the railway. 
217:068,23@e   | M%*Stanislas*Kapp had
217:068,24@e   | positively declined to$9$ make excuses, and he, on$4$ his side,
217:068,25@e   | obviously, had none to$9$ offer. 
217:068,25['  ]| Valentine had found out
217:068,26['  ]| with whom he was dealing. 
217:068,26@e   | M%*Stanislas*Kapp was the
217:068,27@e   | son and heir of a rich brewer of Strasbourg, a youth of a
217:068,28@e   | sanguineous ~~ and sanguinary ~~ temperament. He was
217:068,29@e   | making ducks and drakes of the paternal brewery, and
217:068,30@e   | although he passed in$4$ a general way for$4$ a good fellow,
217:068,31@e   | he had already been observed to$9$ be quarrelsome after
217:068,32@e   | dinner. 
217:068,32[E  ]| "\9Que 9voulez-vous\?" 
217:068,32['  ]| said Valentin. 
217:068,32[E  ]| "Brought
217:068,33[E  ]| up$5$ on$4$ beer, he can not stand champagne." 
217:068,33@e   | He had chosen
217:068,34@e   | pistols. 
217:068,34['  ]| Valentin, at dinner, had an excellent appetite;
217:068,35['  ]| he made a point, in$4$ view of his long journey, of eating
217:068,36['  ]| more than usual. He took the liberty of suggesting to$4$
217:068,37['  ]| Newman a slight modification in$4$ the composition of a
217:069,01['  ]| certain fish-sauce; 
217:069,01@e   | he thought it would be worth mentioning
217:069,02@e   | to$4$ the cook. 
217:069,02['  ]| But Newman had no$2$ thoughts for$4$
217:069,03['  ]| fish-sauce; he felt thoroughly discontented. As he sat
217:069,04['  ]| and watched his amiable and clever companion going
217:069,05['  ]| through his excellent repast with the delicate deliberation
217:069,06['  ]| of hereditary epicurism, 
217:069,06@b   | the folly of so$5#1$ charming a fellow
217:069,07@b   | travelling off to$9$ expose his agreeable young life for$4$ the
217:069,08@b   | sake of M%*Stanislas and Mademoiselle*Noe=mie struck
217:069,09@b   | him with intolerable force. 
217:069,09['  ]| He had grown fond of
217:069,10['  ]| Valentin, he felt now how fond; and his sense of helplessness
217:069,11['  ]| only increased his irritation.
217:069,12[B  ]| "Well, this sort of thing may be all very well," 
217:069,12['  ]| he
217:069,13['  ]| cried at last, 
217:069,13[B  ]| "but I declare I do not see it. I can not stop
217:069,14[B  ]| you perhaps, but at least I can protest. I do protest,
217:069,15[B  ]| violently."
217:069,16[E  ]| "My dear fellow, do not make a scene," 
217:069,16['  ]| said Valentin.
217:069,17[E  ]| "Scenes in$4$ these cases are in$4$ very bad taste."
217:069,18[B  ]| "Your duel itself is a scene," 
217:069,18['  ]| said Newman; 
217:069,18[B  ]| "that$6#2$ is
217:069,19[B  ]| all it is! It is a wretched theatrical affair. Why do not
217:069,20[B  ]| you take a band of music with you outright? It is d~~d
217:069,21[B  ]| barbarous and it is d~~d corrupt, both."
217:069,22[E  ]| "Oh, I can not begin, at this time of day, to$9$ defend the
217:069,23[E  ]| theory of duelling," 
217:069,23['  ]| said Valentin. 
217:069,23[E  ]| "It is our custom,
217:069,24[E  ]| and I think it is a good thing. Quite apart from the
217:069,25[E  ]| goodness of the cause in$4$ which$6#1$ a duel may be fought, it
217:069,26[E  ]| has a kind of picturesque charm which$6#1$ in$4$ this age of vile
217:069,27[E  ]| prose seems to$4$ me greatly to$9$ recommend it. It is a
217:069,28[E  ]| remnant of a higher-tempered time; one ought to$9$ cling
217:069,29[E  ]| to$4$ it. Depend upon$4$ it, a duel is never amiss."
217:069,30[B  ]| "I do not know what you mean by$4$ a higher-tempered
217:069,31[B  ]| time," 
217:069,31['  ]| said Newman. 
217:069,31[B  ]| "Because your great-grandfather
217:069,32[B  ]| was an ass, is that$6#2$ any reason why you should be? For$4$
217:069,33[B  ]| my part, I think we had better let our temper take care
217:069,34[B  ]| of itself; it generally seems to$4$ me quite high enough;
217:069,35[B  ]| I am not afraid of being too meek. If your great-grandfather
217:069,36[B  ]| were to$9$ make himself unpleasant to$4$ me, I think I
217:069,37[B  ]| could manage him yet."
217:070,01[E  ]| "My dear friend," 
217:070,01['  ]| said Valentin, smiling, 
217:070,01[E  ]| "you can not
217:070,02[E  ]| invent anything that$6#1$ will$1$ take the place of satisfaction for$4$
217:070,03[E  ]| an insult. To$9$ demand it and to$9$ give it are equally excellent
217:070,04[E  ]| arrangements."
217:070,05[B  ]| "Do you call this sort of thing satisfaction?" 
217:070,05['  ]| Newman
217:070,06['  ]| asked. 
217:070,06[B  ]| "Does it satisfy you to$9$ receive a present of the
217:070,07[B  ]| carcase of that$6#2$ coarse fop? does it gratify you to$9$ make
217:070,08[B  ]| him a present of yours? If a man hits you, hit him
217:070,09[B  ]| back; if a man libels you, haul him up$5$."
217:070,10[E  ]| "Haul him up$5$, into court? Oh, that$6#2$ is very nasty!"
217:070,11['  ]| said Valentin.
217:070,12[B  ]| "The nastiness is his ~~ not yours. And for$4$ that$6#2$ matter,
217:070,13[B  ]| what you are doing is not particularly nice. You are too
217:070,14[B  ]| good for$4$ it. I do not say you are the most useful man in$4$ the
217:070,15[B  ]| world, or the cleverest, or the most amiable. But you are
217:070,16[B  ]| too good to$9$ go and get your throat cut for$4$ a prostitute."
217:070,17['  ]| Valentin flushed a little, but he laughed. 
217:070,17[E  ]| "I shall not
217:070,18[E  ]| get my throat cut if I can help it. Moreover, one's
217:070,19[E  ]| honour has not two different measures. It only knows
217:070,20[E  ]| that$3$ it is hurt; it does not ask when, or how, or where."
217:070,21[B  ]| "The more fool it is!" 
217:070,21['  ]| said Newman.
217:070,22['  ]| Valentin ceased to$9$ laugh; he looked grave. 
217:070,22[E  ]| "I beg you
217:070,23[E  ]| not to$9$ say any more," 
217:070,23['  ]| he said. 
217:070,23[E  ]| "If you do I shall almost
217:070,24[E  ]| fancy you do not care about ~~ about ~" 
217:070,24['  ]| and he paused.
217:070,25[B  ]| "About what?"
217:070,26[E  ]| "About that$6#2$ matter ~~ about one's honour."
217:070,27[B  ]| "Fancy what you please," 
217:070,27['  ]| said Newman. 
217:070,27[B  ]| "Fancy
217:070,28[B  ]| while you are at it that$3$ I care about \you\ ~~ though you
217:070,29[B  ]| are not worth it. But come back without damage," 
217:070,29['  ]| he
217:070,30['  ]| added in$4$ a moment, 
217:070,30[B  ]| "and I will$1$ forgive you. And
217:070,31[B  ]| then," 
217:070,31['  ]| he continued, as Valentin was going: 
217:070,31[B  ]| "I will$1$
217:070,32[B  ]| ship you straight off to$4$ America."
217:070,33[E  ]| "Well," 
217:070,33['  ]| answered Valentin, 
217:070,33[E  ]| "if I am to$9$ turn over a
217:070,34[E  ]| new page, this may figure as a tailpiece to$4$ the old."
217:070,35['  ]| And then he lit another cigar and departed.
217:070,36[B  ]| "Blast that$6#2$ girl!" 
217:070,36['  ]| said Newman, as the door closed
217:070,37['  ]| upon$4$ Valentin.
218:071,01['  ]| Newman went the next morning to$9$ see Madame*de*Cintre=,
218:071,02['  ]| timing his visit so$3$ as to$9$ arrive after the noonday
218:071,03['  ]| breakfast. In$4$ the court of the \9ho^tel\, before the portico,
218:071,04['  ]| stood Madame*de*Bellegarde's old square carriage. The
218:071,05['  ]| servant who$6#1$ opened the door answered Newman's inquiry
218:071,06['  ]| with a slightly embarrassed and hesitating murmur, and
218:071,07['  ]| at the same moment Mrs%*Bread appeared in$4$ the background,
218:071,08['  ]| dim-visaged as usual, and wearing a large black
218:071,09['  ]| bonnet and shawl.
218:071,10[B  ]| "What is the matter?" 
218:071,10['  ]| asked Newman. 
218:071,10[B  ]| "Is
218:071,11[B  ]| Madame*la*Comtesse at home, or not?"
218:071,12['  ]| Mrs%*Bread advanced, fixing her eyes upon$4$ him; he
218:071,13['  ]| observed that$3$ 
218:071,13@b   | she held a sealed letter, very delicately, in$4$
218:071,14@b   | her fingers. 
218:071,14[J  ]| "The Countess has left a message for$4$ you,
218:071,15[J  ]| sir; she has left this," 
218:071,15['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, holding out the
218:071,16['  ]| letter, which$6#1$ Newman took.
218:071,17[B  ]| "Left it? Is she out? Is she gone away?"
218:071,18[J  ]| "She is going away, sir; she is leaving town," 
218:071,18['  ]| said
218:071,19['  ]| Mrs%*Bread.
218:071,20[B  ]| "Leaving town!" 
218:071,20['  ]| exclaimed Newman. 
218:071,20[B  ]| "What has
218:071,21[B  ]| happened?"
218:071,22[J  ]| "It is not for$4$ me to$9$ say, sir," 
218:071,22['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, with
218:071,23['  ]| her eyes on$4$ the ground. 
218:071,23[J  ]| "But I thought it would
218:071,24[J  ]| come."
218:071,25[B  ]| "What would come, pray?" 
218:071,25['  ]| Newman demanded.
218:071,26['  ]| He had broken the seal of the letter, but he still questioned.
218:071,27[B  ]| "She is in$4$ the house? She is visible?"
218:071,28[J  ]| "I do not think she expected you this morning," 
218:071,28['  ]| the
218:071,29['  ]| old waiting-woman replied. 
218:071,29[J  ]| "She was to$9$ leave immediately."
218:071,30[J  ]| 
218:071,31[B  ]| "Where is she going?"
218:071,32[J  ]| "To$4$ Fleurie=res."
218:071,33[B  ]| "To$4$ Fleurie=res? But surely I can see her?"
218:072,01['  ]| Mrs%*Bread hesitated a moment, and then clasping
218:072,02['  ]| together her two hands, 
218:072,02[J  ]| "I will$1$ take you!" 
218:072,02['  ]| she said.
218:072,03['  ]| And she led the way upstairs. At the top of the staircase
218:072,04['  ]| she paused and fixed her dry, sad eyes upon$4$ Newman.
218:072,05[J  ]| "Be very easy with her," 
218:072,05['  ]| she said; 
218:072,05[J  ]| "she is
218:072,06[J  ]| most unhappy!" 
218:072,06['  ]| Then she went on$5$ to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre='s
218:072,07['  ]| apartment; Newman, perplexed and alarmed,
218:072,08['  ]| followed her rapidly. Mrs%*Bread threw open the door
218:072,09['  ]| and Newman pushed back the curtain at the farther side
218:072,10['  ]| of its deep embrasure. In$4$ the middle of the room stood
218:072,11['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=; her face was pale, and she was
218:072,12['  ]| dressed for$4$ travelling. Behind her, before the fireplace,
218:072,13['  ]| stood Urbain*de*Bellegarde, looking at his finger-nails;
218:072,14['  ]| near the Marquis sat his mother, buried in$4$ an armchair
218:072,15['  ]| and with her eyes immediately fixing themselves upon$4$
218:072,16['  ]| Newman. He felt, as soon as he entered the room,
218:072,17['  ]| that$3$ he was in$4$ the presence of something evil; he was
218:072,18['  ]| startled and pained, as he would have been by$4$ a threatening
218:072,19['  ]| cry in$4$ the stillness of the night. He walked
218:072,20['  ]| straight to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre= and seized her by$4$ the
218:072,21['  ]| hand.
218:072,22[B  ]| "What is the matter?" 
218:072,22['  ]| he asked, commandingly;
218:072,23[B  ]| "What is happening?"
218:072,24['  ]| Urbain*de*Bellegarde stared, then left his place and
218:072,25['  ]| came and learned upon$4$ his mother's chair, behind.
218:072,26['  ]| Newman's sudden irruption had evidently discomposed
218:072,27['  ]| both mother and son. Madame*de*Cintre= stood silent
218:072,28['  ]| with her eyes resting upon$4$ Newman's. 
218:072,28@b   | She had often
218:072,29@b   | looked at him with all her soul, 
218:072,29['  ]| as it seemed to$4$ him;
218:072,30@b   | but in$4$ this present gaze there was a sort of bottomless
218:072,31@b   | depth. She was in$4$ distress; it was the most touching
218:072,32@b   | thing he had ever seen. 
218:072,32['  ]| His heart rose into his throat,
218:072,33['  ]| and he was on$4$ the point of turning to$4$ her companions
218:072,34['  ]| with an angry challenge; but she checked him, pressing
218:072,35['  ]| the hand that$6#1$ held her own.
218:072,36[A  ]| "Something very grave has happened," 
218:072,36['  ]| she said.
218:072,37[A  ]| "I cannot marry you."
218:073,01['  ]| Newman dropped her hand and stood staring, first at
218:073,02['  ]| her and then at the others. 
218:073,02[B  ]| "Why not?" 
218:073,02['  ]| he asked, as
218:073,03['  ]| quietly as possible.
218:073,04['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= almost smiled, but the attempt was
218:073,05['  ]| strange. 
218:073,05[A  ]| "You must ask my mother, you must ask my
218:073,06[A  ]| brother."
218:073,07[B  ]| "Why can not she marry me?" 
218:073,07['  ]| said Newman, looking
218:073,08['  ]| at them.
218:073,09['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde did not move in$4$ her place, but
218:073,10['  ]| she was as pale as her daughter. The Marquis looked
218:073,11['  ]| down at her. She said nothing for$4$ some moments, but
218:073,12['  ]| she kept her keen clear eyes upon$4$ Newman bravely.
218:073,13['  ]| The Marquis drew himself up$5$ and looked at the ceiling.
218:073,14[D  ]| "It is impossible!" 
218:073,14['  ]| he said, softly.
218:073,15[C  ]| "It is improper," 
218:073,15['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
218:073,16['  ]| Newman began to$9$ laugh. 
218:073,16[B  ]| "Oh, you are fooling!"
218:073,17['  ]| he exclaimed.
218:073,18[D  ]| "My sister, you have no$2$ time; you are losing your
218:073,19[D  ]| train," 
218:073,19['  ]| said the Marquis.
218:073,20[B  ]| "Come, is he mad?" 
218:073,20['  ]| asked Newman.
218:073,21[A  ]| "No$7$; do not think that$6#2$," 
218:073,21['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
218:073,22[A  ]| "But I am going away."
218:073,23[B  ]| "Where are you going?"
218:073,24[A  ]| "To$4$ the country, to$4$ Fleurie=res; to$9$ be alone."
218:073,25[B  ]| "To$9$ leave me?" 
218:073,25['  ]| said Newman, slowly.
218:073,26[A  ]| "I can not see you, now," 
218:073,26['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
218:073,27[B  ]| "\Now\ ~~ why not?"
218:073,28[A  ]| "I am ashamed," 
218:073,28['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, simply.
218:073,29['  ]| Newman turned towards the Marquis. 
218:073,29[B  ]| "What have
218:073,30[B  ]| you done to$4$ her ~~ what does it mean?" 
218:073,30['  ]| he asked, with
218:073,31['  ]| the same effort at calmness, the fruit of his constant
218:073,32['  ]| practice in$4$ taking things easily. He was excited, but
218:073,33['  ]| excitement with him was only an intenser deliberateness;
218:073,34['  ]| it was the swimmer stripped.
218:073,35[A  ]| "It means that$3$ I have given you up$5$," 
218:073,35['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
218:073,36[A  ]| "It means that$6#2$."
218:073,37['  ]| Her face was too charged with tragic expression not
218:074,01['  ]| fully to$9$ confirm her words. Newman was profoundly
218:074,02['  ]| shocked, but he felt as yet no$2$ resentment against her.
218:074,03['  ]| He was amazed, bewildered, and the presence of the old
218:074,04['  ]| Marquise and her son seemed to$9$ smite his eyes like$4$ the
218:074,05['  ]| glare of a watchman's lantern. 
218:074,05[B  ]| "can not I see you alone?"
218:074,06['  ]| he asked.
218:074,07[A  ]| "It would be only more painful. I hoped I should
218:074,08[A  ]| not see you ~~ I should escape. I wrote to$4$ you. Good-bye."
218:074,09['  ]| And she put out her hand again.
218:074,10['  ]| Newman put both his own into his pockets. 
218:074,10[B  ]| "I will$1$
218:074,11[B  ]| go with you," 
218:074,11['  ]| he said.
218:074,12['  ]| She laid her two hands on$4$ his arm. 
218:074,12[A  ]| "Will$1$ you grant
218:074,13[A  ]| me a last request?" 
218:074,13['  ]| and as she looked at him, urging
218:074,14['  ]| this, her eyes filled with tears. 
218:074,14[A  ]| "Let me go alone ~~ let
218:074,15[A  ]| me go in$4$ peace. I can not call it peace ~~ it is death. But
218:074,16[A  ]| let me bury myself. So$3$ ~~ good-bye."
218:074,17['  ]| Newman passed his hand into his hair and stood
218:074,18['  ]| slowly rubbing his head and looking through his keenly-narrowed
218:074,19['  ]| eyes from one to$4$ the other of the three persons
218:074,20['  ]| before him. His lips were compressed, and the two
218:074,21['  ]| lines which$6#1$ had formed themselves beside his mouth
218:074,22['  ]| might have made it appear at first glance that$3$ he was
218:074,23['  ]| smiling. I have said that$3$ his excitement was an intenser
218:074,24['  ]| deliberateness, and now he looked grimly deliberate.
218:074,25[B  ]| "It seems very much as if you had interfered, Marquis,"
218:074,26['  ]| he said, slowly. 
218:074,26[B  ]| "I thought you said you would not
218:074,27[B  ]| interfere. I know you do not like$1$ me; but that$6#2$ does not
218:074,28[B  ]| make any difference. I thought you promised me
218:074,29[B  ]| you would not interfere. I thought you swore on$4$ your
218:074,30[B  ]| honour that$3$ you would not interfere. Do not you remember,
218:074,31[B  ]| Marquis?"
218:074,32['  ]| The Marquis lifted his eyebrows; but he was apparently
218:074,33['  ]| determined to$9$ be even more urbane than usual.
218:074,34['  ]| He rested his two hands upon$4$ the back of his mother's
218:074,35['  ]| chair and bent forward, as if he were leaning over the
218:074,36['  ]| edge of a pulpit or a lecture-desk. He did not smile,
218:074,36['  ]| but he looked softly grave. 
218:074,36[D  ]| "Excuse me, sir," 
218:074,36['  ]| he said,
218:075,01[D  ]| "I assured you that$3$ I would not influence my sister's
218:075,02[D  ]| decision. I adhered, to$4$ the letter, to$4$ my engagement.
218:075,03[D  ]| Did I not, sister?"
218:075,04[C  ]| "Do not appeal, my son," 
218:075,04['  ]| said the Marquise, 
218:075,04[C  ]| "your
218:075,05[C  ]| word is sufficient."
218:075,06[B  ]| "Yes ~~ she accepted me," 
218:075,06['  ]| said Newman. 
218:075,06[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is
218:075,07[B  ]| very true; I can not deny that$6#2$. At least," 
218:075,07['  ]| he added, in$4$ a
218:075,08['  ]| different tone, turning to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=, 
218:075,08[B  ]| "you \did\
218:075,09[B  ]| accept me?"
218:075,10['  ]| Something in$4$ the tone seemed to$9$ move her strongly.
218:075,11['  ]| She turned away, burying her face in$4$ her hands.
218:075,12[B  ]| "But you have interfered now, have not you?" 
218:075,12['  ]| inquired
218:075,13['  ]| Newman of the Marquis.
218:075,14[D  ]| "Neither then nor now have I attempted to$9$ influence
218:075,15[D  ]| my sister. I used no$2$ persuasion then, I have used no$2$
218:075,16[D  ]| persuasion to-day."
218:075,17[B  ]| "And what have you used?"
218:075,18[C  ]| "We have used authority," 
218:075,18['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde
218:075,19['  ]| in$4$ a rich, bell-like voice.
218:075,20[B  ]| "Ah, you have used authority," 
218:075,20['  ]| Newman exclaimed.
218:075,21[B  ]| "they have used authority," 
218:075,21['  ]| he went on$5$, turning to$4$
218:075,22['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=. 
218:075,22[B  ]| "What is it? How did they use it?"
218:075,23[A  ]| "My mother commanded," 
218:075,23['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
218:075,24[B  ]| "Commanded you to$9$ give me up$5$ ~~ I see. And you
218:075,25[B  ]| obey ~~ I see. But why do you obey?" 
218:075,25['  ]| asked Newman.
218:075,26['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= looked across at the old Marquise;
218:075,27['  ]| her eyes slowly measured her from head to$4$ foot. 
218:075,27[A  ]| "I
218:075,28[A  ]| am afraid of my mother," 
218:075,28['  ]| she said.
218:075,29['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde rose with a certain quickness,
218:075,30['  ]| crying: 
218:075,30[C  ]| "This is a most indecent scene!"
218:075,31[A  ]| "I have no$2$ wish to$9$ prolong it," 
218:075,31['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
218:075,32['  ]| and turning to$4$ the door she put out her hand
218:075,33['  ]| again. 
218:075,33[A  ]| "If you can pity me a little, let me go alone."
218:075,34['  ]| Newman shook her hand quietly and firmly. 
218:075,34[B  ]| "I will$1$
218:075,35[B  ]| come down there," 
218:075,35['  ]| he said. The \9portie`re\ dropped behind
218:075,36['  ]| her, and Newman sank with a long breath into the nearest
218:075,37['  ]| chair. He leaned back in$4$ it, resting his hands on$4$
218:076,01['  ]| the knobs of the arms and looking at Madame*de*Bellegarde
218:076,02['  ]| and Urbain. There was a long silence.
218:076,03['  ]| They stood side by$4$ side, with their heads high and their
218:076,04['  ]| handsome eyebrows arched.
218:076,05[B  ]| "So$3$ you make a distinction?" 
218:076,05['  ]| Newman said at last.
218:076,06[B  ]| "You make a distinction between persuading and commanding?
218:076,07[B  ]| It is very neat. But the distinction is in$4$
218:076,08[B  ]| favour of commanding. That$6#2$ rather spoils it."
218:076,09[D  ]| "We have not the least objection to$4$ defining our position,"
218:076,10['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde. 
218:076,10[D  ]| "We understand that$3$ it
218:076,11[D  ]| should not at first appear to$4$ you quite clear. We rather
218:076,12[D  ]| expect, indeed, that$3$ you should not do us justice."
218:076,13[B  ]| "Oh, I will$1$ do you justice," 
218:076,13['  ]| said Newman. 
218:076,13[B  ]| "Do not
218:076,14[B  ]| be afraid. Please proceed."
218:076,15['  ]| The Marquise laid her hand on$4$ her son's arm, as if
218:076,16['  ]| to$9$ deprecate the attempt to$9$ define their position. 
218:076,16[C  ]| "It
218:076,17[C  ]| is quite useless," 
218:076,17['  ]| she said, 
218:076,17[C  ]| "to$9$ try and arrange this
218:076,18[C  ]| matter so$3$ as to$9$ make it agreeable to$4$ you. It can
218:076,19[C  ]| never be agreeable to$4$ you. It is a disappointment,
218:076,20[C  ]| and disappointments are unpleasant. I thought it over
218:076,21[C  ]| carefully and tried to$9$ arrange it better: but I only gave
218:076,22[C  ]| myself a headache and lost my sleep. Say what we
218:076,23[C  ]| will$1$, you will$1$ think yourself ill-treated, and you will$1$
218:076,24[C  ]| publish your wrongs among your friends. But we are
218:076,25[C  ]| not afraid of that$6#2$. Besides, your friends are not our
218:076,26[C  ]| friends, and it will$1$ not matter. Think of us as you
218:076,27[C  ]| please. I only beg you not to$9$ be violent. I have
218:076,28[C  ]| never in$4$ my life been present at a violent scene of any
218:076,29[C  ]| kind, and at my age I can not be expected to$9$ begin."
218:076,30[B  ]| "Is \that$6#2$\ all you have got to$9$ say?" 
218:076,30['  ]| asked Newman,
218:076,31['  ]| slowly rising out of his chair. 
218:076,31[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is a poor show for$4$
218:076,32[B  ]| a clever lady like$4$ you, Marquise. Come, try again."
218:076,33[D  ]| "My mother goes to$4$ the point, with her usual honesty
218:076,34[D  ]| and intrepidity," 
218:076,34['  ]| said the Marquis, toying with his watch-guard.
218:076,35[D  ]| "But it is perhaps well to$9$ say a little more.
218:076,36[D  ]| We, of course, quite repudiate the charge of having broken
218:076,37[D  ]| faith with you. We left you entirely at liberty to$9$ make
218:077,01[D  ]| yourself agreeable to$4$ my sister. We left her quite at
218:077,02[D  ]| liberty to$9$ entertain your proposal. When she accepted
218:077,03[D  ]| you we said nothing. We therefore quite observed our
218:077,04[D  ]| promise. It was only at a later stage of the affair, and
218:077,05[D  ]| on$4$ quite a different basis, as it were, that$3$ we determined
218:077,06[D  ]| to$9$ speak. It would have been better, perhaps, if we had
218:077,07[D  ]| spoken before. But really, you see, nothing has yet been
218:077,08[D  ]| done."
218:077,09[B  ]| "Nothing has yet been done?" 
218:077,09['  ]| Newman repeated the
218:077,10['  ]| words, unconscious of their comical effect. He had lost
218:077,11['  ]| the sense of what the Marquis was saying; M%*de*Bellegarde's
218:077,12['  ]| superior style was a mere humming in$4$ his ears.
218:077,13['  ]| All that$6#1$ he understood, in$4$ his deep and simple indignation,
218:077,14['  ]| was that$3$ 
218:077,14@b   | the matter was not a violent joke, and that$3$
218:077,15@b   | the people before him were perfectly serious. 
218:077,15[B  ]| "Do you
218:077,16[B  ]| suppose I can take this?" 
218:077,16['  ]| he asked. 
218:077,16[B  ]| "Do you suppose
218:077,17[B  ]| it can matter to$4$ me what you say? Do you suppose I
218:077,18[B  ]| can seriously listen to$4$ you? You are simply crazy!"
218:077,19['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde gave a rap with her fan in$4$ the
218:077,20['  ]| palm of her hand. 
218:077,20[C  ]| "If you do not take it you can leave
218:077,21[C  ]| it, sir. It matters very little what you do. My daughter
218:077,22[C  ]| has given you up$5$."
218:077,23[B  ]| "She does not mean it," 
218:077,23['  ]| Newman declared after a
218:077,24['  ]| moment. 
218:077,25[C  ]| "I think I can assure you that$3$ she does," 
218:077,25['  ]| said the
218:077,26['  ]| Marquis.
218:077,27[B  ]| "Poor woman, what damnable thing have you done to$4$
218:077,28[B  ]| her?" 
218:077,28['  ]| cried Newman.
218:077,29[D  ]| "Gently, gently!" 
218:077,29['  ]| murmured M%*de*Bellegarde.
218:077,30[C  ]| "She told you," 
218:077,30['  ]| said the old lady. 
218:077,30[C  ]| "I commanded
218:077,31[C  ]| her."
218:077,32['  ]| Newman shook his head heavily. 
218:077,32[B  ]| "This sort of thing
218:077,33[B  ]| can not be, you know," 
218:077,33['  ]| he said. 
218:077,33[B  ]| "A man can not be used in$4$
218:077,34[B  ]| this fashion. You have got no$2$ right; you have got no$2$
218:077,35[B  ]| power."
218:077,36[C  ]| "My power," 
218:077,36['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde, 
218:077,36[C  ]| "is in$4$ my
218:077,37[C  ]| children's obedience."
218:078,01[B  ]| "In$4$ their fear, your daughter said. There is something
218:078,02[B  ]| very strange in$4$ it. Why should your daughter be
218:078,03[B  ]| afraid of you?" 
218:078,03['  ]| added Newman, after looking a moment
218:078,04['  ]| at the old lady. 
218:078,04[B  ]| "There is some foul play."
218:078,05['  ]| The Marquise met his gaze without flinching, and as if
218:078,06['  ]| she did not hear or heed what he said. 
218:078,06[C  ]| "I did my best,"
218:078,07['  ]| she said, quietly. 
218:078,07[C  ]| "I could endure it no$2$ longer."
218:078,08[D  ]| "It was a bold experiment!" 
218:078,08['  ]| said the Marquis.
218:078,09['  ]| Newman felt disposed to$9$ walk to$4$ him, clutch his neck
218:078,10['  ]| with his fingers, and press his windpipe with his thumb.
218:078,11[B  ]| "I need not tell you how you strike me," 
218:078,11['  ]| he said, 
218:078,11[B  ]| "of
218:078,12[B  ]| course you know that$6#2$. But I should think you would be
218:078,13[B  ]| afraid of your friends ~~ all those people you introduced
218:078,14[B  ]| me to$4$ the other night. There were some very nice people
218:078,15[B  ]| among them; you may depend upon$4$ it there were some
218:078,16[B  ]| honest men and women."
218:078,17[D  ]| "Our friends approve us," 
218:078,17['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde;
218:078,18[D  ]| "there is not a family among them that$6#1$ would have acted
218:078,19[D  ]| otherwise. And however that$6#2$ may be, we take the cue
218:078,20[D  ]| from no*one. The Bellegardes have been used to$9$ set the
218:078,21[D  ]| example, not to$9$ wait for$4$ it."
218:078,22[B  ]| "You would have waited long before any*one would
218:078,23[B  ]| have set you such an example as this," 
218:078,23['  ]| exclaimed Newman.
218:078,24[B  ]| "Have I done anything wrong?" 
218:078,24['  ]| he demanded. 
218:078,24[B  ]| "Have
218:078,25[B  ]| I given you reason to$9$ change your opinion? Have you
218:078,26[B  ]| found out anything against me? I can not imagine."
218:078,27[C  ]| "Our opinion," 
218:078,27['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde, 
218:078,27[C  ]| "is quite
218:078,28[C  ]| the same as at first ~~ exactly. We have no$2$ ill-will towards
218:078,29[C  ]| yourself; we are very far from accusing you of misconduct.
218:078,30[C  ]| Since your relations with us began you have been, I
218:078,31[C  ]| frankly confess, less ~~ less peculiar than I expected. It
218:078,32[C  ]| is not your disposition that$6#1$ we object to$4$, it is your
218:078,33[C  ]| antecedents.  We really cannot reconcile ourselves to$4$ a
218:078,34[C  ]| commercial person. We fancied in$4$ an evil hour that$3$ we
218:078,35[C  ]| could; it was a great misfortune. We determined to$9$
218:078,36[C  ]| persevere to$4$ the end, and to$9$ give you every advantage.
218:078,37[C  ]| I was resolved that$3$ you should have no$2$ reason to$9$ accuse
218:079,01[C  ]| me of a want of loyalty. We let the thing certainly go
218:079,02[C  ]| very far ~~ we introduced you to$4$ our friends. To$9$ tell the
218:079,03[C  ]| truth, it was that$6#2$, I think, that$6#1$ broke me down. I succumbed
218:079,04[C  ]| to$4$ the scene that$6#1$ took place on$4$ Thursday night
218:079,05[C  ]| in$4$ these rooms. You must excuse me if what I say is
218:079,06[C  ]| disagreeable to$4$ you, but we cannot release ourselves
218:079,07[C  ]| without an explanation."
218:079,08[D  ]| "There can be no$2$ better proof of our good faith,"
218:079,09['  ]| said the Marquis, 
218:079,09[D  ]| "than our committing ourselves to$4$
218:079,10[D  ]| you in$4$ the eyes of the world the other evening. We
218:079,11[D  ]| endeavoured to$9$ bind ourselves ~~ to$9$ tie our hands, as it
218:079,12[D  ]| were."
218:079,13[C  ]| "But it was that$6#2$," 
218:079,13['  ]| added his mother, 
218:079,13[C  ]| "that$6#1$ opened
218:079,14[C  ]| our eyes and broke our bonds. We should have been
218:079,15[C  ]| most uncomfortable! You know," 
218:079,15['  ]| she added in$4$ a
218:079,16['  ]| moment, 
218:079,16[C  ]| "that$3$ you were forewarned. I told you we
218:079,17[C  ]| were very proud."
218:079,18['  ]| Newman took up$5$ his hat and began mechanically to$9$
218:079,19['  ]| smooth it; the very fierceness of his scorn kept him from
218:079,20['  ]| speaking. 
218:079,20[B  ]| "You are not proud enough," 
218:079,20['  ]| he observed
218:079,21['  ]| at last.
218:079,22[D  ]| "In$4$ all this matter," 
218:079,22['  ]| said the Marquis, smiling, 
218:079,22[D  ]| "I
218:079,23[D  ]| really see nothing but our humility."
218:079,24[C  ]| "Let us have no$2$ more discussion than is necessary,"
218:079,25['  ]| resumed Madame*de*Bellegarde. 
218:079,25[C  ]| "My daughter told
218:079,26[C  ]| you everything when she said she gave you up$5$."
218:079,27[B  ]| "I am not satisfied about your daughter," 
218:079,27['  ]| said
218:079,28['  ]| Newman; 
218:079,28[B  ]| "I want to$9$ know what you did to$4$ her. It
218:079,29[B  ]| is all very easy talking about authority, and saying you
218:079,30[B  ]| commanded her. She did not accept me blindly, and she
218:079,31[B  ]| would not have given me up$5$ blindly. Not that$3$ I believe
218:079,32[B  ]| yet she has really given me up$5$; she will$1$ talk it over
218:079,33[B  ]| with me. But you have frightened her, you have bullied
218:079,34[B  ]| her, you have \hurt\ her. What was it you did to$4$ her?"
218:079,35[C  ]| "I did very little!" 
218:079,35['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde, in$4$ a
218:079,36['  ]| tone which$6#1$ gave Newman a chill when he afterwards
218:079,37['  ]| remembered it.
218:080,01[D  ]| "Let me remind you that$3$ we offered you these explanations,"
218:080,02['  ]| the Marquis observed, 
218:080,02[D  ]| "with the express
218:080,03[D  ]| understanding that$3$ you should abstain from violence of
218:080,04[D  ]| language."
218:080,05[B  ]| "I am not violent," 
218:080,05['  ]| Newman answered, 
218:080,05[B  ]| "it is you
218:080,06[B  ]| who$6#1$ are violent! But I do not know that$3$ I have much
218:080,07[B  ]| more to$9$ say to$4$ you. What you expect of me, apparently,
218:080,08[B  ]| is to$9$ go my way, thanking you for$4$ favours received, and
218:080,09[B  ]| promising never to$9$ trouble you again."
218:080,10[C  ]| "We expect of you to$9$ act like$4$ a clever man," 
218:080,10['  ]| said
218:080,11['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde. 
218:080,11[C  ]| "You have shown yourself
218:080,12[C  ]| that$6#2$ already, and what we have done is altogether based
218:080,13[C  ]| upon$4$ your being so$5#2$. When one must submit, one must.
218:080,14[C  ]| Since my daughter absolutely withdraws, what will$1$ be
218:080,15[C  ]| the use of your making a noise?"
218:080,16[B  ]| "It remains to$9$ be seen whether your daughter
218:080,17[B  ]| absolutely withdraws. Your daughter and I are still
218:080,18[B  ]| very good friends; nothing is changed in$4$ that$6#2$. As I
218:080,19[B  ]| say, I will$1$ talk it over with her."
218:080,20[C  ]| "That$6#2$ will$1$ be of no$2$ use," 
218:080,20['  ]| said the old lady. 
218:080,20[C  ]| "I know
218:080,21[C  ]| my daughter well enough to$9$ know that$3$ words spoken as
218:080,22[C  ]| she just now spoke to$4$ you are final. Besides, she has
218:080,23[C  ]| promised me."
218:080,24[B  ]| "I have no$2$ doubt her promise is worth a good deal
218:080,25[B  ]| more than your own," 
218:080,25['  ]| said Newman; 
218:080,25[B  ]| "nevertheless I
218:080,26[B  ]| do not give her up$5$."
218:080,27[C  ]| "Just as you please! But if she will$1$ not even see you
218:080,28[C  ]| ~~ and she will$1$ not ~~ your constancy must remain purely
218:080,29[C  ]| Platonic."
218:080,30['  ]| Poor Newman was feigning a greater confidence than
218:080,31['  ]| he felt. Madame*de*Cintre='s strange intensity had, in$4$
218:080,32['  ]| fact, struck a chill to$4$ his heart; her face, still impressed
218:080,33['  ]| upon$4$ his vision, had been a terribly vivid image of renunciation.
218:080,34['  ]| He felt sick, and suddenly helpless. He
218:080,35['  ]| turned away and stood for$4$ a moment with his hand on$4$
218:080,36['  ]| the door; then he faced about, and after the briefest
218:080,37['  ]| hesitation broke out with a different accent. 
218:080,37[B  ]| "Come,
218:081,01[B  ]| think of what this must be to$4$ me, and let her alone!
218:081,02[B  ]| Why should you object to$4$ me so$3$ ~~ what is the matter with
218:081,03[B  ]| me? I can not hurt you, I would not if I could. I am the
218:081,04[B  ]| most unobjectionable fellow in$4$ the world. What if I am
218:081,05[B  ]| a commercial person? What under the sun do you
218:081,06[B  ]| mean? A commercial person? I will$1$ be any sort of
218:081,07[B  ]| person you want. I never talk to$4$ you about business.
218:081,08[B  ]| Let her go, and I will$1$ ask no$2$ questions. I will$1$ take her
218:081,09[B  ]| away, and you shall never see me or hear of me again.
218:081,10[B  ]| I will$1$ stay in$4$ American if you like$1$. I will$1$ sign a paper
218:081,11[B  ]| promising never to$9$ come back to$4$ Europe! All I want
218:081,12[B  ]| is not to$9$ lose her!"
218:081,13['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde and her son exchanged a glance
218:081,14['  ]| of lucid irony, and Urbain said: 
218:081,14[D  ]| "My dear sir, what
218:081,15[D  ]| you propose is hardly an improvement. We have not
218:081,16[D  ]| the slightest objection to$4$ seeing you, as an amiable
218:081,17[D  ]| foreigner, and we have every reason for$4$ not wishing to$9$
218:081,18[D  ]| be eternally separated from my sister. We object to$4$
218:081,19[D  ]| the marriage; and in$4$ that$6#2$ way," 
218:081,19['  ]| and M%*de*Bellegarde
218:081,20['  ]| gave a small, thin laugh, 
218:081,20[D  ]| "she would be more married
218:081,21[D  ]| than ever."
218:081,22[B  ]| "Well, then," 
218:081,22['  ]| said Newman, 
218:081,22[B  ]| "where is this place of
218:081,23[B  ]| yours ~~ Fleurie=res? I know it is near some old city on$4$
218:081,24[B  ]| a hill."
218:081,25[C  ]| "Precisely. Poitiers is on$4$ a hill," 
218:081,25['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
218:081,26[C  ]| "I do not know how old it is. We are not
218:081,27[C  ]| afraid to$9$ tell you."
218:081,28[B  ]| "It is Poitiers, is it? Very good," 
218:081,28['  ]| said Newman.
218:081,29[B  ]| "I shall immediately follow Madame*de*Cintre=."
218:081,30[D  ]| "The trains after this hour will$1$ not serve you," 
218:081,30['  ]| said
218:081,31['  ]| Urbain.
218:081,32[B  ]| "I shall hire a special train!"
218:081,33[C  ]| "That$6#2$ will$1$ be a very silly waste of money," 
218:081,33['  ]| said
218:081,34['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde.
218:081,35[B  ]| "It will$1$ be time enough to$9$ talk about waste three
218:081,36['  ]| days hence," 
218:081,36['  ]| Newman answered; and clapping his hat
218:081,37['  ]| on$4$ his head, he departed.
218:082,01['  ]| He did not immediately start for$4$ Fleurie=res; he was
218:082,02['  ]| too stunned and wounded for$4$ consecutive action. He
218:082,03['  ]| simply walked; he walked straight before him, following
218:082,04['  ]| the river, till he got out of the \9enceinte\ of Paris. He had
218:082,05['  ]| a burning, tingling sense of personal outrage. He had
218:082,06['  ]| never in$4$ his life received so$5#1$ absolute a check; he had
218:082,07['  ]| never been pulled up$5$, or, as he would have said, "let
218:082,08['  ]| down," so$5#1$ short; and he found the sensation intolerable;
218:082,09['  ]| he strode alone, tapping the trees and lamp-posts fiercely
218:082,10['  ]| with his stick, and inwardly raging. 
218:082,10@b   | To$9$ lose Madame*de*Cintre=
218:082,11@b   | after he had taken such jubilant and triumphant
218:082,12@b   | possession of her was as great an affront to$4$ his pride as
218:082,13@b   | it was an injury to$4$ his happiness. And to$9$ lose her by$4$
218:082,14@b   | the interference and the dictation of others, by$4$ an impudent
218:082,15@b   | old woman and a pretentious fop stepping in$5$ with
218:082,16@b   | their "authority"! It was too preposterous, it was too
218:082,17@b   | pitiful. 
218:082,17['  ]| Upon$4$ what he deemed 
218:082,17@b   | the unblushing treachery
218:082,18@b   | of the Bellegardes, 
218:082,18['  ]| Newman wasted little thought; he
218:082,19['  ]| consigned it, once for$4$ all, to$4$ eternal perdition. But the
218:082,20['  ]| treachery of Madame*de*Cintre= herself amazed and confounded
218:082,21['  ]| him; 
218:082,21@b   | there was a key to$4$ the mystery, of course,
218:082,22@b   | but he groped for$4$ it in$4$ vain. Only three days had
218:082,23@b   | elapsed since she stood beside him in$4$ the starlight,
218:082,24@b   | beautiful and tranquil as the trust with which$6#1$ he had
218:082,25@b   | inspired her, and told him that$3$ she was happy in$4$ the
218:082,26@b   | prospect of their marriage. What was the meaning of
218:082,27@b   | the change? of what infernal potion had she tasted?
218:082,28['  ]| Poor Newman had a terrible apprehension that$3$ 
218:082,28@b   | she had
218:082,29@b   | really changed. 
218:082,29['  ]| His very admiration for$4$ her attached
218:082,30['  ]| the idea of force and weight to$4$ her rupture. But he did
218:082,31['  ]| not rail at her as false, for$3$ 
218:082,31@b   | he was sure she was unhappy.
218:082,32['  ]| In$4$ his walk he had crossed one of the bridges of the
218:082,33['  ]| Seine, and he still followed, unheedingly, the long, unbroken
218:082,34['  ]| quay. He had left Paris behind him, and he
218:082,35['  ]| was almost in$4$ the country; he was in$4$ the pleasant suburb
218:082,36['  ]| of Auteuil. He stopped at last, looked around him
218:082,37['  ]| without seeing or caring for$4$ its pleasantness, and then
218:083,01['  ]| slowly turned, and at a slower pace retraced his steps.
218:083,02['  ]| When he came abreast of the fantastic embankment
218:083,03['  ]| known as the Trocadero, he reflected, through his
218:083,04['  ]| throbbing pain, that$3$ 
218:083,04@b   | he was near Mrs%*Tristram's dwelling,
218:083,05@b   | and that$3$ Mrs%*Tristram, on$4$ particular occasions, had
218:083,06@b   | much of a woman's kindness in$4$ her utterance. 
218:083,06['  ]| He felt
218:083,07['  ]| that$3$ 
218:083,07@b   | he needed to$9$ pour out his ire, 
218:083,07['  ]| and took the road to$4$
218:083,08['  ]| her house. Mrs%*Tristram was at home and alone,
218:083,09['  ]| and as soon as she had looked at him, on$4$ his entering
218:083,10['  ]| the room, she told him that$3$ 
218:083,10@i   | she knew what he had
218:083,11@i   | come for$4$. 
218:083,11['  ]| Newman sat down heavily, in$4$ silence, looking
218:083,12['  ]| at her.
218:083,13[I  ]| "They have backed out!" 
218:083,13['  ]| she said. 
218:083,13[I  ]| "Well, you
218:083,14[I  ]| may think it strange, but I felt something the other
218:083,15[I  ]| night in$4$ the air." 
218:083,15['  ]| Presently he told her his story; she
218:083,16['  ]| listened, with her eyes fixed on$4$ him. When he had
218:083,17['  ]| finished she said quietly: 
218:083,17[I  ]| "They want her to$9$ marry
218:083,18[I  ]| Lord*Deepmere." 
218:083,18['  ]| Newman stared. He did not know
218:083,19['  ]| that$3$ she knew anything about Lord*Deepmere. 
218:083,19[I  ]| "But
218:083,20[I  ]| I do not think she will$1$," 
218:083,20['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram added.
218:083,21[B  ]| "\She\ marry that$6#2$ poor little cub!" 
218:083,21['  ]| cried Newman.
218:083,22[B  ]| "Oh Lord! And yet, why did she refuse me?"
218:083,23[I  ]| "But that$6#2$ is not the only thing," 
218:083,23['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram.
218:083,24[I  ]| "They really could not endure you any longer. They
218:083,25[I  ]| had overrated their courage. I must say, to$9$ give the
218:083,26[I  ]| devil his due, that$3$ there is something rather fine in$4$ that$6#2$.
218:083,27[I  ]| It was your commercial quality in$4$ the abstract they
218:083,28[I  ]| could not swallow. That$6#2$ is really aristocratic. They
218:083,29[I  ]| wanted your money, but they have given you up$5$ for$4$ an
218:083,30[I  ]| idea."
218:083,31['  ]| Newman frowned most ruefully, and took up$5$ his hat
218:083,32['  ]| again. 
218:083,32[B  ]| "I thought you would encourage me!" 
218:083,32['  ]| he said,
218:083,33['  ]| with almost childlike sadness.
218:083,34[I  ]| "Excuse me," 
218:083,34['  ]| she answered, very gently. 
218:083,34[I  ]| "I feel
218:083,35[I  ]| none*the*less sorry for$4$ you, especially as I am at the
218:083,36[I  ]| bottom of your troubles. I have not forgotten that$3$ I
218:083,37[I  ]| suggested the marriage to$4$ you. I do not believe that$3$
218:084,01[I  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= has any intention of marrying Lord*Deepmere.
218:084,02[I  ]| It is true he is not younger than she, as he
218:084,03[I  ]| looks. He is thirty-three years old; I looked in$4$ the
218:084,04[I  ]| Peerage. But no$7$ ~~ I can not believe her so$5#1$ horribly, cruelly
218:084,05[I  ]| false."
218:084,06[B  ]| "Please say nothing against her," 
218:084,06['  ]| said Newman.
218:084,07[I  ]| "Poor woman, she \is\ cruel. But of course you will$1$
218:084,08[I  ]| go after her and you will$1$ plead powerfully. Do you
218:084,09[I  ]| know that$3$ as you are now," 
218:084,09['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram pursued with
218:084,10['  ]| characteristic audacity of comment, 
218:084,10[I  ]| "you are extremely
218:084,11[I  ]| eloquent, even without speaking? To$9$ resist you a woman
218:084,12[I  ]| must have a very fixed idea in$4$ her head. I wish I had
218:084,13[I  ]| done you a wrong, that$3$ you might come to$4$ me in$4$ that$6#2$
218:084,14[I  ]| fine fashion! But go to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=, at any rate,
218:084,15[I  ]| and tell her that$3$ she is a puzzle even to$4$ me. I am very
218:084,16[I  ]| curious to$9$ see how far family discipline will$1$ go."
218:084,17['  ]| Newman sat a while longer, leaning his elbows on$4$ his
218:084,18['  ]| knees and his head in$4$ his hands, and Mrs%*Tristram continued
218:084,19['  ]| to$9$ temper charity with philosophy, and compassion
218:084,20['  ]| with criticism. At last she inquired: 
218:084,20[I  ]| "And what does
218:084,21[I  ]| the Count*Valentin say to$4$ it?" 
218:084,21['  ]| Newman started; he
218:084,22['  ]| had not thought of Valentin and his errand on$4$ the Swiss
218:084,23['  ]| frontier since the morning. The reflection made him
218:084,24['  ]| restless again, and he took his leave. He went straight
218:084,25['  ]| to$4$ his apartment, where, upon$4$ the table of the vestibule,
218:084,26['  ]| he found a telegram. It ran (with the date and place)
218:084,27['  ]| as follows: 
218:084,27[E  ]| "I am seriously ill; please to$9$ come to$4$ me
218:084,28[E  ]| as soon as possible. V%*B%" 
218:084,28['  ]| Newman groaned at this
218:084,29['  ]| miserable news, and at the necessity of deferring his
218:084,30['  ]| journey to$4$ the Cha^teau*de*Fleurie`res. But he wrote to$4$
218:084,31['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= these few lines; they were all he had
218:084,32['  ]| time for$4$:
218:084,33['  ]|
218:084,34[B  ]| "I do not give you up$5$, and I do not really believe you
218:084,35[B  ]| give me up$5$. I do not understand it, but we shall clear it
218:084,36[B  ]| up$5$ together. I can not follow you to-day, as I am called
218:084,37[B  ]| to$9$ see a friend at a distance who$6#1$ is very ill, perhaps
218:085,01[B  ]| dying. But I shall come to$4$ you as soon as I can
218:085,02[B  ]| leave my friend. Why should not I say that$3$ he is your
218:085,03[B  ]| brother? ~~ C%*N%"
218:085,04['  ]| After this he had only time to$9$ catch the night express
218:085,05['  ]| to$4$ Geneva.
219:085,01['  ]| Newman possessed a remarkable talent for$4$ sitting still
219:085,02['  ]| when it was necessary, and he had an opportunity to$9$ 
219:085,03['  ]| use it on$4$ his journey to$4$ Switzerland. The successive
219:085,04['  ]| hours of the night brought him no$2$ sleep; but he sat
219:085,05['  ]| motionless in$4$ his corner of the railway-carriage, with
219:085,06['  ]| his eyes closed, and the most observant of his fellow-travellers
219:085,07['  ]| might have envied him his apparent slumber.
219:085,08['  ]| Toward morning slumber really came, as an effect of
219:085,09['  ]| mental rather than of physical fatigue. He slept for$4$ a
219:085,10['  ]| couple of hours, and at last, waking, found his eyes
219:085,11['  ]| resting upon$4$ one of the snow-powdered peaks of the
219:085,12['  ]| Jura, behind which$6#1$ the sky was just reddening with the
219:085,13['  ]| dawn. But he saw neither the cold mountain nor the
219:085,14['  ]| warm sky: his consciousness began to$9$ throb again, on$4$
219:085,15['  ]| the very instant, with a sense of his wrong. He got
219:085,16['  ]| out of the train half an hour before it reached Geneva,
219:085,17['  ]| in$4$ the cold morning twilight, at the station indicated in$4$
219:085,18['  ]| Valentin's telegram. A drowsy station-master was on$4$
219:085,19['  ]| the platform with a lantern, and the hood of his overcoat
219:085,20['  ]| over his head, and near him stood a gentleman who$6#1$
219:085,21['  ]| advanced to$9$ meet Newman. This personage was a man
219:085,22['  ]| of forty, with a tall lean figure, a sallow face, a dark
219:085,23['  ]| eye, a neat moustache, and a pair of fresh gloves. He
219:085,24['  ]| took off his hat, looking very grave, and pronounced
219:085,25['  ]| Newman's name. Our hero assented, and said: 
219:085,25[B  ]| "You
219:085,26[B  ]| are M%*de*Bellegarde's friend?"
219:086,01[W  ]| "I unite with you in$4$ claiming that$6#2$ sad honour," 
219:086,01['  ]| said
219:086,02['  ]| the gentleman. 
219:086,02[W  ]| "I had placed myself at M%*de*Bellegarde's
219:086,03[W  ]| service in$4$ this melancholy affair, together with
219:086,04[W  ]| M%*de*Grosjoyaux, who$6#1$ is now at his bedside. M%*de*Grosjoyaux,
219:086,05[W  ]| I believe, has had the honour of meeting
219:086,06[W  ]| you in$4$ Paris, but as he is a better nurse than I he remained
219:086,07[W  ]| with our poor friend. Bellegarde has been
219:086,08[W  ]| eagerly expecting you."
219:086,09[B  ]| "And how is Bellegarde?" 
219:086,09['  ]| said Newman. 
219:086,09[B  ]| "He
219:086,10[B  ]| was badly hit?"
219:086,11[W  ]| "The doctor has condemned him; we brought a
219:086,12[W  ]| surgeon with us. But he will$1$ die in$4$ the best sentiments.
219:086,13[W  ]| I sent last evening for$4$ the cure= of the nearest French
219:086,14[W  ]| village, who$6#1$ spent an hour with him. The cure= was
219:086,15[W  ]| quite satisfied."
219:086,16[B  ]| "Heaven forgive us!" 
219:086,16['  ]| groaned Newman. 
219:086,16[B  ]| "I would
219:086,17[B  ]| rather the doctor were satisfied! And can he see me ~
219:086,18[B  ]| shall he know me?"
219:086,19[W  ]| "When I left him, half an hour ago, he had fallen
219:086,20[W  ]| asleep, after a feverish, wakeful night. But we shall
219:086,21[W  ]| see." 
219:086,21['  ]| And Newman's companion proceeded to$9$ lead
219:086,22['  ]| the way out of the station to$4$ the village, explaining as
219:086,23['  ]| he went that$3$ 
219:086,23@w   | the little party was lodged in$4$ the humblest
219:086,24@w   | of Swiss inns, where, however, they had succeeded in$4$
219:086,25@w   | making M%*de*Bellegarde much more comfortable than
219:086,26@W   | could at first have been expected. 
219:086,26[W  ]| "We are old companions-in-arms,"
219:086,27['  ]| said Valentin's second; 
219:086,27[W  ]| "it is not the
219:086,28[W  ]| first time that$3$ one of us has helped the other to$9$ lie easily.
219:086,29[W  ]| It is a very nasty wound, and the nastiest thing about
219:086,30[W  ]| it is that$3$ Bellegarde's adversary was no$2$ shot. He put
219:086,31[W  ]| his bullet where he could. It took it into his head to$9$
219:086,32[W  ]| walk straight into Bellegarde's left side, just below the
219:086,33[W  ]| heart."
219:086,34['  ]| As they picked their way in$4$ the gray, deceptive
219:086,35['  ]| dawn, between the manure-heaps of the village street,
219:086,36['  ]| Newman's new acquaintance narrated the particulars of
219:086,37['  ]| the duel. 
219:086,37@w   | The conditions of the meeting had been that$3$
219:087,01@w   | if the first exchange of shots should fail to$9$ satisfy one
219:087,02@w   | of the two gentlemen, a second should take place.
219:087,03@w   | Valentin's first bullet had done exactly 
219:087,03['  ]| what Newman's
219:087,04['  ]| companion was convinced 
219:087,04@w   | he had intended it to$9$ do; it
219:087,05@w   | had grazed the arm of M%*Stanislas*Kapp, just scratching
219:087,06@w   | the flesh. M%*Kapp's own projectile, meanwhile, had
219:087,07@w   | passed at ten good inches from the person of Valentin.
219:087,08@w   | The representatives of M%*Stanislas had demanded
219:087,09@w   | another shot, which$6#1$ was granted. Valentin had then
219:087,10@w   | fired aside, and the young Alsatian had done effective
219:087,11@w   | execution. 
219:087,11[W  ]| "I saw, when we met him on$4$ the ground,"
219:087,12['  ]| said Newman's informant, 
219:087,12[W  ]| "that$3$ he was not going to$9$
219:087,13[W  ]| be \9commode\. It is a kind of bovine temperament."
219:087,14@w   | Valentin had immediately been installed at the inn, and
219:087,15@w   | M%*Stanislas and his friends had withdrawn to$4$ regions
219:087,16@w   | unknown. The police authorities of the canton had
219:087,17@w   | waited upon$4$ the party at the inn, had been extremely
219:087,18@w   | majestic, and had drawn up$5$ a long \9proce`s-verbal\; but it
219:087,19@w   | was probable that$3$ they would wink at so$5#1$ very gentlemanly
219:087,20@w   | a bit of bloodshed. 
219:087,20['  ]| Newman asked 
219:087,20@b   | whether a
219:087,21@b   | message had not been sent to$4$ Valentin's family, 
219:087,21['  ]| and
219:087,22['  ]| learned that$3$ 
219:087,22@w   | up$5$ to$4$ a late hour on$4$ the preceding evening
219:087,23@w   | Valentin had opposed it. He had refused to$9$ believe
219:087,24@w   | his wound was dangerous. But after his interview with
219:087,25@w   | the cure= he had consented, and a telegram had been
219:087,26@w   | despatched to$4$ his mother. 
219:087,26[W  ]| "But the Marquise had
219:087,27[W  ]| better hurry," 
219:087,27['  ]| said Newman's conductor.
219:087,28[B  ]| "Well, it is an abominable affair!" 
219:087,28['  ]| said Newman.
219:087,29[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is all I have got to$9$ say!" 
219:087,29['  ]| To$9$ say this, at least,
219:087,30['  ]| in$4$ a tone of infinite disgust, was an irresistible need.
219:087,31[W  ]| "Ah, you do not approve?" 
219:087,31['  ]| questioned his conductor,
219:087,32['  ]| with curious urbanity.
219:087,33[B  ]| "Approve?" 
219:087,33['  ]| cried Newman. 
219:087,33[B  ]| "I wish that$3$ when I
219:087,34[B  ]| had him there, night before last, I had locked him up$5$ in$4$
219:087,35[B  ]| my \9cabinet*de*toilette\!"
219:087,36['  ]| Valentin's late second opened his eyes, and shook his
219:087,37['  ]| head up$5$ and down two or three times, gravely, with a
219:088,01['  ]| little flute-like whistle. But they had reached the inn,
219:088,02['  ]| and a stout maid-servant in$4$ a night-cap was at the door
219:088,03['  ]| with a lantern, to$9$ take Newman's travelling-bag from
219:088,04['  ]| the porter who$6#1$ trudged behind him. Valentin was
219:088,05['  ]| lodged on$4$ the ground-floor at the back of the house, and
219:088,06['  ]| Newman's companion went along a stone-faced passage
219:088,07['  ]| and softly opened a door. Then he beckoned to$4$ Newman,
219:088,08['  ]| who$6#1$ advanced and looked into the room, which$6#1$ was
219:088,09['  ]| lighted by$4$ a single shaded candle. Beside the fire sat
219:088,10['  ]| M%*de*Grosjoyaux asleep in$4$ his dressing-gown ~~ a little
219:088,11['  ]| plump fair man whom Newman had seen several times
219:088,12['  ]| in$4$ Valentin's company. On$4$ the bed lay Valentin, pale
219:088,13['  ]| and still, with his eyes closed ~~ a figure very shocking
219:088,14['  ]| to$4$ Newman, who$6#1$ had seen it hitherto awake to$4$ its fingertips.
219:088,15['  ]| M%*de*Grosjoyaux's colleague pointed to$4$ an open
219:088,16['  ]| door beyond, and whispered that$3$ 
219:088,16@w   | the doctor was within,
219:088,17@w   | keeping guard. 
219:088,17['  ]| So$5#1$ long as Valentin slept, or seemed
219:088,18['  ]| to$9$ sleep, of course Newman could not approach him;
219:088,19['  ]| so$3$ our hero withdrew for$4$ the present, committing himself
219:088,20['  ]| to$4$ the care of the half-waked \9bonne\. She took him to$4$ a
219:088,21['  ]| room above-stairs, and introduced him to$4$ a bed on$4$ which$6#1$
219:088,22['  ]| a magnified bolster, in$4$ yellow calico, figured as a counterpane.
219:088,23['  ]| Newman lay down, and, in$4$ spite of his counterpane, 
219:088,24['  ]| slept for$4$ three or four hours. When he awoke
219:088,25['  ]| the morning was advanced and the sun was filling his
219:088,26['  ]| window, and he heard, outside of it, the clucking of hens.
219:088,27['  ]| While he was dressing there came to$4$ his door a
219:088,28['  ]| messenger from M%*de*Grosjoyaux and his companion,
219:088,29['  ]| proposing that$3$ he should breakfast with them. Presently
219:088,30['  ]| he went downstairs to$4$ the little stone-paved dining-room,
219:088,21['  ]| where the maid-servant, who$6#1$ had taken off her night-cap,
219:088,32['  ]| was serving the repast. M%*de*Grosjoyaux was there,
219:088,33['  ]| surprisingly fresh for$4$ a gentleman who$6#1$ had been playing
219:088,34['  ]| sick-nurse half the night, rubbing his hands and watching
219:088,35['  ]| the breakfast-table attentively. Newman renewed
219:088,36['  ]| acquaintance with him, and learned that$3$ 
219:088,36@w   | Valentin was
219:088,37@w   | still sleeping; the surgeon, who$6#1$ had had a fairly tranquil
219:089,01@w   | night, was at present sitting with him. 
219:089,01['  ]| Before M%*de*Grosjoyaux's
219:089,02['  ]| associate reappeared, Newman learned that$3$
219:089,03@w   | his name was M%*Ledoux, and that$3$ Bellegarde's acquaintance
219:089,04@w   | with him dated from the days when they served
219:089,05@w   | together in$4$ the Pontifical*Zouaves. M%*Ledoux was the
219:089,06@w   | nephew of a distinguished Ultramontane bishop. 
219:089,06['  ]| At
219:089,07['  ]| last the bishop's nephew came in$5$ with a toilet in$4$ which$6#1$
219:089,08['  ]| an ingenious attempt at harmony with the peculiar situation
219:089,09['  ]| was visible, and with a gravity tempered by$4$ a
219:089,10['  ]| decent deference to$4$ the best breakfast that$6#1$ the Croix*Helve=tique
219:089,11['  ]| had ever set forth. Valentin's servant, who$6#1$
219:089,12['  ]| was allowed only in$4$ scanty measure the honour of
219:089,13['  ]| watching with his master, had been lending a light
219:089,14['  ]| Parisian hand in$4$ the kitchen. The two Frenchmen did
219:089,15['  ]| their best to$9$ prove that$3$ if circumstances might overshadow,
219:089,16['  ]| they could not really obscure the national talent
219:089,17['  ]| for$4$ conversation, and M%*Ledoux delivered a neat little
219:089,18['  ]| eulogy on$4$ poor Bellegarde, whom he pronounced 
219:089,18@w   | the
219:089,19@w   | most charming Englishman he had ever known.
219:089,20[B  ]| "Do you call him an Englishman?" 
219:089,20['  ]| Newman asked.
219:089,21['  ]| M%*Ledoux smiled a moment and then made an epigram.
219:089,22[W  ]| "\9C'est 9plus 9qu'un 9Anglais ~~ 9c'est 9un 9Anglomane\!"
219:089,23['  ]| Newman said soberly that$3$ 
219:089,23@b   | he had never noticed
219:089,24@b   | it; 
219:089,24['  ]| and M%*de*Grosjoyaux remarked that$3$ 
219:089,24@w   | it was really
219:089,25@w   | too soon to$9$ deliver a funeral oration upon$4$ poor Bellegarde.
219:089,26[W  ]| "Evidently," 
219:089,26['  ]| said M%*Ledoux. 
219:089,26[W  ]| "But I could not help
219:089,27[W  ]| observing this morning to$4$ Mr%*Newman that$3$ when a man
219:089,28[W  ]| has taken such excellent measures for$4$ his salvation as our
219:089,29[W  ]| dear friend did last evening, it seems almost a pity he
219:089,30[W  ]| should put it in$4$ peril again by$4$ returning to$4$ the world."
219:089,31['  ]| M%*Ledoux was a great Catholic, and Newman thought
219:089,32['  ]| him 
219:089,32@b   | a queer mixture. His countenance, by$4$ daylight,
219:089,33@b   | had a sort of amiably saturnine cast; he had a very large
219:089,34@b   | thin nose, and looked like$4$ a Spanish picture. He
219:089,35@b   | appeared to$9$ think duelling a very perfect arrangement,
219:089,36@b   | provided, if one should get hit, one could promptly see
219:089,37@b   | the priest. He seemed to$9$ take a great satisfaction in$4$
219:090,01@b   | Valentin's interview with the cure=, and yet his conversation
219:090,02@b   | did not at all indicate a sanctimonious habit of
219:090,03@b   | mind. M%*Ledoux had evidently a high sense of the
219:090,04@b   | becoming, and was prepared to$9$ be urbane and tasteful
219:090,05@b   | on$4$ all points. He was always furnished with a smile
219:090,06@b   | (which$6#1$ pushed his moustache up$5$ under his nose) and an
219:090,07@b   | explanation. \9Savoir-vivre\ ~~ knowing how to$9$ live ~~ was
219:090,08@b   | his specialty, in$4$ which$6#1$ he included knowing how to$9$ die;
219:090,09@b   | but, 
219:090,09['  ]| as Newman reflected, with a good deal of dumb irritation,
219:090,10@b   | he seemed disposed to$9$ delegate to$4$ others the
219:090,11@b   | application of his learning on$4$ this latter point. M%*deGrosjoyaux 
219:090,12@b   | was of quite another complexion, and appeared
219:090,13@b   | to$9$ regard his friend's theological unction as the sign of
219:090,14@b   | an inaccessibly superior mind. He was evidently doing
219:090,15@b   | his utmost, with a kind of jovial tenderness, to$9$ make life
219:090,16@b   | agreeable to$4$ Valentin to$4$ the last, and help him as little
219:090,17@b   | as possible to$9$ miss the Boulevarde*des*Italiens; but what
219:090,18@b   | chiefly occupied his mind was 
219:090,18@w   | the mystery of a bungling
219:090,19@w   | brewer's son making so$5#1$ neat a shot. He himself could
219:090,20@w   | snuff a candle, etc%, and yet 
219:090,20['  ]| he confessed that$3$ 
219:090,20@w   | he could
219:090,21@w   | not have done better than this. 
219:090,21['  ]| He hastened to$9$ add
219:090,22['  ]| that$3$ 
219:090,22@w   | on$4$ the present occasion he would have made a point
219:090,23@w   | of not doing so$5#1$ well. It was not an occasion for$4$ that$6#2$
219:090,24@w   | sort of murderous work, \9que 9diable\! He would have
219:090,25@w   | picked out some quiet fleshy spot and just tapped it with
219:090,26@w   | a harmless ball. M%*Stanislas*Kapp had been deplorably
219:090,27@w   | heavy-handed; but really, when the world had come
219:090,28@w   | to$4$ that$6#2$ pass that$3$ one granted a meeting to$4$ a brewer's son!
219:090,29@w   | ~~ ~~ 
219:090,29['  ]| This was M%*de*Grosjoyaux's nearest approach
219:090,30['  ]| to$4$ a generalisation. He kept looking through the window,
219:090,31['  ]| over the shoulder of M%*Ledoux, at a slender tree which$6#1$
219:090,32['  ]| stood at the end of a lane, opposite to$4$ the inn, and seemed
219:090,33['  ]| to$9$ be measuring its distance from his extended arm, and
219:090,34['  ]| secretly wishing that$3$, since the subject had been introduced,
219:090,35['  ]| propriety did not forbid a little speculative pistol-practice.
219:090,36['  ]| 
219:090,37['  ]| Newman was in$4$ no$2$ humour to$9$ enjoy good company.
219:091,01['  ]| He could neither eat nor talk; his soul was sore with
219:091,02['  ]| grief and anger, and the weight of his double sorrow was
219:091,03['  ]| intolerable. He sat with his eyes fixed upon$4$ his plate, 
219:091,04['  ]| counting the minutes, wishing at one moment that$3$ 
219:091,04@b   | Valentin
219:091,05@b   | would see him and leave him free to$9$ go in$4$ quest of
219:091,06@b   | Madame*de*Cintre= and his lost happiness, 
219:091,06['  ]| and mentally
219:091,07['  ]| calling himself 
219:091,07@b   | a vile brute the next, for$4$ the impatient
219:091,08@b   | egotism of the wish. 
219:091,08['  ]| He was very poor company, himself,
219:091,09['  ]| and even his acute preoccupation, and his general lack
219:091,10['  ]| of the habit of pondering the impression he produced,
219:091,11['  ]| did not prevent him from reflecting that$3$ 
219:091,11@b   | his companions
219:091,12@b   | must be puzzled to$9$ see how poor Bellegarde came to$9$ take
219:091,13@b   | such a fancy to$4$ this taciturn Yankee that$3$ he must needs
219:091,14@b   | have him at his deathbed. 
219:091,14['  ]| After breakfast he strolled
219:091,15['  ]| forth alone into the village and looked at the fountain,
219:091,16['  ]| the geese, the open barn doors, the brown, bent old
219:091,17['  ]| women showing their hugely-darned stocking heels at
219:091,18['  ]| the ends of their slowly-clicking sabots, and the beautiful
219:091,19['  ]| view of snowy Alp and purple Jura at either end of the
219:091,20['  ]| little street. The day was brilliant; early spring was in$4$
219:091,21['  ]| the air and sunshine, and the winter's damp was trickling
219:091,22['  ]| out of the cottage eaves. 
219:091,22@b   | It was birth and brightness for$4$
219:091,23@b   | all nature, even for$4$ chirping chickens and waddling goslings,
219:091,24@b   | and it was to$9$ be death and burial for$4$ poor, foolish,
219:091,25@b   | generous, delightful Bellegarde. 
219:091,25['  ]| Newman walked as far
219:091,26['  ]| as the village church, and went into the small graveyard
219:091,27['  ]| beside it, where he sat down and looked at the awkward
219:091,28['  ]| tablets which$6#1$ were planted around. They were all sordid
219:091,29['  ]| and hideous, and Newman could feel nothing but the
219:091,30['  ]| hardness and coldness of death. He got up$5$ and came
219:091,31['  ]| back to$4$ the inn, where he found M%*Ledoux having coffee
219:091,32['  ]| and a cigarette at a little green table which$6#1$ he had caused
219:091,33['  ]| to$9$ be carried into the small garden. Newman, learning
219:091,34['  ]| that$3$ 
219:091,34@w   | the doctor was still sitting with Valentin, 
219:091,34['  ]| asked M%*Ledoux
219:091,35@b   | if he might not be allowed to$9$ relieve him; he
219:091,36@b   | had a great desire to$9$ be useful to$4$ his poor friend. 
219:091,36['  ]| This
219:091,37['  ]| was easily arranged; the doctor was very glad to$9$ go to$4$
219:092,01['  ]| bed. He was a youthful and rather jaunty practitioner,
219:092,02['  ]| but he had a clever face, and the ribbon of the Legion*of*Honour
219:092,03['  ]| in$4$ his button-hole; Newman listened attentively
219:092,04['  ]| to$4$ the instructions he gave him before retiring, and took mechanically
219:092,05['  ]| from his hand a small volume which$6#1$ the surgeon
219:092,06['  ]| recommended as a help to$4$ wakefulness, and which$6#1$ turned
219:092,07['  ]| out to$9$ be an old copy of "Les*Liaisons*Dangereuses."
219:092,08['  ]| Valentin was still lying with his eyes closed, and there 
219:092,09['  ]| was no$2$ visible change in$4$ his condition. Newman sat
219:092,10['  ]| down near him, and for$4$ a long time narrowly watched
219:092,11['  ]| him. Then his eyes wandered away with his thoughts
219:092,12['  ]| upon$4$ his own situation, and rested upon$4$ the chain of the
219:092,13['  ]| Alps, disclosed by$4$ the drawing of the scant white cotton
219:092,14['  ]| curtain of the window, through which$6#1$ the sunshine passed
219:092,15['  ]| and lay in$4$ squares upon$4$ the red-tiled floor. He tried to$9$
219:092,16['  ]| interweave his reflections with hope, but he only half
219:092,17['  ]| succeeded. What had happened to$4$ him seemed to$9$ have,
219:092,18['  ]| in$4$ its violence and audacity, the force of a real calamity
219:092,19['  ]| ~~ the strength and insolence of Destiny herself. 
219:092,19@b   | It was
219:092,20@b   | unnatural and monstrous, and he had no$2$ arms against it.
219:092,21['  ]| At last a sound struck upon$4$ the stillness, and he heard
219:092,22['  ]| Valentin's voice.
219:092,23[E  ]| "It can not be about \me\ you are pulling that$6#2$ long face!"
219:092,24['  ]| He found, when he turned, that$3$ Valentin was lying in$4$ 
219:092,25['  ]| the same position; but his eyes were open, and he was
219:092,26['  ]| even trying to$9$ smile. It was with a very slender strength
219:092,27['  ]| that$3$ he returned the pressure of Newman's hand. 
219:092,27[E  ]| "I
219:092,28[E  ]| have been watching you for$4$ a quarter of an hour,"
219:092,29['  ]| Valentin went on$5$; 
219:092,29[E  ]| "you have been looking as black as
219:092,30[E  ]| thunder. You are greatly disgusted with me, I see.
219:092,31[E  ]| Well, of course! So$5#2$ am I!"
219:092,32[B  ]| "Oh, I shall not scold you," 
219:092,32['  ]| said Newman. 
219:092,32[B  ]| "I feel
219:092,33[B  ]| too badly. And how are you getting on$5$?"
219:092,34[E  ]| "Oh, I am getting off! They have quite settled that$6#2$;
219:092,35[E  ]| have not they?"
219:092,36[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is for$4$ you to$9$ settle; you can get well if you
219:092,37[B  ]| try." 
219:092,37['  ]| said Newman, with resolute cheerfulness. 
219:093,01[E  ]| "My dear fellow, how can I try? Trying is violent
219:093,02[E  ]| exercise, and that$6#2$ sort of thing is not in$4$ order for$4$ a man
219:093,03[E  ]| with a hole in$4$ his side as big as your hat, that$6#1$ begins to$9$
219:093,04[E  ]| bleed if he moves a hair's-breadth. I knew you would
219:093,05[E  ]| come," 
219:093,05['  ]| he continued; 
219:093,05[E  ]| "I knew I should wake up$5$ and
219:093,06[E  ]| find you here; so$3$ I am not surprised. But last night I
219:093,07[E  ]| was very impatient. I did not see how I could keep still
219:093,08[E  ]| until you came. It was a matter of keeping still, just
219:093,09[E  ]| like$4$ this; as still as a mummy in$4$ his case. You talk
219:093,10[E  ]| about trying; I tried that$6#2$! Well, here I am yet ~~ these
219:093,11[E  ]| twenty hours. It seems like$4$ twenty days. " 
219:093,11['  ]| Bellegarde
219:093,12['  ]| talked slowly and feebly, but distinctly enough. It was
219:093,13['  ]| visible, however, that$3$ he was in$4$ extreme pain, and at 
219:093,14['  ]| last he closed his eyes. Newman begged him to$9$ 
219:093,14@b   | remain
219:093,15@b   | silent and spare himself; the doctor had left urgent
219:093,16@b   | orders. 
219:093,16[E  ]| "Oh," 
219:093,16['  ]| said Valentin, 
219:093,16[E  ]| "let us eat and drink,
219:093,17[E  ]| for$3$ to-morrow ~~ to-morrow" 
219:093,17['  ]| ~~ and he paused again.
219:093,18[E  ]| "No$7$, not to-morrow, perhaps, but to-day. I can not eat
219:093,19[E  ]| and drink, but I can talk. What is to$9$ be gained, at this
219:093,20[E  ]| pass, by$4$ renun ~~ renunciation? I must not use such big
219:093,21[E  ]| words. I was always a chatterer; Lord, how I have
219:093,22[E  ]| talked in$4$ my day!"
219:093,23[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is a reason for$4$ keeping quiet now," 
219:093,23['  ]| said Newman.
219:093,24[B  ]| "We know how well you talk, you know."
219:093,25['  ]| But Valentin, without heeding him, went on$5$ in$4$ the
219:093,26['  ]| same weak dying drawl. 
219:093,26[E  ]| "I wanted to$9$ see you because
219:093,27[E  ]| you have seen my sister. Does she know ~~ will$1$ she
219:093,28[E  ]| come?"
219:093,29['  ]| Newman was embarrassed. 
219:093,29[B  ]| "Yes, by$4$ this time she
219:093,30[B  ]| must know."
219:093,31[E  ]| "Did not you tell her?" 
219:093,31['  ]| Valentin asked. And then,
219:093,32['  ]| in$4$ a moment: 
219:093,32[E  ]| "Did not you bring me any message from
219:093,33[E  ]| her?" 
219:093,33['  ]| His eyes rested upon$4$ Newman's with a certain
219:093,34['  ]| soft keenness.
219:093,35[B  ]| "I did not see her after I got your telegram," 
219:093,35['  ]| said
219:093,36['  ]| Newman. 
219:093,36[B  ]| "I wrote to$4$ her."
219:093,37[E  ]| "And she sent you no$2$ answer?"
219:094,01['  ]| Newman was obliged to$9$ reply that$3$ Madame*de*Cintre=
219:094,02['  ]| had left Paris. 
219:094,02[B  ]| "She went yesterday to$4$ Fleurie=res."
219:094,03[E  ]| "Yesterday ~~ to$4$ Fleurie=res? why did she go to$4$
219:094,04[E  ]| Fleurie=res? What day was yesterday?
219:094,05[E  ]| Ah, then, I sha' not see her," 
219:094,05['  ]| said Valentin, sadly.
219:094,06[E  ]| "Fleurie=res is too far!" 
219:094,06['  ]| And then he closed his eyes
219:094,07['  ]| again. Newman sat silent, summoning pious invention
219:094,08['  ]| to$4$ his aid, but he was relieved at finding that$3$ 
219:094,08@b   | Valentin
219:094,09@b   | was apparently too weak to$9$ reason or to$9$ be curious.
219:094,10['  ]| Bellegarde, however, presently went on$5$. 
219:094,10[E  ]| "And my
219:094,11[E  ]| mother ~~ and my brother ~~ will$1$ they come? Are they
219:094,12[E  ]| at Fleurie=res?
219:094,13[B  ]| "They were in$4$ Paris, but I did not see them either,"
219:094,14['  ]| Newman answered. 
219:094,14[B  ]| "If they received your telegram
219:094,15[B  ]| in$4$ time, they will$1$ have started this morning. Otherwise
219:094,16[B  ]| they will$1$ be obliged to$9$ wait for$4$ the night express, and
219:094,17[B  ]| they will$1$ arrive at the same hour as I did."
219:094,18[E  ]| "They will$1$ not thank me ~~ they will$1$ not thank me,"
219:094,19['  ]| Valentin murmured. 
219:094,19[E  ]| "They will$1$ pass an atrocious
219:094,20[E  ]| night, and Urbain does not like$1$ the early morning air. I
219:094,21[E  ]| do not remember ever in$4$ my life to$9$ have seen him before
219:094,22[E  ]| noon ~~ before breakfast. No*one ever saw him. We
219:094,23[E  ]| do not know how he is then. Perhaps he is different.
219:094,24[E  ]| Who$6#2$ knows? Posterity, perhaps, will$1$ know. That$6#2$ is
219:094,25[E  ]| the time he works, in$4$ his \9cabinet\, at the history of the
219:094,26[E  ]| Princesses. But I had to$9$ send for$4$ them ~~ had not I?
219:094,27[E  ]| And then I want to$9$ see my mother sit there where you
219:094,28[E  ]| sit and say good-bye to$4$ her. Perhaps, after all, I do not
219:094,29[E  ]| know her, and she will$1$ have some surprise for$4$ me.
219:094,30[E  ]| Do not think you know her yet, yourself; perhaps she
219:094,31[E  ]| may surprise \you\. But if I can not see Claire, I do not care
219:094,32[E  ]| for$4$ anything. I have been thinking of it ~~ and in$4$ my
219:094,33[E  ]| dreams too. Why did she go to$4$ Fleurie=res to-day?
219:094,34[E  ]| She never told me. What has happened? Ah, she
219:094,35[E  ]| ought to$9$ have guessed I was here ~~ this way. It is the
219:094,36[E  ]| first time in$4$ her life she ever disappointed me. Poor
219:094,37[E  ]| Claire!"
219:095,01[B  ]| "You know we are not man and wife quite yet ~~ your
219:095,02[B  ]| sister and I," 
219:095,02['  ]| said Newman. 
219:095,02[B  ]| "She does not yet account
219:095,03[B  ]| to$4$ me for$4$ all her actions." 
219:095,03['  ]| And, after a fashion, he
219:095,04['  ]| smiled.
219:095,05['  ]| Valentin looked at him a moment. 
219:095,05[E  ]| "Have you
219:095,06[E  ]| quarrelled?"
219:095,07['  ]| "Never, never, never!" 
219:095,07[B  ]| Newman exclaimed.
219:095,08[E  ]| "How happily you say that$6#2$!" 
219:095,08['  ]| said Valentin. 
219:095,08[E  ]| "You
219:095,09[E  ]| are going to$9$ be happy ~~ \9va\!" 
219:095,09['  ]| In$4$ answer to$4$ this stroke
219:095,10['  ]| of irony, none*the*less powerful for$4$ being so$5#1$ unconscious,
219:095,11['  ]| all poor Newman could do was to$9$ give a helpless and
219:095,12['  ]| transparent stare. Valentin continued to$9$ fix him with
219:095,13['  ]| his own rather over-bright gaze, and presently he said:
219:095,14[E  ]| "But something \is\ the matter with you. I watched you
219:095,15[E  ]| just now; you have not a bridegroom's face."
219:095,16[B  ]| "My dear fellow," 
219:095,16['  ]| said Newman, 
219:095,16[B  ]| "how can I show
219:095,17[B  ]| \you\ a bridegroom's face? If you think I enjoy seeing
219:095,18[B  ]| you lie there and not being able to$9$ help you ~"
219:095,19[E  ]| "Why, you are just the man to$9$ be cheerful; do not
219:095,20[E  ]| forfeit your rights! I am a proof of your wisdom. When
219:095,21[E  ]| was a man ever gloomy when he could say: ""I told you
219:095,22[E  ]| so$5#2$""? You told me so$5#2$, you know. You did what you
219:095,23[E  ]| could about it. You said some very good things; I
219:095,24[E  ]| have thought them over. But, my dear friend, I was
219:095,25[E  ]| right, all the same. This is the regular way."
219:095,26[B  ]| "I did not do what I ought," 
219:095,26['  ]| said Newman. 
219:095,26[B  ]| "I
219:095,27[B  ]| ought to$9$ have done something else."
219:095,28[E  ]| "For$4$ instance?"
219:095,29[B  ]| "Oh something or other. I ought to$9$ have treated
219:095,30[B  ]| you as a small boy."
219:095,31[E  ]| "Well, I am a very small boy, now," 
219:095,31['  ]| said Valentin.
219:095,32[E  ]| "I am rather less than an infant. An infant is helpless,
219:095,33[E  ]| but it is generally voted promising. I am not promising,
219:095,34[E  ]| eh? Society can not lose a less valuable member."
219:095,35['  ]| Newman was strongly moved. He got up$5$ and turned
219:095,36['  ]| his back upon$4$ his friend and walked away to$4$ the window,
219:095,37['  ]| where he stood looking out, but only vaguely seeing,
219:096,01[E  ]| "No$7$, I do not like$1$ the look of your back," 
219:096,01['  ]| Valentin continued.
219:096,02[E  ]| "I have always been an observer of backs;
219:096,03[E  ]| yours is quite out of sorts."
219:096,04['  ]| Newman returned to$4$ his bedside and begged him to$9$
219:096,05['  ]| be quiet. 
219:096,05[B  ]| "Be quiet and get well," 
219:096,05['  ]| he said. 
219:096,05[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is
219:096,06[B  ]| what you must do. Get well and help me."
219:096,07[E  ]| "I told you you were in$4$ trouble! How can I help
219:096,08[E  ]| you?" 
219:096,08['  ]| Valentin asked.
219:096,09[B  ]| "I will$1$ let you know when you are better. You were
219:096,10[B  ]| always curious; there is something to$9$ get well for$4$!"
219:096,11['  ]| Newman answered, with resolute animation.
219:096,12['  ]| Valentin closed his eyes and lay a long time without
219:096,13['  ]| speaking. He seemed even to$9$ have fallen asleep. But
219:096,14['  ]| at the end of half an hour he began to$9$ talk again. 
219:096,14[E  ]| "I
219:096,15[E  ]| am rather sorry about that$6#2$ place in$4$ the bank. Who$6#2$
219:096,16[E  ]| knows but that$3$ I might have become another Rothschild?
219:096,17[E  ]| But I was not meant for$4$ a banker; bankers are not so$5#1$
219:096,18[E  ]| easy to$9$ kill. Do not you think I have been very easy to$9$
219:096,19[E  ]| kill? It is not like$4$ a serious man. It is really very
219:096,20[E  ]| mortifying. It is like$4$ telling your hostess you must go,
219:096,21[E  ]| when you count upon$4$ her begging you to$9$ stay, and then
219:096,22[E  ]| finding she does no$2$ such thing. ""Really ~~ so$5#1$ soon?
219:096,23[E  ]| You have only just come!"" Life does not make me any
219:096,24[E  ]| such polite little speech."
219:096,25['  ]| Newman for$4$ some time said nothing, but at last he
219:096,26['  ]| broke out. 
219:096,26[B  ]| "It is a bad case ~~ it is a bad case ~~ it is the
219:096,27[B  ]| worst case I ever met. I do not want to$9$ say anything
219:096,28[B  ]| unpleasant, but I can not help it. I have seen men dying
219:096,29[B  ]| before ~~ and I have seen men shot. But it always seemed
219:096,30[B  ]| more natural; they were not so$5#1$ clever as you. Damnation ~
219:096,31[B  ]| damnation! You might have done something
219:096,32[B  ]| better than this. It is about the meanest winding-up of
219:096,33[B  ]| a man's affairs that$6#1$ I can imagine."
219:096,34['  ]| Valentin feebly waved his hand to$8$ and fro. 
219:096,34[E  ]| "Do not
219:096,35[E  ]| insist ~~ do not insist! It is mean ~~ decidedly mean. For$3$
219:096,36[E  ]| you see at the bottom ~~ down at the bottom, in$4$ a little place
219:096,37[E  ]| as small as the end of a wine-funnel ~~ I agree wth you!"
219:097,01['  ]| A few moments after this the doctor put his head
219:097,02['  ]| through the half-opened door, and, perceiving that$3$
219:097,03['  ]| Valentin was awake, came in$5$ and felt his pulse. He
219:097,04['  ]| shook his head and declared that$3$ 
219:097,04@w   | he had talked too much
219:097,05@w   | ~~ ten times too much. 
219:097,05[E  ]| "Nonsense!" 
219:097,05['  ]| said Valentin;
219:097,06[E  ]| "a man sentenced to$4$ death can never talk too much.
219:097,07[E  ]| Have you never read an account of an execution in$4$ a
219:097,08[E  ]| newspaper? Do not they always set a lot of people at
219:097,09[E  ]| the prisoner ~~ lawyers, reporters, priests ~~ to$9$ make him
219:097,10[E  ]| talk? But it is not Mr%*Newman's fault; he sits there as
219:097,11[E  ]| mum as a death's-head."
219:097,12['  ]| The doctor observed that$3$ 
219:097,12@w   | it was time his patient's
219:097,13@w   | wound should be dressed again; 
219:097,13['  ]| MM%*de*Grosjoyaux and
219:097,14['  ]| Ledoux, who$6#1$ had already witnessed this delicate operation,
219:097,15['  ]| taking Newman's place as assistants. Newman 
219:097,16['  ]| withdrew, and learned from his fellow-watchers that$3$ 
219:097,16@w   | they
219:097,17@w   | had received a telegram from Urbain*de*Bellegarde to$4$
219:097,18@w   | the effect that$3$ their message had been delivered in$4$ the
219:097,19@w   | Rue*de*l'Universite= too late to$9$ allow him to$9$ take the
219:097,20@w   | morning train, but that$3$ he would start with his mother in$4$
219:097,21@w   | the evening. 
219:097,21['  ]| Newman wandered away into the village
219:097,22['  ]| again, and walked about restlessly for$4$ two or three hours.
219:097,23['  ]| The day seemed terribly long. At dusk he came back
219:097,24['  ]| and dined with the doctor and M%*Ledoux. The dressing
219:097,25['  ]| of Valentin's wound had been a very critical operation;
219:097,26['  ]| the doctor 
219:097,26@w   | did not really see how he was to$9$ endure
219:097,27@w   | a repetition of it. 
219:097,27['  ]| He then declared that$3$ 
219:097,27@w   | he must beg
219:097,28@w   | of Mr%*Newman to$9$ deny himself for$4$ the present the
219:097,29@w   | satisfaction of sitting with M%*de*Bellegarde; more than
219:097,30@w   | any*one else, apparently, he had the flattering but inconvenient
219:097,31@w   | privilege of exciting him. 
219:097,31['  ]| M%*Ledoux, at this
219:097,32['  ]| swallowed a glass of wine in$4$ silence; he must have been
219:097,33['  ]| wondering 
219:097,33@w   | what the deuce Bellegarde found so$5#1$ exciting
219:097,34@w   | in$4$ the American.
219:097,35['  ]| Newman, after dinner, went up$5$ to$4$ his room, where
219:097,36['  ]| he sat for$4$ a long time staring at his lighted candle, and
219:097,37['  ]| thinking that$3$ 
219:097,37@b   | Valentin was dying downstairs. 
219:097,37['  ]| Late,
219:098,01['  ]| when the candle had burnt low, there came a soft tap at
219:098,02['  ]| his door. The doctor stood there with a candlestick and
219:098,03['  ]| a shrug.
219:098,04[W  ]| "He must amuse himself still!" 
219:098,04['  ]| said Valentin's
219:098,05['  ]| medical adviser. 
219:098,05[W  ]| "He insists upon$4$ seeing you, and I
219:098,06[W  ]| am afraid you must come. I think, at this rate, that$3$ he
219:098,07[W  ]| will$1$ hardly outlast the night."
219:098,08['  ]| Newman went back to$4$ Valentin's room, which$6#1$ he
219:098,09['  ]| found lighted by$4$ a taper on$4$ the hearth. Valentin begged
219:098,10['  ]| him to$9$ 
219:098,10@e   | light a candle. 
219:098,10[E  ]| "I want to$9$ see your face," 
219:098,10['  ]| he
219:098,11['  ]| said. 
219:098,11[E  ]| "They say you excite me," 
219:098,11['  ]| he went on$5$, as Newman
219:098,12['  ]| complied with this request, 
219:098,12[E  ]| "and I confess I do
219:098,13[E  ]| feel excited; but it is not you ~~ it is my own thoughts. I
219:098,14[E  ]| have been thinking ~~ thinking. Sit down there and let
219:098,15[E  ]| me look at you again." 
219:098,15['  ]| Newman seated himself, folded
219:098,16['  ]| his arms, and bent a heavy gaze upon$4$ his friend. He
219:098,17['  ]| seemed to$9$ be playing a part, mechanically, in$4$ a lugubrious
219:098,18['  ]| comedy. Valentin looked at him for$4$ some time. 
219:098,18[E  ]| "Yes,
219:098,19[E  ]| this morning I was right; you have something on$4$ your
219:098,20[E  ]| mind heavier than Valentin*de*Bellegarde. Come, I am
219:098,21[E  ]| a dying man, and it is indecent to$9$ deceive me. Something
219:098,22[E  ]| happened after I left Paris. It was not for$4$ nothing that$3$
219:098,23[E  ]| my sister started off at this season of the year for$4$ Fleurie=res.
219:098,24[E  ]| Why was it? It sticks in$4$ my crop. I have
219:098,25[E  ]| been thinking it over, and if you do not tell me I shall
219:098,26[E  ]| guess."
219:098,27[B  ]| "I had better not tell you," 
219:098,27['  ]| said Newman. 
219:098,27[B  ]| "It
219:098,28[B  ]| will$1$ not do you any good."
219:098,29[E  ]| "If you think it will$1$ do me any good not to$9$ tell me,
219:098,30[E  ]| you are very much mistaken. There is trouble about
219:098,31[E  ]| your marriage."
219:098,32[B  ]| "Yes," 
219;098,32['  ]| said Newman. 
219:098,32[B  ]| "There is trouble about my
219:098,33[B  ]| marriage."
219:098,34[E  ]| "Good!" 
219:098,34['  ]| And Valentin was silent again. 
219:098,34[E  ]| "They
219:098,35[E  ]| have stopped it."
219:098,36[B  ]| "They have stopped it," 
219:098,36['  ]| said Newman. Now that$3$
219:098,37['  ]| he had spoken out, he found a satisfaction in$4$ it which$6#1$
219:099,01['  ]| deepened as he went on$5$. 
219:099,01[B  ]| "Your mother and brother
219:099,02[B  ]| have broken faith. They have decided that$3$ it can not take
219:099,03[B  ]| place. They have decided that$3$ I am not good enough,
219:099,04[B  ]| after all. They have taken back their word. Since you
219:099,05[B  ]| insist, there it is!"
219:099,06['  ]| Valentin gave a sort of groan, lifted his hands a
219:099,07['  ]| moment, and then let them drop.
219:099,08[B  ]| "I am sorry not to$9$ have anything better to$9$ tell you
219:099,09[B  ]| about them," 
219:099,09['  ]| Newman pursued. 
219:099,09[B  ]| "But it is not my fault.
219:099,10[B  ]| I was, indeed, very unhappy when your telegram reached
219:099,11[B  ]| me; I was quite upside down. You may imagine
219:099,12[B  ]| whether I feel any better now."
219:099,13['  ]| Valentin moaned gaspingly, as if his wound were
219:099,14['  ]| throbbing. 
219:099,14[E  ]| "Broken faith, broken faith!" 
219:099,14['  ]| he murmured.
219:099,15[E  ]| "And my sister ~~ my sister?"
219:099,16[B  ]| "Your sister is very unhappy; she has consented to$9$
219:099,17[B  ]| give me up$5$. I do not know why. I do not know what
219:099,18[B  ]| they have done to$4$ her; it must be something pretty bad.
219:099,19[B  ]| In$4$ justice to$4$ her you ought to$9$ know it. They have made
219:099,20[B  ]| her suffer. I have not seen her alone, but only before
219:099,21[B  ]| them! We had an interview yesterday morning. They
219:099,22[B  ]| came out flat, in$4$ so$5#1$ many words. They told me to$9$ go
219:099,23[B  ]| about my business. It seems to$4$ me a very bad case.
219:099,24[B  ]| I am angry, I am sore, I am sick."
219:099,25['  ]| Valentin lay there staring, with his eyes more brilliantly
219:099,26['  ]| lighted, his lips soundlessly parted, and a flush of colour
219:099,27['  ]| in$4$ his pale face. Newman had never before uttered so$5#1$
219:099,28['  ]| many words in$4$ the plaintive key, but now, in$4$ speaking
219:099,29['  ]| to$4$ Valentin in$4$ the poor fellow's extremity, he had a feeling
219:099,30['  ]| that$3$ 
219:099,30@b   | he was making his complaint somewhere within the
219:099,31@b   | presence of the power that$6#1$ men pray to$4$ in$4$ trouble; he felt
219:099,32@b   | his out-gush of resentment as a sort of spiritual privilege.
219:099,33[E  ]| "And Claire," 
219:099,33['  ]| said Bellegarde, 
219:099,33[E  ]| "Claire? She has
219:099,34[E  ]| given you up$5$?"
219:099,35[B  ]| "I do not really believe it," 
219:099,35['  ]| said Newman.
219:099,36[E  ]| "No$7$, do not believe it, do not believe it. She is gaining
219:099,37[E  ]| time; excuse her."
219:100,01[B  ]| "I pity her!" 
219:100,01['  ]| said Newman.
219:100,02[E  ]| "Poor Claire!" 
219:100,02['  ]| murmured Valentin. 
219:100,02[E  ]| "But they ~
219:100,03[E  ]| but they" 
219:100,03['  ]| ~~ and he paused again. 
219:100,03[E  ]| "You saw them;
219:100,04[E  ]| they dismissed you, face to$4$ face?"
219:100,05[B  ]| "Face to$4$ face. They were very explicit."
219:100,06[E  ]| "What did they say?"
219:100,07[B  ]| "They said they could not stand a commercial person."
219:100,08['  ]| Valentin put out his hand and laid it upon$4$ Newman's
219:100,09['  ]| arm. 
219:100,09[E  ]| "And about their promise ~~ their engagement
219:100,10[E  ]| with you?"
219:100,11[B  ]| "They made a distinction. They said it was to$9$ hold
219:100,12[B  ]| good only until Madame*de*Cintre= accepted me."
219:100,13['  ]| Valentin lay staring a while, and his flush died away.
219:100,14[E  ]| "Do not tell me any more," 
219:100,14['  ]| he said at last; 
219:100,14[E  ]| "I am
219:100,15[E  ]| ashamed."
219:100,16[B  ]| "You? You are the soul of honour," 
219:100,16['  ]| said Newman,
219:100,17['  ]| simply.
219:100,18['  ]| Valentin groaned and turned away his head. For$4$
219:100,19['  ]| some time nothing more was said. Then Valentin turned
219:100,20['  ]| back again and found a certain force to$9$ press Newman's
219:100,21['  ]| arm. 
219:100,21[E  ]| "It is very bad ~~ very bad. When my people ~
219:100,22[E  ]| when my race ~~ come to$4$ that$6#2$, it is time for$4$ me to$9$ withdraw. 
219:100,23[E  ]| I believe in$4$ my sister; she will$1$ explain. Excuse
219:100,24[E  ]| her. If she can not ~~ if she can not, forgive her. She has
219:100,25[E  ]| suffered. But for$4$ the others it is very bad ~~ very bad.
219:100,26[E  ]| You take it very hard? No$7$, it is a shame to$9$ make you
219:100,27[E  ]| say so$5#2$." 
219:100,27['  ]| He closed his eyes, and again there was a silence.
219:100,28['  ]| Newman felt almost awed; he had evoked a more solemn
219:100,29['  ]| spirit than he expected. Presently Valentin looked at
219:100,30['  ]| him again, removing his hand from his arm. 
219:100,30[E  ]| "I apologise,"
219:100,31['  ]| he said. 
219;100,31[E  ]| "Do you understand? Here, on$4$ my
219:100,32[E  ]| deathbed. I apologise for$4$ my family. For$4$ my mother.
219:100,33[E  ]| For$4$ my brother. For$4$ the ancient house of Bellegarde.
219:100,34[E  ]| \9Voila`\!" 
219:100,34['  ]| he added, softly.
219:100,35['  ]| Newman for$4$ all answer took his hand, and pressed it
219:100,36['  ]| with a world of kindness. Valentin remained quiet, and
219:100,37['  ]| at the end of half an hour the doctor softly came in$5$.
219:101,01['  ]| Behind him, through the half-open door, Newman saw
219:101,02['  ]| the two questioning faces of MM%*de*Grosjoyaux and
219:101,03['  ]| Ledoux. The doctor laid his hand on$4$ Valentin's wrist
219:101,04['  ]| and sat looking at him. He gave no$2$ sign, and the two
219:101,05['  ]| gentlemen came in$5$, M%*Ledoux having first beckoned to$4$
219:101,06['  ]| some*one outside. This was M%*le*Cure=, who$6#1$ carried in$4$
219:101,07['  ]| his hand an object unknown to$4$ Newman, and covered
219:101,08['  ]| with a white napkin. M%*le*Cure= was short, round, and
219:101,09['  ]| red: he advanced, pulling off his little black cap to$4$
219:101,10['  ]| Newman, and deposited his burden on$4$ the table; and
219:101,11['  ]| then he sat down in$4$ the best armchair, with his hands
219:101,12['  ]| folded across his person. The other gentlemen had exchanged
219:101,13['  ]| glances which$6#1$ expressed unanimity as to$4$ the
219:101,14['  ]| timeliness of their presence. But for$4$ a long time Valentin
219:101,15['  ]| neither spoke nor moved. It was Newman's belief, afterwards,
219:101,16['  ]| that$3$ 
219:101,16@b   | M%*le*Cure= went to$9$ sleep. 
219:101,16['  ]| At last, abruptly,
219:101,17['  ]| Valentin pronounced Newman's name. His friend went
219:101,18['  ]| to$4$ him, and he said in$4$ French: 
219:101,18[E  ]| "You are not alone.
219:101,19[E  ]| I want to$9$ speak to$4$ you alone." 
219:101,19['  ]| Newman looked at the
219:101,20['  ]| doctor, and the doctor looked at the cure=, who$6#1$ looked
219:101,21['  ]| back at him; and then the doctor and the cure=, together,
219:101,22['  ]| gave a shrug. 
219:101,22[E  ]| "Alone ~~ for$4$ five minutes," 
219:101,22['  ]| Valentin repeated.
219:101,23[E  ]| "Please leave us."
219:101,24['  ]| The cure= took up$5$ his burden again and led the way
219:101,25['  ]| out, followed by$4$ his companions. Newman closed the
219:101,26['  ]| door behind them and came back to$4$ Valentin's bedside.
219:101,27['  ]| Bellegarde had watched all this intently.
219:101,28[E  ]| "It is very bad, it is very bad," 
219:101,28['  ]| he said, after Newman
219:101,29['  ]| had seated himself close to$4$ him. 
219:101,29[E  ]| "The more I think of
219:101,30[E  ]| it the worse it is."
219:101,31[B  ]| "Oh, do not think of it," 
219:101,31['  ]| said Newman.
219:101,32['  ]| But Valentin went on$5$, without heeding him. 
219:101,32[E  ]| "Even
219:101,33[E  ]| if they should come round again, the shame ~~ the baseness
219:101,34[E  ]| ~~ is there."
219:101,35[B  ]| "Oh, they will$1$ not come round!" 
219:101,35['  ]| said Newman.
219:101,36[E  ]| "Well, you can make them."
219:101,37[B  ]| "Make them?"
219:102,01[E  ]| "I can tell you something ~~ a great secret ~~ an immense
219:102,02[E  ]| secret. You can use it against them ~~ frighten
219:102,03[E  ]| them, force them."
219:102,04[B  ]| "A secret!" 
219:102,04['  ]| Newman repeated. The idea of letting
219:102,05['  ]| Valentin, on$4$ his deathbed, confide to$4$ him an "immense
219:102,06['  ]| secret" shocked him, for$4$ the moment, and made him
219:102,07['  ]| draw back. It seemed 
219:102,07@b   | an illicit way of arriving at information,
219:102,08@b   | and even had a vague analogy with listening at
219:102,09@b   | a keyhole. 
219:102,09['  ]| Then, suddenly, the thought of "forcing"
219:102,10['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde and her son became attractive,
219:102,11['  ]| and Newman bent his head closer to$4$ Valentin's lips.
219:102,12['  ]| For$4$ some time, however, the dying man said nothing
219:102,13['  ]| more. He only lay and looked at his friend with his
219:102,14['  ]| kindled, expanded, troubled eye, and Newman began to$9$
219:102,15['  ]| believe that$3$ he had spoken in$4$ delirium. But at last he
219:102,16['  ]| said:
219:102,17[E  ]| "There was something done ~~ something done at
219:102,18[E  ]| Fleurie=res. It was foul play. My father ~~ something
219:102,19[E  ]| happened to$4$ him. I do not know; I have been ashamed
219:102,20[E  ]| ~afraid to$9$ know. But I know there is something. My
219:102,21[E  ]| mother knows ~~ Urbain knows."
219:102,22[B  ]| "Something happened to$4$ your father?" 
219:102,22['  ]| said Newman,
219:102,23['  ]| urgently.
219:102,24['  ]| Valentin looked at him, still more wide-eyed. 
219:102,24[E  ]| "He
219:102,25[E  ]| did not get well."
219:102,26[B  ]| "Get well of what?"
219:102,27['  ]| But the immense effort which$6#1$ Valentin had made, first
219:102,28['  ]| to$9$ decide to$9$ utter these words, and then to$9$ bring them
219:102,29['  ]| out, appeared to$9$ have taken his last strength. He lapsed
219:102,30['  ]| again into silence, and Newman sat watching him. 
219:102,30[E  ]| "Do
219:102,31[E  ]| you understand?" 
219:102,31['  ]| he began again presently. 
219:102,31[E  ]| "At
219:102,32[E  ]| Fleurie=res. You can find out. Mrs%*Bread knows. Tell
219:102,33[E  ]| her I begged you to$9$ ask her. Then tell them that$6#2$, and
219:102,34[E  ]| see. It may help you. If not, tell every*one. It will$1$ ~
219:102,35[E  ]| it will$1$" 
219:102,35['  ]| ~~ here Valentin's voice sank to$4$ the feeblest
219:102,36['  ]| murmur ~~ 
219:102,36[E  ]| "it will$1$ avenge you!"
219:102,37['  ]| The words died away in$4$ a long soft groan. Newman
219:103,01['  ]| stood up$5$, deeply impressed, not knowing what to$9$ say;
219:103,02['  ]| his heart was beating violently. 
219:103,02[B  ]| "Thank you," 
219:103,02['  ]| he said
219:103,03['  ]| at last. 
219:103,03[B  ]| "I am much obliged." 
219:103,03['  ]| But Valentin seemed
219:103,04['  ]| not to$9$ hear him; he remained silent, and his silence
219:103,05['  ]| continued. At last Newman went and opened the door.
219:103,06['  ]| M%*le*Cure= re-entered, bearing his sacred vessel, and
219:103,07['  ]| followed by$4$ the three gentlemen and by$4$ Valentin's servant.
219:103,08['  ]| It was almost processional.
220:103,01['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde died tranquilly, just as the
220:103,02['  ]| cold faint March dawn began to$9$ illumine the faces of the
220:103,03['  ]| little knot of friends gathered about his bedside. An
220:103,04['  ]| hour afterwards Newman left the inn and drove to$4$ Geneva;
220:103,05['  ]| he was naturally unwilling to$9$ be present at the arrival of
220:103,06['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde and her first-born. At Geneva, for$4$
220:103,07['  ]| the moment, he remained. He was like$4$ a man who$6#1$ has
220:103,08['  ]| had a fall and wants to$9$ sit still and count his bruises.
220:103,09['  ]| He instantly wrote to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=, relating to$4$ her
220:103,10['  ]| the circumstances of her brother's death ~~ with certain exceptions
220:103,11['  ]| ~~ and asking her 
220:103,11@b   | what was the earliest moment
220:103,12@b   | at which$6#1$ he might hope that$3$ she would consent to$9$ see
220:103,13@b   | him. 
220:103,13['  ]| M%*Ledoux had told him that$3$ 
220:103,13@w   | he had reason to$9$
220:103,14@w   | know Valentin's will$0$ ~~ Bellegarde had a great deal
220:103,15@w   | of elegant personal property to$9$ dispose of ~~ contained a
220:103,16@w   | request that$3$ he should be buried near his father in$4$ the
220:103,17@w   | churchyard of Fleurie=res, 
220:103,17['  ]| and Newman intended that$3$ 
220:103,17@b   | the
220:103,18@b   | state of his own relations with the family should not deprive
220:103,19@b   | him of the satisfaction of helping to$9$ pay the last
220:103,20@b   | earthly honours to$4$ the best fellow in$4$ the world. 
220:103,20['  ]| He
220:103,21['  ]| reflected that$3$ 
220:103,21@b   | Valentin's friendship was older than
220:103,22@b   | Urbain's enmity, and that$3$ at a funeral it was easy to$9$
220:103,23@b   | escape notice. 
220:103,23['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre='s answer to$4$ his letter
220:104,01['  ]| enabled him to$9$ time his arrival at Fleurie=res. This
220:104,02['  ]| answer was very brief; it ran as follows:
220:104,03['  ]| 
220:104,04[A  ]| "I thank you for$4$ your letter, and for$4$ your being with
220:104,05[A  ]| Valentin. It is a most inexpressible sorrow to$4$ me that$3$
220:104,06[A  ]| I was not. To$9$ see you will$1$ be nothing but a distress to$4$
220:104,07[A  ]| me; there is no$2$ need, therefore, to$9$ wait for$4$ what you call
220:104,08[A  ]| brighter days. It is all one now, and I shall have no$2$
220:104,09[A  ]| brighter days. Come when you please; only notify me 
220:104,10[A  ]| first. My brother is to$9$ be buried here on$4$ Friday, and
220:104,11[A  ]| my family is to$9$ remain. ~~ C%*de*C."
220:104,12['  ]| 
220:104,13['  ]| As soon as he received this letter Newman went
220:104,14['  ]| straight to$4$ Paris, and to$4$ Poitiers. The journey took
220:104,15['  ]| him far southward, through green Touraine and across
220:104,16['  ]| the far-shining Loire, into a country where the early
220:104,17['  ]| spring deepened about him as he went; but he had
220:104,18['  ]| never made a journey during which$6#1$ he heeded less what
220:104,19['  ]| he would have called 
220:104,19@b   | the lay of the land. 
220:104,19['  ]| He obtained
220:104,20['  ]| lodging at an inn at Poitiers, and the next morning drove
220:104,21['  ]| in$4$ a couple of hours to$4$ the village of Fleurie=res. But
220:104,22['  ]| here, preoccupied though he was, he could not fail to$9$
220:104,23['  ]| notice the picturesqueness of the place. It was what the
220:104,24['  ]| French call a \9petit*bourg\; it lay at the base of a sort of
220:104,25['  ]| huge mound, on$4$ the summit of which$6#1$ stood the crumbling
220:104,26['  ]| ruins of a feudal castle, much of whose sturdy material,
220:104,27['  ]| as well as that$6#2$ of the wall which$6#1$ dropped along the hill,
220:104,28['  ]| to$9$ enclose the clustered houses defensively, had been
220:104,29['  ]| absorbed into the very substance of the village. The
220:104,30['  ]| church was simply the former chapel of the castle, fronting
220:104,31['  ]| upon$4$ its grass-grown court, which$6#1$, however, was of
220:104,32['  ]| generous enough width to$9$ have given up$5$ its quaintest
220:104,33['  ]| corner to$4$ a little graveyard. Here the very headstones
220:104,34['  ]| themselves seemed to$9$ sleep, as they slanted into the grass;
220:104,35['  ]| the patient elbow of the rampart held them together on$4$
220:104,36['  ]| one side, and in$4$ front, far beneath their mossy lids, the
220:104,37['  ]| green plains and blue distances stretched away. The
220:105,01['  ]| way to$4$ church, up$4$ the hill, was impracticable to$4$ vehicles.
220:105,02['  ]| It was lined with peasants two or three rows deep, who$6#1$
220:105,03['  ]| stood watching old Madame*de*Bellegarde slowly ascend
220:105,04['  ]| it, on$4$ the arm of her elder son, behind the pall-bearers
220:105,05['  ]| of the other. Newman chose to$9$ lurk among the common
220:105,06['  ]| mourners, who$6#1$ murmured 
220:105,06[X  ]| "Madame*la*Comtesse" 
220:105,06['  ]| as a
220:105,07['  ]| tall figure veiled in$4$ black passed before them. He stood
220:105,08['  ]| in$4$ the dusky little church while the service was going
220:105,09['  ]| forward, but at the dismal tomb-side he turned away and
220:105,10['  ]| walked down the hill. He went back to$4$ Poitiers, and
220:105,11['  ]| spent two days in$4$ which$6#1$ patience and impatience were
220:105,12['  ]| singularly commingled. On$4$ the third day he sent Madame*de*Cintre=
220:105,13['  ]| a note, saying that$3$ 
220:105,13@b   | he would call upon$4$ her in$4$
220:105,14@b   | the afternoon, 
220:105,14['  ]| and in$4$ accordance with this he again took
220:105,15['  ]| his way to$4$ Fleurie=res. He left his vehicle at the tavern
220:105,16['  ]| in$4$ the village street, and obeyed the simple instructions
220:105,17['  ]| which$6#1$ were given him for$4$ finding the cha^teau.
220:105,18[W  ]| "It is just beyond there," 
220:105,18['  ]| said the landlord, and
220:105,19['  ]| pointed to$4$ the tree-tops of the park above the opposite
220:105,20['  ]| houses. Newman followed the first cross-road to$4$ the
220:105,21['  ]| right ~~ it was bordered with mouldy cottages ~~ and in$4$ a
220:105,22['  ]| few moments saw before him the peaked roofs of the
220:105,23['  ]| towers. Advancing farther he found himself before a
220:105,24['  ]| vast iron gate, rusty and closed; here he paused a
220:105,25['  ]| moment, looking through the bars. The cha^teau was
220:105,26['  ]| near the road; this was at once its merit and its defect;
220:105,27['  ]| but its aspect was extremely impressive. Newman learned
220:105,28['  ]| afterwards, from a guide-book of the province, that$3$ it
220:105,29['  ]| dated from the time of Henry*IV. It presented to$4$ the
220:105,30['  ]| wide-paved area which$6#1$ preceded it, and which$6#1$ was edged
220:105,31['  ]| with shabby farm-buildings, an immense facade of dark
220:105,32['  ]| time-stained brick, flanked by$4$ two low wings, each of
220:105,33['  ]| which$6#1$ terminated in$4$ a little Dutch-looking pavilion,
220:105,34['  ]| capped with a fantastic roof. The towers rose behind,
220:105,35['  ]| and behind the towers was a mass of elms and beeches,
220:105,36['  ]| now just faintly green.
220:105,37['  ]| But the great feature was a wide green river, which$6#1$
220:106,01['  ]| washed the foundations of the cha^teau. The building
220:106,02['  ]| rose from an island in$4$ the circling stream, so$3$ that$3$ this
220:106,03['  ]| formed a perfect moat, spanned by$4$ a two-arched bridge
220:106,04['  ]| without a parapet. The dull brick walls, which$6#1$ here and
220:106,05['  ]| there made a grand straight sweep, the ugly little cupolas
220:106,06['  ]| of the wings, the deep-set windows, the long steep pinnacles
220:106,07['  ]| of mossy slate, all mirrored themselves in$4$ the
220:106,08['  ]| quiet water. Newman rang at the gate, and was almost
220:106,09['  ]| frightened at the tone with which$6#1$ a big rusty bell above
220:106,10['  ]| his head replied to$4$ him. An old woman came out from
220:106,11['  ]| the gate-house and opened the creaking portal just wide
220:106,12['  ]| enough for$4$ him to$9$ pass, and he went in$5$, across the dry
220:106,13['  ]| bare court and the little cracked white slabs of the causeway
220:106,14['  ]| on$4$ the moat. At the door of the cha^teau he waited
220:106,15['  ]| for$4$ some moments, and this gave him a chance to$9$ observe
220:106,16['  ]| that$3$ 
220:106,16@b   | Fleurie=res was not "kept up$5$," 
220:106,16['  ]| and to$9$ reflect that$3$ 
220:106,16@b   | it
220:106,17@b   | was a melancholy place of residence. "It looks," 
220:106,17['  ]| said
220:106,18['  ]| Newman to$4$ himself ~~ and I give the comparison for$4$ what
220:106,19['  ]| it is worth ~~ 
220:106,19@b   | "like$4$ a Chinese penitentiary." 
220:106,19['  ]| At last the 
220:106,20['  ]| door was opened by$4$ a servant whom he remembered to$9$
220:106,21['  ]| have seen in$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite=. The man's dull
220:106,22['  ]| face brightened as he perceived our hero, for$4$ Newman,
220:106,23['  ]| for$4$ indefinable reasons, enjoyed the confidence of the
220:106,24['  ]| liveried gentry. The footman led the way across a great
220:106,25['  ]| central vestibule, with a pyramid of plants in$4$ tubs in$4$ the
220:106,26['  ]| middle, and glass doors all around, to$4$ what appeared to$9$
220:106,27['  ]| be the principal drawing-room of the cha^teau. Newman
220:106,28['  ]| crossed the threshold of a room of superb proportions,
220:106,29['  ]| which$6#1$ made him feel at first like$4$ a tourist with a guidebook
220:106,30['  ]| and a cicerone awaiting a fee. But when his guide
220:106,31['  ]| had left him alone, with the observation that$3$ 
220:106,31@w   | he would
220:106,32@w   | call Madame*la*Comtesse, 
220:106,32['  ]| Newman perceived that$3$ 
220:106,32@b   | the
220:106,33@b   | salon contained little that$6#1$ was remarkable, save a dark
220:106,34@b   | ceiling with curiously-carved rafters, some curtains of
220:106,35@b   | elaborate antiquated tapestry, and a dark oaken floor,
220:106,36@b   | polished like$4$ a mirror. 
220:106,36['  ]| He waited some minutes, walking
220:106,37['  ]| up$5$ and down; but at length, as he turned at the end
220:107,01['  ]| of the room, he saw that$3$ 
220:107,01@b   | Madame*de*Cintre= had come
220:107,02@b   | in$5$ by$4$ a distant door. She wore a black dress, and she
220:107,03@b   | stood looking at him. 
220:107,03['  ]| As the length of the immense
220:107,04['  ]| room lay between them he had time to$9$ look at her before
220:107,05['  ]| they met in$4$ the middle of it.
220:107,06['  ]| He was dismayed at the change in$4$ her appearance.
220:107,07['  ]| Pale, heavy-browed, almost haggard, with a sort of
220:107,08['  ]| monastic rigidity in$4$ her dress, she had little but her pure
220:107,09['  ]| features in$4$ common with the woman whose radiant good
220:107,10['  ]| grace he had hitherto admired. She let her eyes rest
220:107,11['  ]| on$4$ his own, and she let him take her hand; but her
220:107,12['  ]| eyes looked like$4$ two rainy autumn moons, and her touch
220:107,13['  ]| was portentously lifeless.
220:107,14[B  ]| "I was at your brother's funeral," 
220:107,14['  ]| Newman said.
220:107,15[B  ]| "Then I waited three days. But I could wait no$2$ longer."
220:107,16[A  ]| "Nothing can be lost or gained by$4$ waiting," 
220:107,16['  ]| said
220:107,17['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=. 
220:107,17[A  ]| "But it was very considerate of
220:107,18[A  ]| you to$9$ wait, wronged as you have been."
220:107,19[B  ]| "I am glad you think I have been wronged," 
220:107,19['  ]| said
220:107,20['  ]| Newman, with that$6#2$ oddly humorous accent with which$6#1$
220:107,21['  ]| he often uttered words of the gravest meaning.
220:107,22[A  ]| "Do I need to$9$ say so$5#2$?" 
220:107,22['  ]| she asked. 
220:107,22[A  ]| "I do not think
220:107,23[A  ]| I have wronged, seriously, many persons; certainly not
220:107,24[A  ]| consciously. To$4$ you, to$4$ whom I have done this hard
220:107,25[A  ]| and cruel thing, the only reparation I can make is to$9$ say:
220:107,26[A  ]| ""I know it, I feel it !"" The reparation is pitifully
220:107,27[A  ]| small!"
220:107,28[B  ]| "Oh, it is a great step forward!" 
220:107,28['  ]| said Newman, with
220:107,29['  ]| a gracious smile of encouragement. He pushed a chair
220:107,30['  ]| towards her and held it, looking at her urgently. She
220:107,31['  ]| sat down mechanically, and he seated himself near her;
220:107,32['  ]| but in$4$ a moment he got up$5$, restlessly, and stood before
220:107,33['  ]| her. She remained seated, like$4$ a troubled creature who$6#1$
220:107,34['  ]| had passed through the stage of restlessness.
220:107,35[A  ]| "I say nothing is to$9$ be gained by$4$ my seeing you," 
220:107,35['  ]| she
220:107,36['  ]| went on$5$, 
220:107,36[A  }| "and yet I am very glad you came. Now I
220:107,37[A  ]| can tell you what I feel. It is a selfish pleasure, but it
220:108,01[A  ]| is one of the last I shall have." 
220:108,01['  ]| And she paused, with
220:108,02['  ]| her great misty eyes fixed upon$4$ him. 
220:108,02[A  ]| "I know how I
220:108,03[A  ]| have deceived and injured you; I know how cruel and
220:108,04[A  ]| cowardly I have been. I see it as vividly as you do ~~ I
220:108,05[A  ]| feel it to$4$ the ends of my fingers." 
220:108,05['  ]| And she unclasped
220:108,06['  ]| her hands, which$6#1$ were locked together in$4$ her lap, lifted
220:108,07['  ]| them, and dropped them at her side. 
220:108,07[A  ]| "Anything that$6#1$
220:108,08[A  ]| you may have said of me in$4$ your angriest passion is
220:108,09[A  ]| nothing to$4$ what I have said to$4$ myself."
220:108,10[B  ]| "In$4$ my angriest passion," 
220:108,10['  ]| said Newman, 
220:108,10[B  ]| "I have
220:108,11[B  ]| said nothing hard of you. The very worst thing I have
220:108,12[B  ]| said of you yet is that$3$ you are the loveliest of women."
220:108,13['  ]| And he seated himself before her again abruptly.
220:108,14['  ]| She blushed a little, but even her flush was pale.
220:108,15[A  ]| "That$6#2$ is because you think I will$1$ come back. But I
220:108,16[A  ]| will$1$ not come back. It is in$4$ that$6#2$ hope you have come
220:108,17[A  ]| here, I know; I am very sorry for$4$ you. I would do
220:108,18[A  ]| almost anything for$4$ you. To$9$ say that$6#2$, after what I have
220:108,19[A  ]| done, seems simply impudent; but what can I say that$6#1$
220:108,20[A  ]| will$1$ not seem impudent? To$9$ wrong you and apologise ~
220:108,21[A  ]| that$6#2$ is easy enough. I should not have wronged you."
220:108,22['  ]| She stopped a moment, looking at him, and motioned
220:108,23['  ]| him to$9$ let her go on$5$. 
220:108,23[A  ]| "I ought never to$9$ have listened
220:108,24[A  ]| to$4$ you at first; that$6#2$ was the wrong. No$2$ good could
220:108,25[A  ]| come of it. I felt it, and yet I listened; that$6#2$ was your
220:108,26[A  ]| fault. I liked you too much; I believed in$4$ you."
220:108,27[B  ]| "And do not you believe in$4$ me now?"
220:108,28[A  ]| "More than ever. But now it does not matter. I
220:108,29[A  ]| have given you up$5$."
220:108,30['  ]| Newman gave a powerful thump with his clenched fist
220:108,31['  ]| upon$4$ his knee. 
220:108,31[B  ]| "Why, why, why?" 
220:108,31['  ]| he cried. 
220:108,31[B  ]| "Give
220:108,32[B  ]| me a reason ~~ a decent reason. You are not a child ~
220:108,33[B  ]| you are not a minor, nor an idiot. You are not obliged
220:108,34[B  ]| to$9$ drop me because your mother told you to$9$. Such a
220:108,35[B  ]| reason is not worthy of you."
220:108,36[A  ]| "I know that$6#2$; it is not worthy of me. But it is the only
220:108,37[A  ]| one I have to$9$ give. After all," 
220:108,37['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
220:109,01['  ]| throwing out her hands, 
220:109,01[A  ]| "think me an idiot and forget
220:109,02[A  ]| me! That$6#2$ will$1$ be the simplest way."
220:109,03['  ]| Newman got up$5$ and walked away with a crushing
220:109,04['  ]| sense that$3$ his cause was lost, and yet with an equal
220:109,05['  ]| inability to$9$ give up$5$ fighting. He went to$4$ one of the
220:109,06['  ]| great windows, and looked out at the stiffly-embanked
220:109,07['  ]| river and the formal gardens which$6#1$ lay beyond it. When
220:109,08['  ]| he turned round Madame*de*Cintre= had risen; she
220:109,09['  ]| stood there silent and passive. 
220:109,09[B  ]| "You are not frank,"
220:109,10['  ]| said Newman; 
220:109,10[B  ]| "you are not honest. Instead of saying
220:109,11[B  ]| that$3$ you are imbecile, you should say that$3$ other people
220:109,12[B  ]| are wicked. Your mother and your brother have been
220:109,13[B  ]| false and cruel; they have been so$5#2$ to$4$ me, and I am sure
220:109,14[B  ]| they have been so$5#2$ to$4$ you. Why do you try to$9$ shield
220:109,15[B  ]| them? Why do you sacrifice me to$4$ them? I am not
220:109,16[B  ]| false; I am not cruel. You do not know what you give
220:109,17[B  ]| up$5$; I can tell you that$6#2$ ~~ you do not. They bully you
220:109,18[B  ]| and plot about you; and I ~~ I ~~" 
220:109,18['  ]| And he paused,
220:109,19['  ]| holding out his hands. She turned away and began to$9$
220:109,20['  ]| leave him. 
220:109,20[B  ]| "You told me the other day that$3$ you were
220:109,21[B  ]| afraid of your mother," 
220:109,21['  ]| he said, following her. 
220:109,21[B  ]| "What 
220:109,22[B  ]| did you mean?"
220:109,23['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= shook her head. 
220:109,23[A  ]| "I remember;
220:109,24[A  ]| I was sorry afterwards."
220:109,25[B  ]| "You were sorry when she came down and put on$5$
220:109,26[B  ]| the thumbscrews. In$4$ God's name, what \is\ it she does
220:109,27[B  ]| to$4$ you?"
220:109,28[A  ]| "Nothing. Nothing that$6#1$ you can understand. And
220:109,29[A  ]| now that$3$ I have given you up$5$, I must not complain of
220:109,30[A  ]| her to$4$ you."
220:109,31[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is no$2$ reasoning!" 
220:109,31['  ]| cried Newman. 
220:109,31[B  ]| "Complain
220:109,32[B  ]| of her, on$4$ the contrary. Tell me all about it, frankly
220:109,33[B  ]| and trustfully, as you ought, and we will$1$ talk it over so$5#1$
220:109,34[B  ]| satisfactorily that$3$ you will$1$ not give me up$5$."
220:109,35['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= looked down some moments,
220:109,36['  ]| fixedly; and then, raising her eyes, she said: 
220:109,36[A  ]| "One
220:109,37[A  ]| good at least has come of this: I have made you judge
220:110,01[A  ]| me more fairly. You thought of me in$4$ a way that$6#1$ did
220:110,02[A  ]| me great honour; I do not know why you had taken it
220:110,03[A  ]| into your head. But it left me no$2$ loophole for$4$ escape ~
220:110,04[A  ]| no$2$ chance to$9$ be the common weak creature I am. It
220:110,05[A  ]| was not my fault; I warned you from the first. But I
220:110,06[A  ]| ought to$9$ have warned you more. I ought to$9$ have convinced
220:110,07[A  ]| you that$3$ I was doomed to$9$ disappoint you. But
220:110,08[A  ]| I \was\, in$4$ a way, too proud. You see what my superiority
220:110,09[A  ]| amounts to$4$, I hope!" 
220:110,09['  ]| she went on$5$, raising her
220:110,10['  ]| voice with a tremor which$6#1$ even then and there Newman
220:110,11['  ]| thought beautiful. 
220:110,11[A  ]| "I am too proud to$9$ be honest, I am
220:110,12[A  ]| not too proud to$9$ be faithless. I am timid and cold and
220:110,13[A  ]| selfish. I am afraid of being uncomfortable."
220:110,14[B  ]| "And you call marrying me uncomfortable!" 
220:110,14['  ]| said
220:110,15['  ]| Newman, staring.
220:110,16['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= blushed a little, and seemed to$9$ say
220:110,17['  ]| that$3$ 
220:110,17@b   | if begging his pardon in$4$ words was impudent, she
220:110,18@b   | might at least thus mutely express her perfect comprehension
220:110,19@b   | of his finding her conduct odious. 
220:110,19[A  ]| "It is not
220:110,20[A  ]| marrying you; it is doing all that$6#1$ would go with it. It is
220:110,21[A  ]| the rupture, the defiance, the insisting upon$4$ being happy
220:110,22[A  ]| in$4$ my own way. What right have I to$9$ be happy when
220:110,23[A  ]| ~~ when ~" 
220:110,23['  ]| And she paused.
220:110,24[B  ]| "When what?" 
220:110,24['  ]| said Newman.
220:110,25[A  ]| "When others have been most unhappy."
220:110,26[B  ]| "What others?" 
220:110,26['  ]| Newman asked. 
220:110,26[B  ]| "What have you
220:110,27[B  ]| to$9$ do with any others but me? Besides, you said just
220:110,28[B  ]| now that$3$ you wanted happiness, and that$3$ you should
220:110,29[B  ]| find it by$4$ obeying your mother. You contradict yourself."
220:110,30['  ]| 
220:110,31[A  ]| "Yes, I contradict myself; that$6#2$ shows you that$3$ I am
220:110,32[A  ]| not even intelligent."
220:110,33[B  ]| "You are laughing at me!" 
220:110,33['  ]| cried Newman. 
220:110,33[B  ]| "You
220:110,34[B  ]| are mocking me!"
220:110,35['  ]| She looked at him intently, and an observer might
220:110,36['  ]| have said that$3$ she was asking herself 
220:110,36@x   | whether she might
220:110,37@x   | not most quickly end their common pain by$4$ confessing
220:111,01@x   | that$3$ she was mocking him. 
220:111,01[A  ]| "No$7$; I am not," 
220:111,01['  ]| she
220:111,02['  ]| presently said.
220:111,03[B  ]| "Granting that$3$ you are not intelligent," 
220:111,03['  ]| he went on$5$,
220:111,04[B  ]| "that$3$ you are weak, that$3$ you are common, that$3$ you
220:111,05[B  ]| are nothing that$6#1$ I have believed you were ~~ what I ask
220:111,06[B  ]| of you is not an heroic effort, it is a very common effort.
220:111,07[B  ]| There is a great deal on$4$ my side to$9$ make it easy. The
220:111,08[B  ]| simple truth is that$3$ you do not care enough about me to$9$
220:111,09[B  ]| make it."
220:111,10[A  ]| "I am cold," 
220:111,10['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
220:111,10[A  ]| "I am as
220:111,11[A  ]| cold as that$6#2$ flowing river."
220:111,12['  ]| Newman gave a great rap on$4$ the floor with his stick,
220:111,13['  ]| and a long grim laugh. 
220:111,13[B  ]| "Good, good!" 
220:111,13['  ]| he cried.
220:111,14[B  ]| "You go altogether too far ~~ you overshoot the mark.
220:111,15[B  ]| There is not a woman in$4$ the world as bad as you would
220:111,16[B  ]| make yourself out. I see your game; it is what I said.
220:111,17[B  ]| You are blackening yourself to$9$ whiten others. You
220:111,18[B  ]| do not want to$9$ give me up$5$ at all; you like$1$ me ~~ you like$1$
220:111,19[B  ]| me. I know you do; you have shown it, and I have
220:111,20[B  ]| felt it. After that$6#2$ you may be as cold as you please!
220:111,21[B  ]| They have bullied you, I say; they have tortured you.
220:111,22[B  ]| It is an outrage, and I insist upon$4$ saving you from the
220:111,23[B  ]| extravagance of your own generosity. Would you chop
220:111,24[B  ]| off your hand if your mother requested it?"
220:111,25['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= looked a little frightened. 
220:111,25[A  ]| "I
220:111,26[A  ]| spoke of my mother too blindly the other day. I am
220:111,27[A  ]| my own mistress, by$4$ law and by$4$ her approval. She can
220:111,28[A  ]| do nothing to$4$ me; she has done nothing. She has
220:111,29[A  ]| never alluded to$4$ those hard words I used about her."
220:111,30[B  ]| "She has made you feel them, I will$1$ promise you!"
220:111,31['  ]| said Newman.
220:111,32[A  ]| "It is my conscience that$6#1$ makes me feel them."
220:111,33[B  ]| "Your conscience seems to$4$ me to$9$ be rather mixed!"
220:111,34['  ]| exclaimed Newman, passionately.
220:111,35[A  ]| "It has been in$4$ great trouble, but now it is very
220:111,36[A  ]| clear," 
220:111,36['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
220:111,36[A  ]| "I do not give you up$5$
220:111,37[A  ]| for$4$ any worldly advantage or for$4$ any worldly happiness."
220:112,01[B  ]| "Oh, you do not give me up$5$ for$4$ Lord*Deepmere, I
220:112,02[B  ]| know," 
220:112,02['  ]| said Newman. 
220:112,02[B  ]| "I will$1$ not pretend, even to$9$ provoke
220:112,03[B  ]| you, that$3$ I think that$6#2$. But that$6#2$ is what your
220:112,04[B  ]| mother and your brother wanted, and your mother, at
220:112,05[B  ]| that$6#2$ villainous ball of hers ~~ I liked it at the time, but
220:112,06[B  ]| the very thought of it now makes me rabid ~~ tried to$9$
220:112,07[B  ]| push him on$5$ to$9$ make up$5$ to$4$ you."
220:112,08[A  ]| "Who$6#2$ told you this?" 
220:112,08['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, softly.
220:112,09[B  ]| "Not Valentin. I observed it. I guessed it, I
220:112,10[B  ]| did not know at the time that$3$ I was observing it, but it
220:112,11[B  ]| stuck in$4$ my memory. And afterwards, you recollect, I
220:112,12[B  ]| saw Lord*Deepmere with you in$4$ the conservatory. You
220:112,13[B  ]| said then that$3$ you would tell me at another time what
220:112,14[B  ]| he had said to$4$ you."
220:112,15[A  ]| "That$6#2$ was before ~~ before \this\," 
220:112,15['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
220:112,16['  ]| 
220:112,17[B  ]| "It does not matter," 
220:112,17['  ]| said Newman; 
220:112,17[B  ]| "and, besides,
220:112,18[B  ]| I think I know. He is an honest little Englishman.
220:112,19[B  ]| He came and told you what your mother was up$5$ to$4$ ~
220:112,20[B  ]| that$3$ she wanted him to$9$ supplant me; not being a commercial
220:112,21[B  ]| person. If he would make you an offer she
220:112,22[B  ]| would undertake to$9$ bring you over and give me the slip.
220:112,23[B  ]| Lord*Deepmere is not very intellectual, so$3$ she had to$9$
220:112,24[B  ]| spell it out to$4$ him. He said he admired you ""no$2$ end,""
220:112,25[B  ]| and that$3$ he wanted you to$9$ know it; but he did not like$1$
220:112,26[B  ]| being mixed up$5$ with that$6#2$ sort of underhand work, and
220:112,27[B  ]| he came to$4$ you and told tales. That$6#2$ was about the
220:112,28[B  ]| amount of it, was not it? And then you said you were
220:112,29[B  ]| perfectly happy."
220:112,30[A  ]| "I do not see why we should talk of Lord*Deepmere,"
220:112,31['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=. 
220:112,31[A  ]| "It was not for$4$ that$6#2$ you
220:112,32[A  ]| came here; and about my mother, it does not matter
220:112,33[A  ]| what you suspect and what you know. When once my
220:112,34[A  ]| mind has been made up$5$, as it is now, I should not discuss
220:112,35[A  ]| these things. Discussing anything, now, is very
220:112,36[A  ]| idle. We must try and live each as we can. I believe
220:112,37[A  ]| you will$1$ be happy again; even, sometimes, when you
220:113,01[A  ]| think of me. When you do so$5#2$, think this ~~ that$3$ it was
220:113,02[A  ]| not easy, and that$3$ I did the best I could. I have things
220:113,03[A  ]| to$9$ reckon with that$6#1$ you do not know. I mean I have
220:113,04[A  ]| feelings. I must do as they force me ~~ I must, I must.
220:113,05[A  ]| They would haunt me otherwise," 
220:113,05['  ]| she cried, with vehemence;
220:113,06[A  ]| "they would kill me!"
220:113,07[B  ]| "I know what your feelings are: they are superstitions!
220:113,08[B  ]| They are the feeling that$6#1$, after all, though I \am\
220:113,09[B  ]| a good fellow, I have been in$4$ business; the feeling that$3$
220:113,10[B  ]| your mother's looks are law and your brother's words are
220:113,11[B  ]| gospel; that$3$ you all hang together, and that$3$ it is a part
220:113,12[B  ]| of the everlasting proprieties that$3$ they should have a
220:113,13[B  ]| hand in$4$ everything you do. It makes my blood boil.
220:113,14[B  ]| That$6#2$ \is\ cold; you are right. And what I feel here,"
220:113,15['  ]| and Newman struck his heart and became more poetical
220:113,16['  ]| than he knew, 
220:113,16[B  ]| "is a glowing fire!"
220:113,17['  ]| A spectator less preoccupied than Madame*de*Cintre='s
220:113,18['  ]| distracted wooer would have felt sure from the first that$3$
220:113,19['  ]| her appealing calm of manner was the result of violent
220:113,20['  ]| effort, in$4$ spite of which$6#1$ the tide of agitation was rapidly
220:113,20['  ]| rising. On$4$ these last words of Newman's it overflowed,
220:113,22['  ]| though at first she spoke low, for$4$ fear of her voice
220:113,23['  ]| betraying her. 
220:113,23[A  ]| "No$7$, I was not right ~~ I am not cold!
220:113,24[A  ]| I believe that$3$ if I am doing what seems so$5#1$ bad, it is not
220:113,25[A  ]| mere weakness and falseness. Mr%*Newman, it is like$4$ a
220:113,26[A  ]| religion. I can not tell you ~~ I can not! It is cruel of you
220:113,27[A  ]| to$9$ insist. I do not see why I should not ask you to$9$ believe
220:113,28[A  ]| me ~~ and pity me. It is like$4$ a religion. There is a curse
220:113,29[A  ]| upon$4$ the house; I do not know what ~~ I do not know
220:113,30[A  ]| why ~~ do not ask me. We must all bear it. I have been
220:113,31[A  ]| too selfish; I wanted to$9$ escape from it. You offered
220:113,32[A  ]| me a great chance ~~ besides my liking you. It seemed
220:113,33[A  ]| good to$9$ change completely, to$9$ break, to$9$ go away. And
220:113,34[A  ]| then I admired you. But I can not ~~ it has overtaken and
220:113,35[A  ]| come back to$4$ me." 
220:113,35['  ]| Her self-control had now completely
220:113,36['  ]| abandoned her, and her words were broken with
220:113,37['  ]| long sobs. 
220:113,37[A  ]| "Why do such dreadful things happen to$4$
220:114,01[A  ]| us ~~ why is my brother Valentin killed, like$4$ a beast, in$4$ the
220:114,02[A  ]| midst of his youth and his gaiety and his brightness and
220:114,03[A  ]| all that$6#1$ we loved him for$4$? Why are there things I can not
220:114,04[A  ]| ask about ~~ that$6#1$ I am afraid to$9$ know? Why are there
220:114,05[A  ]| places I can not look at, sounds I can not hear? Why is it
220:114,06[A  ]| given to$4$ me to$9$ choose, to$9$ decide, in$4$ a case so$5#1$ hard and
220:114,07[A  ]| so$5#1$ terrible as this? I am not meant for$4$ that$6#2$ ~~ I am not
220:114,08[A  ]| made for$4$ boldness and defiance. I was made to$9$ be
220:114,09[A  ]| happy in$4$ a quiet natural way." 
220:114,09['  ]| At this Newman gave
220:114,10['  ]| a most expressive groan, but Madame*de*Cintre= went
220:114,11['  ]| on$5$: 
220:114,11[A  ]| "I was made to$9$ do gladly and gratefully what is
220:114,12[A  ]| expected of me. My mother has always been very good
220:114,13[A  ]| to$4$ me; that$6#2$ is all I can say. I must not judge her; I
220:114,14[A  ]| must not criticise her. If I did, it would come back to$4$
220:114,15[A  ]| me. I can not change!"
220:114,16[B  ]| "No$7$," 
220:114,16['  ]| said Newman, bitterly; 
220:114,16[B  ]| "\I\ must change ~~ if
220:114,17[B  ]| I break in$4$ two in$4$ the effort!"
220:114,18[A  ]| "You are different. You are a man; you will$1$ get
220:114,19[A  ]| over it. You have all kinds of consolation. You were
220:114,20[A  ]| born ~~ you were trained, to$4$ changes. Besides, besides,
220:114,20[A  ]| I shall always think of you."
220:114,22[B  ]| "I do not care for$4$ that$6#2$!" 
220:114,22['  ]| cried Newman. 
220:114,22[B  ]| "You are
220:114,23[B  ]| cruel ~~ you are terribly cruel. God forgive you! You
220:114,24[B  ]| may have the best reasons and the finest feelings in$4$ the
220:114,25[B  ]| world; that$6#2$ makes no$2$ difference. You are a mystery to$4$
220:114,26[B  ]| me; I do not see how such hardness can go with such
220:114,27[B  ]| loveliness."
220:114,28['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= fixed him a moment with her swimming
220:114,29['  ]| eyes. 
220:114;29[A  ]| "You believe I am hard, then?"
220:114,30['  ]| Newman answered her look, and then broke out:
220:114,31[B  ]| "You are a perfect faultless creature! Stay by$4$ me!"
220:114,32[A  ]| "Of course I am hard," 
220:114,32['  ]| she went on$5$. 
220:114,32[A  ]| "Whenever
220:114,33[A  ]| we give pain we are hard. And we \must\ give pain;
220:114,34[A  ]| that$6#2$ is the world ~~ the hateful miserable world! Ah!"
220:114,35['  ]| and she gave a long deep sigh, 
220:114,35[A  ]| "I can not even say I am
220:114,36[A  ]| glad to$9$ have known you ~~ though I am. That$6#2$ too is to$9$
220:114,37[A  ]| wrong you. I can say nothing that$6#1$ is not cruel. Therefore
220:115,01[A  ]| let us part, without more of this. Good-bye!"
220:115,02['  ]| And she put out her hand.
220:115,03['  ]| Newman stood and looked at it without taking it, and
220:115,04['  ]| then raised his eyes to$4$ her face. He felt himself like$4$
220:115,05['  ]| shedding tears of rage. 
220:115,05[B  ]| "What are you going to$9$ do?"
220:115,06['  ]| he asked. 
220:115,05[B  ]| "Where are you going?"
220:115,07[A  ]| "Where I shall give no$2$ more pain and suspect no$2$
220:115,08[A  ]| more evil. I am going out of the world."
220:115,09[B  ]| "Out of the world?"
220:115,10[A  ]| "I am going into a convent."
220:115,11[B  ]| "Into a convent!" 
220:115,11['  ]| Newman repeated the words with
220:115,12['  ]| the deepest dismay; 
220:115,12@b   | it was as if she had said she was
220:115,13@b   | going into an hospital. 
220:115,13[B  ]| "Into a convent ~~ \you\!"
220:115,14[A  ]| "I told you that$3$ it was not for$4$ my worldly advantage
220:115,15[A  ]| or pleasure I was leaving you."
220:115,16['  ]| But still Newman hardly understood. 
220:115,16[B  ]| "You are
220:115,17[B  ]| going to$9$ be a nun," 
220:115,17['  ]| he went on$5$, 
220:115,17[B  ]| "in$4$ a cell ~~ for$4$ life ~
220:115,18[B  ]| with a gown and white veil?"
220:115,19[A  ]| "A nun ~~ a Carmelite nun," 
220:115,19['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=.
220:115,20[A  ]| "For$4$ life, with God's leave."
220:115,20['  ]| The idea struck Newman as 
220:115,20@b   | too dark and horrible for$4$
220:115,22@b   | belief, 
220:115,22['  ]| and made him feel as he would have done if she
220:115,23['  ]| had told him that$3$ she was going to$9$ mutilate her beautiful
220:115,24['  ]| face, or drink some potion that$6#1$ would make her mad.
220:115,25['  ]| He clasped his hands and began to$9$ tremble visibly.
220:115,26[B  ]| "Madame*de*Cintre=, do not, do not!" 
220:115,26['  ]| he said, 
220:115,26[B  ]| "I
220:115,27[B  ]| beseech you! On$4$ my knees, if you like$1$, I will$1$ beseech
220:115,28[B  ]| you."
220:115,29['  ]| She laid her hand upon$4$ his arm, with a tender, pitying,
220:115,30['  ]| almost reassuring gesture. 
220:115,30[A  ]| "You do not understand,"
220:115,31['  ]| she said. 
220:115,31[A  ]| "You have wrong ideas. It is nothing
220:115,32[A  ]| horrible. It is only peace and safety. It is to$9$ be out
220:115,33[A  ]| of the world, where such troubles as this come to$4$ the
220:115,34[A  ]| innocent, to$4$ the best. And for$4$ life ~~ that$6#2$ is the blessing
220:115,35[A  ]| of it! They can not begin again."
220:115,36['  ]| Newman dropped into a chair and sat looking at her
220:115,37['  ]| with a long inarticulate murmur. 
220:115,37@b   | That$3$ this superb
220:116,01@b   | woman, in$4$ whom he had seen all human grace and
220:116,02@b   | household force, should turn from him and all the brightness
220:116,03@b   | that$6#1$ he offer her ~~ him and his future and his
220:116,04@b   | fortune and his fidelity ~~ to$9$ muffle herself in$4$ ascetic rage
220:116,05@b   | and entomb herself in$4$ a cell, was a confounding combination
220:116,06@b   | of the inexorable and the grotesque. 
220:116,06['  ]| As the
220:116,07['  ]| image deepened before him 
220:116,07@b   | the grotesque seemed to$9$
220:116,08@b   | expand and overspread it; it was a reduction to$4$ the
220:116,09@b   | absurd of the trial to$4$ which$6#1$ he was subjected. 
220:116,09[B  ]| "You ~
220:116,10[B  ]| you a nun!" 
220:116,10['  ]| he exclaimed; 
220:116,10[B  ]| "you with your beauty defaced
220:116,11[B  ]| ~~ you behind locks and bars! Never, never, if I
220:116,12[B  ]| can prevent it!" 
220:116,12['  ]| And he sprang to$4$ his feet with a
220:116,13['  ]| violent laugh.
220:116,14[A  ]| "You can not prevent it," 
220:116,14['  ]| said Madame*de*Cintre=, 
220:116,14[A  ]| "and
220:116,15[A  ]| it ought ~~ a little ~~ to$9$ satisfy you. Do you suppose I
220:116,16[A  ]| will$1$ go on$5$ living in$4$ the world, still beside you, and yet not
220:116,17[A  ]| with you? It is all arranged. Good-bye, good-bye."
220:116,18['  ]| This time he took her hand, took it in$4$ both his own.
220:116,19[B  ]| "For*ever?" 
220:116,19['  ]| he said. Her lips made an inaudible movement
220:116,20['  ]| and his own uttered a deep imprecation. She
220:116,20['  ]| closed her eyes, as if with the pain of hearing it; then
220:116,22['  ]| he drew her towards him and clasped her to$4$ his breast.
220:116,23['  ]| He kissed her white face; for$4$ an instant she resisted and
220:116,24['  ]| for$4$ a moment she submitted; then, with force she disengaged
220:116,25['  ]| herself and hurried away over the long shining 
220:116,26['  ]| floor. The next moment the door closed behind him.
220:116,27['  ]| Newman made his way out as he could.
221:116,01['  ]| There is a pretty public walk at Poitiers, laid out upon$4$
221:116,02['  ]| the crest of the high hill around which$6#1$ the little city
221:116,03['  ]| clusters, planted with thick trees, and looking down
221:116,04['  ]| upon$4$ the fertile fields in$4$ which$6#1$ the old English princes
221:117,01['  ]| fought for$4$ their right and held it. Newman paced up$4$
221:117,02['  ]| and down this quiet promenade for$4$ the greater part of
221:117,03['  ]| the next day, and let his eyes wander over the historic
221:117,04['  ]| prospect; but he would have been sadly at a loss to$9$ tell
221:117,05['  ]| you afterwards whether the latter was made up$5$ of coalfields
221:117,06['  ]| or of vineyards. He was wholly given up$5$ to$4$ his
221:117,07['  ]| grievance, of which$6#1$ reflection by$4$ no$2$ means diminished
221:117,08['  ]| the weight. He feared that$3$ 
221:117,08@b   | Madame*de*Cintre= was irretrievably
221:117,09@b   | lost; 
221:117,09['  ]| and yet, as he would have said himself,
221:117,10@b   | he did not see his way clear to$4$ giving her up$5$. 
221:117,10['  ]| He found
221:117,11['  ]| it 
221:117,11@b   | impossible to$9$ turn his back upon$4$ Fleurie=res and its
221:117,12@b   | inhabitants; 
221:117,12['  ]| it seemed to$4$ him that$3$ 
221:117,12@b   | some germ of hope
221:117,13@b   | or reparation must lurk there somewhere, if he could only
221:117,14@b   | stretch his arm out far enough to$9$ pluck it. It was as if
221:117,15@b   | he had his hand on$4$ a door-knob and were closing his
221:117,16@b   | clenched fist upon$4$ it: he had thumped, he had called,
221:117,17@b   | he had pressed the door with his powerful knee, and
221:117,18@b   | shaken it with all his strength, and dead damning silence
221:117,19@b   | had answered him. 
221:117,19['  ]| And yet something held him there 
221:117,20['  ]| ~~ something hardened the grasp of his fingers. Newman's 
221:117,21['  ]| satisfaction had been too intense, his whole plan
221:117,22['  ]| too deliberate and mature, his prospect of happiness too
221:117,23['  ]| rich and comprehensive, for$4$ this fine moral fabric to$9$
221:117,24['  ]| crumble at a stroke. The very foundation seemed fatally
221:117,25['  ]| injured, and yet he felt a stubborn desire still to$9$ try to$9$
221:117,26['  ]| save the edifice. He was filled with a sorer sense of
221:117,27['  ]| wrong than he had ever known, or than he had supposed
221:117,28['  ]| it possible he should know. To$9$ accept his injury and
221:117,29['  ]| walk away without looking behind him was a stretch of
221:117,30['  ]| good-nature of which$6#1$ he found himself incapable. He
221:117,31['  ]| looked behind him intently and continually, and what he
221:117,32['  ]| saw there did not assuage his resentment. He saw himself
221:117,33@b   | trustful, generous, liberal, patient, easy, pocketing
221:117,34@b   | frequent irritation and furnishing unlimited modesty.
221:117,35@b   | To$9$ have eaten humble pie, to$9$ have been snubbed and
221:117,36@b   | patronised and satirised, and have consented to$9$ take it
221:117,37@b   | as one of the conditions of the bargain ~~ to$9$ have done
221:118,01@b   | this, and done it all for$4$ nothing, surely gave one a right
221:118,02@b   | to$9$ protest. And to$9$ be turned off because one was a 
221:118,03@b   | commercial person! As if he had ever talked or dreamt
221:118,04@b   | of the commercial since his connection with the Bellegardes
221:118,05@b   | began ~~ as if he had made the least circumstance
221:118,06@b   | of the commercial ~~ as if he would not have consented to$9$
221:118,07@b   | confound the commercial fifty times a day, if it might
221:118,08@b   | have increased by$4$ a hair's breadth the chance of the
221:118,09@b   | Bellegardes not playing him a trick! Granted that$3$
221:118,10@b   | being commercial was fair ground for$4$ having a trick
221:118,11@b   | played upon$4$ one, how little they knew about the class
221:118,12@b   | so$5#2$ designated and its enterprising way of not standing
221:118,13@b   | upon$4$ trifles! 
221:118,13['  ]| It was in$4$ the light of his injury that$3$ the
221:118,14['  ]| weight of Newman's past endurance seemed so$5#1$ heavy;
221:118,15['  ]| his actual irritation had not been so$5#1$ great, merged as it
221:118,16['  ]| was in$4$ his vision of the cloudless blue that$6#1$ overarched
221:118,17['  ]| his immediate wooing. But now his sense of outrage
221:118,18['  ]| was deep, rancorous, and ever present; he felt that$3$ 
221:118,18@b   | he
221:118,19@b   | was a good fellow wronged. 
221:118,19['  ]| As for$4$ Madame*de*Cintre='s
221:118,20['  ]| conduct, it struck him with a kind of awe, and the fact
221:118,21['  ]| that$3$ he was powerless to$9$ understand it or feel the reality
221:118,22['  ]| of its motives only deepened the force with which$6#1$ he had
221:118,23['  ]| attached himself to$4$ her. He had never let the fact of
221:118,24['  ]| her Catholicism trouble him; Catholicism to$4$ him was
221:118,25['  ]| nothing but a name, and to$9$ express a mistrust of the
221:118,26['  ]| form in$4$ which$6#1$ her religious feelings had moulded themselves
221:118,27['  ]| would have seemed to$4$ him on$4$ his own part a
221:118,28['  ]| rather pretentious affectation of Protestant zeal. 
221:118,28@b   | If such
221:118,29@b   | superb white flowers as that$6#2$ could bloom in$4$ Catholic soil,
221:118,30@b   | the soil was not insalubrious. But it was one thing to$9$
221:118,31@b   | be a Catholic, and another to$9$ turn nun ~~ on$4$ your hands!
221:118,32['  ]| There was something lugubriously comical in$4$ the way
221:118,33['  ]| Newman's thoroughly contemporaneous optimism was
221:118,34['  ]| confronted with this dusky old-world expedient. 
221:118,34@b   | To$9$
221:118,35@b   | see a woman made for$4$ him and for$4$ motherhood to$4$ his
221:118,36@b   | children juggled away in$4$ this tragic travesty ~~ it was a
221:118,37@b   | thing to$9$ rub one's eyes over, a nightmare, an illusion, a
221:119,01@b   | hoax. 
221:119,01['  ]| But the hours passed away without disproving 
221:119,02['  ]| the thing, and leaving him only the after-sense of the
221:119,03['  ]| vehemence with which$6#1$ he had embraced Madame*de*Cintre=. 
221:119,04['  ]| He remembered her words and her looks; he
221:119,05['  ]| turned them over and tried to$9$ shake the mystery out of
221:119,06['  ]| them, and to$9$ infuse them with an endurable meaning.
221:119,07@b   | What had she meant by$4$ her feeling being a kind of religion?
221:119,08@b   | It was the religion simply of the family laws, the
221:119,09@b   | religion of which$6#1$ her implacable little mother was the
221:119,10@b   | high priestess. Twist the thing about as her generosity
221:119,11@b   | would, the one certain fact was that$3$ they had used force
221:119,12@b   | against her. Her generosity had tried to$9$ screen them,
221:119,13['  ]| but Newman's heart rose into his throat at the thought
221:119,14['  ]| that$3$ they should go scot-free.
221:119,15['  ]| The twenty-four hours wore themselves away, and the
221:119,16['  ]| next morning Newman sprang to$4$ his feet with the resolution
221:119,17['  ]| to$9$ return to$4$ Fleurie=res and demand another interview
221:119,18['  ]| with Madame*de*Bellegarde and her son. He lost
221:119,19['  ]| no$2$ time in$4$ putting it into practice. As he rolled swiftly
221:119,20['  ]| over the excellent road in$4$ the little 9cale`che furnished
221:119,21['  ]| him at the inn at Poitiers, he drew forth, as it were,
221:119,22['  ]| from the very safe place in$4$ his mind to$4$ which$6#1$ he had
221:119,23['  ]| consigned it, the last information given him by$4$ poor
221:119,24['  ]| Valentin. 
221:119,24@b   | Valentin had told him he could do something
221:119,25@b   | with it, and Newman thought it would be well to$9$ have
221:119,26@b   | it at hand. 
221:119,26['  ]| This was of course not the first time, lately,
221:119,27['  ]| that$3$ Newman had given it his attention. 
221:119,27@b   | It was information
221:119,28@b   | in$4$ the rough ~~ it was dark and puzzling; 
221:119,28['  ]| but
221:119,29['  ]| Newman was neither helpless nor afraid. 
221:119,29@b   | Valentin had
221:119,30@b   | evidently meant to$9$ put him in$4$ possession of a powerful
221:119,31@b   | instrument, though he could not be said to$9$ have placed
221:119,32@b   | the handle very securely within his grasp. But if he had
221:119,33@b   | not really told him the secret, he had at least given him
221:119,34@b   | the clue to$4$ it ~~ a clue of which$6#1$ that$6#2$ queer old Mrs%*Bread
221:119,35@b   | held the other end. 
221:119,35['  ]| Mrs%*Bread had always
221:119,36['  ]| looked to$4$ Newman as if she knew secrets; and 
221:119,36@b   | as he
221:119,37@b   | apparently enjoyed her esteem, he suspected she might
221:120,01@b   | be induced to$9$ share her knowledge with him. So$5#1$ long
221:120,02@b   | as there was only Mrs%*Bread to$9$ deal with he felt easy.
221:120,03['  ]| As to$4$ what there was to$9$ find out, he had only one fear
221:120,04['  ]| ~~ that$3$ 
221:120,04@b   | it might not be bad enough. 
221:120,04['  ]| Then, when the
221:120,05['  ]| image of the Marquise and her son rose before him
221:120,06['  ]| again, standing side by$4$ side, the old woman's hand in$4$
221:120,07['  ]| Urbain's arm, and the same cold unsociable fixedness in$4$
221:120,08['  ]| the eyes of each, he cried out to$4$ himself that$3$ 
221:120,08@b   | the fear
221:120,09@b   | was groundless. There was blood in$4$ the secret at the
221:120,10@b   | very least! 
221:120,10['  ]| He arrived at Fleurie=res almost in$4$ a state
221:120,11['  ]| of elation; 
221:120,11@b   | he had satisfied himself, logically, that$3$ in$4$ the
221:120,12@b   | presence of his threat of exposure they would, 
221:120,12['  ]| as he
221:120,13['  ]| mentally phrased it, 
221:120,13@b   | rattle down like$4$ unwound buckets.
221:120,14['  ]| He remembered, indeed, that$3$ 
221:120,14@b   | he must first catch his hare
221:120,15@b   | ~~ first ascertain what there was to$9$ expose; but after
221:120,16@b   | that$6#2$, why should not his happiness be as good as new
221:120,17@b   | again? Mother and son would drop their lovely victim
221:120,18@b   | in$4$ terror, and take to$4$ hiding, and Madame*de*Cintre=,
221:120,19@b   | left to$4$ herself, would surely come back to$4$ him. Give
221:120,20@b   | her a chance and she would rise to$4$ the surface, return to$4$
221:120,21@b   | the light. How could she fail to$9$ perceive that$3$ his house
221:120,22@b   | would be much the most comfortable sort of convent?
221:120,23['  ]| Newman, as he had done before, left his conveyance
221:120,24['  ]| at the inn and walked the short remaining distance to$4$
221:120,25['  ]| the cha^teau. When he reached the gate, however, a
221:120,26['  ]| singular feeling took possession of him ~~ a feeling which$6#1$,
221:120,27['  ]| strange as it may seem, had its source in$4$ his unfathomable
221:120,28['  ]| good-nature. He stood there a while, looking
221:120,29['  ]| through the bars of the large time-stained face of the
221:120,30['  ]| edifice, and wondering 
221:120,30@b   | to$4$ what crime it was that$6#1$ the
221:120,31@b   | dark old house, with its flowery name, had given convenient
221:120,32@b   | occasion. It had given occasion, first and last,
221:120,33@b   | to$4$ tyrannies and sufferings enough, 
221:120,33['  ]| Newman said to$4$ himself;
221:120,34@b   | it was an evil-looking place to$9$ live in$4$. 
221:120,34['  ]| Then,
221:120,35['  ]| suddenly, came the reflection: 
221:120,35@b   | what a horrible rubbish-heap
221:120,36@b   | of iniquity to$9$ fumble in$4$! 
221:120,36['  ]| The attitude of inquisitor
221:120,37['  ]| turned its ignoble face, and with the same movement
221:121,01['  ]| Newman declared that$3$ 
221:121,01@b   | the Bellegardes should have
221:121,02@b   | another chance. He would appeal once more directly
221:121,03@b   | to$4$ their sense of fairness, and not to$4$ their fear; and if
221:121,04@b   | they should be accessible to$4$ reason, he need know
221:121,05@b   | nothing worse about them than what he already knew.
221:121,06@b   | That$6#2$ was bad enough.
221:121,07['  ]| The gate-keeper let him in$5$ through the same stiff
221:121,08['  ]| crevice as before, and he passed through the court and
221:121,09['  ]| over the little rustic bridge on$4$ the moat. The door was
221:121,10['  ]| opened before he had reached it, and, as if to$9$ put his
221:121,11['  ]| clemency to$9$ rout with the suggestion of a richer opportunity,
221:121,12['  ]| Mrs%*Bread stood there awaiting him. Her face,
221:121,13['  ]| as usual, looked as hopelessly blank as the tide-smoothed
221:121,14['  ]| sea-sand, and her black garments seemed of an intenser
221:121,15['  ]| sable. Newman had already learned that$3$ her strange
221:121,16['  ]| inexpressiveness could be a vehicle for$4$ emotion, and he
221:121,17['  ]| was not surprised at the muffled vivacity with which$6#1$ she
221:121,18['  ]| whispered: 
221:121,18[J  ]| "I thought you would try again, sir. I
221:121,19[J  ]| was looking out for$4$ you."
221:121,20[B  ]| "I am glad to$9$ see you," 
221:121,20['  ]| said Newman; 
221:121,20[B  ]| "I think
221:121,21[B  ]| you are my friend."
221:121,22['  ]| Mrs%*Bread looked at him opaquely. 
221:121,22[J  ]| "I wish you
221:121,23[J  ]| well, sir; but it is vain wishing now."
221:121,24[B  ]| "You know, then, how they have treated me?"
221:121,25[J  ]| "Oh, sir," 
221:121,25['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, drily, 
221:121,25[J  ]| "I know everything."
221:121,26[J  ]| 
221:121,27['  ]| Newman hesitated a moment. 
221:121,27[B  ]| "Everything?"
221:121,28['  ]| Mrs%*Bread gave him a glance somewhat more lucent.
221:121,29[J  ]| "I know at least too much, sir."
221:121,30[B  ]| "One can never know too much. I congratulate you.
221:121,31[B  ]| I have come to$9$ see Madame*de*Bellegarde and her son,"
221:121,32['  ]| Newman added. 
221:121,32[B  ]| "Are they at home? If they are not,
221:121,33[B  ]| I will$1$ wait."
221:121,34[J  ]| "My lady is always at home," 
221:121,34['  ]| Mrs%*Bread replied,
221:121,35[J  ]| "and the Marquis is mostly with her."
221:121,36[B  ]| "Please, then, tell them ~~ one or the other, or both ~
221:121,37[B  ]| that$3$ I am here, and that$3$ I desire to$9$ see them."
221:122,01['  ]| Mrs%*Bread hesitated. 
221:122,01[J  ]| "May I take a great liberty,
221:122,02[J  ]| sir?"
221:122,03[B  ]| "You have never taken a liberty but you have justified
221:122,04[B  ]| it," 
221:122,04['  ]| said Newman, with diplomtic urbanity.
221:122,05['  ]| Mrs%*Bread dropped her wrinkled eyelids as if she
221:122,06['  ]| were curtsying; but the curtsy stopped there; the occasion
221:122,07['  ]| was too grave. 
221:122,07[J  ]| "You have come to$9$ plead with
221:122,08[J  ]| them again, sir? Perhaps you do not know this ~~ that$3$
221:122,09[J  ]| Madame*de*Cintre= returned this morning to$4$ Paris."
221:122,10[B  ]| "Ah, she has gone!" 
221:122,10['  ]| And Newman, groaning, smote
221:122,11['  ]| the pavement with his stick.
221:122,12[J  ]| "She has gone straight to$4$ the convent ~~ the Carmelites,
221:122,13[J  ]| they call it. I see you know, sir. My lady and the
221:122,14[J  ]| Marquis take it very ill. It was only last night she told
221:122,15[J  ]| them."
221:122,16[B  ]| "Ah, she had kept it back, then?" 
221:122,16['  ]| cried Newman. 
221:122,17[B  ]| "Good, good! And they are very fierce?"
221:122,18[J  ]| "They are not pleased," 
221:122,18['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread. 
221:122,18[J  ]| "But
221:122,19[J  ]| they may well dislike it. They tell me it is most dreadful,
221:122,20[J  ]| sir; of all the nuns in$4$ Christendom the Carmelites
221:122,21[J  ]| are the worst. You may say they are really not human,
221:122,22[J  ]| sir; they make you give up$5$ everything ~~ for*ever. And
221:122,23[J  ]| to$9$ think of \her\ there! If I was one that$6#1$ cried, sir, I
221:122,24[J  ]| could cry."
221:122,25['  ]| Newman looked at her an instant. 
221:122,25[B  ]| "We must not
221:122,26[B  ]| cry, Mrs%*Bread; we must act. Go and call them!"
221:122,27['  ]| And he made a movement to$9$ enter farther.
221:122,28['  ]| But Mrs%*Bread gently checked him. 
221:122,28[J  ]| "May I take
221:122,29[J  ]| another liberty? I am told you were with my dearest
221:122,30[J  ]| Mr%*Valentin in$4$ his last hours. If you would tell me
221:122,31[J  ]| a word about him! The poor Count was my own boy,
221:122,32[J  ]| sir; for$4$ the first year of his life he was hardly out of my
221:122,33[J  ]| arms; I taught him to$9$ speak. And the Count spoke so$5#1$
221:122,34[J  ]| well, sir! He always spoke well to$4$ his poor old Bread.
221:122,35[J  ]| When he grew up$5$ and took his pleasure he always had
221:122,36[J  ]| a kind word for$4$ me. And to$9$ die in$4$ that$6#2$ wild way!
221:122,37[J  ]| They have a story that$3$ he fought with a wine merchant.
221:123,01[J  ]| I can not believe that$6#2$, sir! And was he in$4$ great
221:123,02[J  ]| pain?"
221:123,03[B  ]| "You are a wise kind old woman, Mrs%*Bread," 
221:123,03['  ]| said
221:123,04['  ]| Newman. 
221:123,04[B  ]| "I hoped I might see you with my own
221:123,05[B  ]| children in$4$ your arms. Perhaps I shall yet." 
221:123,05['  ]| And he
221:123,06['  ]| put out his hand. Mrs%*Bread looked for$4$ a moment at
221:123,07['  ]| his open palm, and then, as if fascinated by$4$ the novelty
221:123,08['  ]| of the gesture, extended her own ladylike fingers.
221:123,09['  ]| Newman held her hand firmly and deliberately, fixing
221:123,10['  ]| his eyes upon$4$ her. 
221:123,10[B  ]| "You want to$9$ know all about Mr%*Valentin?"
221:123,11['  ]| he said.
221:123,12[J  ]| "It would be a sad pleasure, sir."
221:123,13[B  ]| "I can tell you everything. Can you sometimes leave
221:123,14[B  ]| this place?"
221:123,15[J  ]| "The cha^teau, sir? I really do not know. I never
221:123,16[J  ]| tried."
221:123,17[B  ]| "Try, then; try hard. Try this evening, at dusk.
221:123,18[B  ]| Come to$4$ me in$4$ the old ruin there on$4$ the hill, in$4$ the
221:123,19[B  ]| court before the church. I will$1$ wait for$4$ you there; I
221:123,20[B  ]| have something very important to$9$ tell you. An old
221:123,21[B  ]| woman like$4$ you can do as she pleases."
221:123,22['  ]| Mrs%*Bread stared, wondering, with parted lips. 
221:123,22[J  ]| "Is
221:123,23[J  ]| it from the Count, sir?" 
221:123,23['  ]| she asked.
221:123,24[B  ]| "From the Count ~~ from his deathbed," 
221:123,24['  ]| said Newman.
221:123,25[J  ]| "I will$1$ come, then. I will$1$ be bold, for$4$ once, for$4$
221:123,26[J  ]| \him\."
221:123,27['  ]| She led Newman into the great drawing-room with
221:123,28['  ]| which$6#1$ he had already made acquaintance, and retired to$9$
221:123,29['  ]| execute his commands. Newman waited a long time;
221:123,30['  ]| at last he was on$4$ the point of ringing and repeating his
221:123,31['  ]| request. He was looking round him for$4$ a bell when the
221:123,32['  ]| Marquis came in$5$ with his mother on$4$ his arm. It will$1$ be
221:123,33['  ]| seen that$3$ Newman had a logical mind when I say that$3$
221:123,34['  ]| he declared to$4$ himself, in$4$ perfect good faith, as a result
221:123,35['  ]| of Valentin's dark hints, that$3$ 
221:123,35@b   | his adversaries looked
221:123,36@b   | grossly wicked. "There is no$2$ mistake about it now,"
221:123,37['  ]| he said to$4$ himself as they advanced. 
221:123,37@b   | "They are a bad
221:124,01@b   | lot; they have pulled off the mask." Madame*de*Bellegarde
221:124,02@b   | and her son certainly bore in$4$ their faces the
221:124,03@b   | signs of extreme perturbation; they looked like$4$ people
221:124,04@b   | who$6#1$ had passed a sleepless night. Confronted, moreover,
221:124,05@b   | with an annoyance which$6#1$ they hoped they had
221:124,06@b   | disposed of, it was not natural that$3$ they should have
221:124,07@b   | any very tender glances to$9$ bestow upon$4$ Newman. 
221:124,07['  ]| He
221:124,08['  ]| stood before them, and such eyebeams as they found
221:124,09['  ]| available they levelled at him; Newman feeling as if the
221:124,10['  ]| door of a sepulchre had suddenly been opened, and the
221:124,11['  ]| damp darkness were being exhaled.
221:124,12[B  ]| "You see I have come back," 
221:124,12['  ]| he said. 
221:124,12[B  ]| "I have come
221:124,13[B  ]| to$9$ try again."
221:124,14[D  ]| "It would be ridiculous," 
221:124,14['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde, 
221:124,14[D  ]| "to$9$
221:124,15[D  ]| pretend that$3$ we are glad to$9$ see you or that$3$ we do not
221:124,16[D  ]| question the taste of your visit."
221:124,17[B  ]| "Oh, do not talk about taste," 
221:124,17['  ]| said Newman, with a
221:124,18['  ]| laugh, 
221:124,18[B  ]| "or that$6#2$ will$1$ bring us round to$4$ yours! If I consulted
221:124,19[B  ]| my taste I certainly should not come to$9$ see you.
221:124,20[B  ]| Besides, I will$1$ make as short work as you please.
221:124,21[B  ]| Promise me to$9$ raise the blockade ~~ to$9$ set Madame*de*Cintre=
221:124,22[B  ]| at liberty ~~ and I will$1$ retire instantly."
221:124,23[C  ]| "We hesitated as to$4$ whether we would see you,"
221:124,24['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde; 
221:124,24[C  ]| "and we were on$4$ the point
221:124,25[C  ]| of declining the honour. But it seemed to$4$ me that$3$ we
221:124,26[C  ]| should act with civility, as we have always done, and I
221:124,27[C  ]| wished to$9$ have the satisfaction of informing you that$3$
221:124,28[C  ]| there are certain weaknesses that$6#1$ people of our way of
221:124,29[C  ]| feeling can be guilty of but once."
221:124,30[B  ]| "You may be weak but once, but you will$1$ be audacious
221:124,31[B  ]| many times, Madame," 
221:124,31['  ]| Newman answered. 
221:124,31[B  ]| "I did not
221:124,32[B  ]| come, however, for$4$ conversational purposes. I came to$9$
221:124,33[B  ]| say this simply: That$3$ if you will$1$ write immediately to$4$
221:124,34[B  ]| your daughter that$3$ you withdraw your opposition to$4$ her
221:124,35[B  ]| marriage, I will$1$ take care of the rest. You do not want
221:124,36[B  ]| her to$9$ turn nun ~~ you know more about the horrors of
221:124,37[B  ]| it than I do. Marrying a commercial person is better
221:125,01[B  ]| than that$6#2$. Give me a letter to$4$ her, signed and sealed,
221:125,02[B  ]| saying you retract, and that$3$ she may marry me with your
221:125,03[B  ]| blessing, and I will$1$ take it to$4$ her at the convent, and bring
221:125,04[B  ]| her out. There is your chance ~~ I call those easy terms."
221:125,05[D  ]| "We look at the matter otherwise, you know. We
221:125,06[D  ]| call them very hard terms," 
221:125,06['  ]| said Urbain*de*Bellegarde.
221:125,07['  ]| They had all remained standing rigidly in$4$ the middle of
221:125,08['  ]| the room. 
221:125,08[D  ]| "I think my mother will$1$ tell you that$3$ she
221:125,09[D  ]| would rather daughter should become Soeur*Catherine
221:125,10[D  ]| than Mrs%*Newman."
221:125,11['  ]| But the old lady, with the serenity of supreme power,
221:125,12['  ]| let her son make her epigrams for$4$ her. She only smiled,
221:125,13['  ]| almost sweetly, shaking her head and repeating: 
221:125,13[C  ]| "But
221:125,14[C  ]| once, Mr%*Newman; but once!"
221:125,15['  ]| Nothing that$6#1$ Newman had ever see or heard gave
221:125,16['  ]| him such a sense of marble hardness as this movement
221:125,17['  ]| and the tone that$6#1$ accompanied it. 
221:125,17[B  ]| "Could anything
221:125,18[B  ]| compel you?" 
221:125,18['  ]| he asked. 
221:125,18[B  ]| "Do you know of anything
221:125,19[B  ]| that$6#1$ would force you?"
221:125,20[D  ]| "This language, sir," 
221:125,20['  ]| said the Marquis, 
221:125,20[D  ]| "addressed
221:125,21[D  ]| to$4$ people in$4$ bereavement and grief is beyond all qualification."
221:125,22[D  ]| 
221:125,23[B  ]| "In$4$ most cases," 
221:125,23['  ]| Newman answered, 
221:125,23[B  ]| "Your objection
221:125,24[B  ]| would have some weight, even admitting that$3$ Madame*de*Cintre='s
221:125,25[B  ]| present intentions make time precious. But
221:125,26[B  ]| I have thought of what you speak of, and I have come
221:125,27[B  ]| here to-day without scruple simply because I consider
221:125,28[B  ]| your brother and you two very different parties. I see
221:125,29[B  ]| no$2$ connection between you. Your brother was ashamed
221:125,30[B  ]| of you. Lying there wounded and dying, the poor fellow
221:125,31[B  ]| apologised to$4$ me for$4$ your conduct. He apologised to$4$
221:125,32[B  ]| me for$4$ that$6#2$ of his mother."
221:125,33['  ]| For$4$ a moment the effect of these words was as if
221:125,34['  ]| Newman had struck a physical blow. A quick flush
221:125,35['  ]| leaped into the faces of Madame*de*Bellegarde and her
221:125,36['  ]| son, and they exchanged a glance like$4$ a twinkle of steel.
221:125,37['  ]| Urbain uttered two words which$6#1$ Newman but half heard,
221:126,01['  ]| but of which$6#1$ the sense came to$4$ him as it were in$4$ the
221:126,02['  ]| reverberation of the sound, 
221:126,02[D  ]| "\9Le 9mise=rable\!"
221:126,03[C  ]| "You show little respect for$4$ the living," 
221:126,03['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde,
221:126,04[C  ]| "but at least respect the dead. Do not
221:126,05[C  ]| profane ~~ do not insult ~~ the memory of my innocent son."
221:126,06[B  ]| "I speak the simple truth," 
221:126,06['  ]| Newman declared, 
221:126,06[B  ]| "and
221:126,07[B  ]| I speak it for$4$ a purpose. I repeat it ~~ distinctly. Your
221:126,08[B  ]| son was utterly disgusted ~~ your son apologised."
221:126,09['  ]| Urbain*de*Bellegarde was frowning portentously, and
221:126,10['  ]| Newman supposed he was frowning at poor Valentin's
221:126,11['  ]| invidious image. Taken by$4$ surprise, his scant affection
221:126,12['  ]| for$4$ his brother had made a momentary concession to$4$ dishonour.
221:126,13['  ]| But not for$4$ an appreciable instant did his mother
221:126,14['  ]| lower her flag. 
221:126,14[C  ]| "You are immensely mistaken, sir," 
221:126,14['  ]| she
221:126,15['  ]| said. 
221:126,15[C  ]| "My son was sometimes light, but he was never
221:126,16[C  ]| indecent. He died faithful to$4$ his name."
221:126,17[D  ]| "You simply misunderstood him," 
221:126,17['  ]| said the Marquis,
221:126,18['  ]| beginning to$9$ rally. 
221:126,18[D  ]| "You affirm the impossible."
221:126,19[B  ]| "Oh, I do not care for$4$ poor Valentin's apology," 
221:126,19['  ]| said
221:126,20['  ]| Newman. 
221:126,20[B  ]| "It was far more painful than pleasant to$4$
221:126,21[B  ]| me. This atrocious thing was not his fault; he never
221:126,22[B  ]| hurt me, or any*one else; he was the soul of honour.
221:126,23[B  ]| But it shows how he took it."
221:126,24[D  ]| "If you wish to$9$ prove that$3$ my poor brother, in$4$ his
221:126,25[D  ]| last moments, was out of his head, we can only say that$3$
221:126,26[D  ]| under the melancholy circumstances nothing was more
221:126,27[D  ]| possible. But confine yourself to$4$ that$6#2$."
221:126,28[B  ]| "He was quite in$4$ his right mind," 
221:126,28['  ]| said Newman,
221:126,29['  ]| with gentle but dangerous doggedness; 
221:126,29[B  ]| "I have never
221:126,30[B  ]| seen him so$5#1$ bright and clever. It was terrible to$9$ see
221:126,31[B  ]| that$6#2$ witty capable fellow dying such a death. You know
221:126,32[B  ]| I was very fond of your brother. And I have further
221:126,33[B  ]| proof of his sanity," 
221:126,33['  ]| Newman concluded.
221:126,34['  ]| The Marquise gathered herself together majestically.
221:126,35[C  ]| "This is too gross!" 
221:126,35['  ]| she cried. 
221:126,35[C  ]| "We decline to$9$ accept
221:126,36[C  ]| your story, sir ~~ we repudiate it. Urbain, open the door."
221:126,37['  ]| She turned away, with an imperious motion to$4$ her son
221:127,01['  ]| and passed rapidly down the length of the room. The
221:127,02['  ]| Marquis went with her and held the door open. Newman
221:127,03['  ]| was left standing.
221:127,04['  ]| He lifted his finger, as a sign to$4$ M%*de*Bellegarde,
221:127,05['  ]| who$6#1$ closed the door behind his mother and stood waiting.
221:127,06['  ]| Newman slowly advanced, more silent, for$4$ the moment,
221:127,07['  ]| than life. The two men stood face to$4$ face. Then Newman
221:127,08['  ]| had a singular sensation; he felt his sense of injury
221:127,09['  ]| almost brimming over into jocularity. 
221:127,09[B  ]| "Come," 
221:127,09['  ]| he said,
221:127,10[B  ]| "you do not treat me well; at least, admit that$6#2$."
221:127,11['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde looked at him from head to$4$ foot,
221:127,12['  ]| and then, in$4$ the most delicate best-bred voice: 
221:127,12[D  ]| "I detest
221:127,13[D  ]| you personally," 
221:127,13['  ]| he said.
221:127,14[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is the way I feel to$4$ you, but for$4$ politeness' sake
221:127,15[B  ]| I do not say it," 
221:127,15['  ]| said Newman. 
221;127,15[B  ]| "It is singular I should
221:127,16[B  ]| want so$5#1$ much to$9$ be your brother-in-law, but I can not give
221:127,17[B  ]| it up$5$. Let me try once more." 
221:127,17['  ]| And he paused a moment.
221:127,18[B  ]| "You have a secret ~~ you have a skeleton in$4$ the
221:127,19[B  ]| closet." 
221:127,19['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde continued to$9$ look at him hard,
221:127,20['  ]| but Newman could not see whether his eyes betrayed
221:127,21['  ]| anything; the look of his eyes was always so$5#1$ strange.
221:127,22['  ]| Newman paused again, and then went on$5$. 
221:127,22[B  ]| "You and
221:127,23[B  ]| your mother have committed a crime." 
221:127,23['  ]| At this M%*de*Bellegarde's
221:127,24['  ]| eyes certainly did change; they seemed to$9$
221:127,25['  ]| flicker, like$4$ blown candles. Newman could see that$3$ 
221:127,25@b   | he
221:127,26@b   | was profoundly startled; but there was something admirable
221:127,27@b   | in$4$ his self-control.
221:127,28[D  ]| "Continue," 
221:127,28['  ]| said M%*de*Bellegarde.
221:127,29['  ]| Newman lifted a finger and made it waver a little in$4$
221:127,30['  ]| the air. 
221:127,30[B  ]| "Need I continue? You are trembling."
221:127,31[D  ]| "Pray, where did you obtain this interesting information?"
221:127,32['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde asked very softly.
221:127,33[B  ]| "I shall be strictly accurate," 
221:127,33['  ]| said Newman. 
221:127,33[B  ]| "I
221:127,34[B  ]| will$1$ not pretend to$9$ know more than I do. At present that$6#2$
221:127,35[B  ]| is all I know. You have done something that$6#1$ you must
221:127,36[B  ]| hide, something that$6#1$ would damn you if it were known,
221:127,37[B  ]| something that$6#1$ would disgrace the name you are so$5#1$ proud
221:128,01[B  ]| of. I do not know what it is, but I can find out. Persist
221:128,02[B  ]| in$4$ your present course and I \will$1$\ find out. Change
221:128,03[B  ]| it, let your sister go in$4$ peace, and I will$1$ leave you alone.
221:128,04[B  ]| It is a bargain?"
221:128,05['  ]| The Marquis almost succeeded in$4$ looking untroubled;
221:128,06['  ]| the breaking up$5$ of the ice in$4$ his handsome countenance
221:128,07['  ]| was an operation that$6#1$ was necessarily gradual. But
221:128,08['  ]| Newman's mildly-syllabled argumentation seemed to$9$
221:128,09['  ]| press, and press, and presently he averted his eyes. He
221:128,10['  ]| stood some moments, reflecting.
221:128,11[D  ]| "My brother told you this," 
221:128,11['  ]| he said, looking up$5$.
221:128,12['  ]| Newman hesitated a moment. 
221:128,12[B  ]| "Yes, your brother
221:128,13[B  ]| told me."
221:128,14['  ]| The Marquis smiled, handsomely. 
221;128,14[D  ]| "Did not I say that$3$
221:128,15[D  ]| he was out of his mind?"
221:128,16[B  ]| "He was out of his mind if I do not find out. He was
221:128,17[B  ]| very much in$4$ it if I do."
221:128,18['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde gave a shrug. 
221:128,18[D  ]| "Eh, sir, find out
221:128,19[D  ]| or not, as you please."
221:128,20[B  ]| "I do not frighten you?" 
221:128,20['  ]| demanded Newman.
221:128,21[D  ]| "That$6#2$ is for$4$ you to$9$ judge."
221:128,22[B  ]| "No$7$, it is for$4$ you to$9$ judge, at your leisure. Think it
221:128,23[B  ]| over, feel yourself all round. I will$1$ give you an hour or
221:128,24[B  ]| two. I can not give you more, for$3$ how do we know how
221:128,25[B  ]| fast they may be making Madame*de*Cintre= a nun?
221:128,26[B  ]| Talk it over with your mother; let her judge whether
221:128,27[B  ]| she is frightened. I do not believe she is as easily frightened,
221:128,28[B  ]| in$4$ general, as you; but you will$1$ see. I will$1$ go
221:128,29[B  ]| and wait in$4$ the village, at the inn, and I beg you to$9$ let
221:128,30[B  ]| me know as soon as possible. Say by$4$ three o'clock. A
221:128,31[B  ]| simple \yes\ or \no$5$\ on$4$ paper will$1$ do. Only, you know, in$4$
221:128,32[B  ]| case of a \yes\ I shall expect you, this time, to$9$ stick to$4$
221:128,33[B  ]| your bargain." 
221:128,33['  ]| And with this Newman opened the door
221:128,34['  ]| and let himself out. The Marquis did not move, and
221:128,35['  ]| Newman, retiring, gave him another look. 
221:128,35[B  ]| "At the inn
221:128,36[B  ]| in$4$ the village," 
221:128,36['  ]| he repeated. Then he turned away altogether,
221:128,37['  ]| and passed out of the house.
221:129,01['  ]| He was extremely excited by$4$ what he had been doing,
221:129,02['  ]| for$3$ it was inevitable that$3$ there should be a certain emotion
221:129,03['  ]| in$4$ calling up$5$ the spectre of dishonour before a family a
221:129,04['  ]| thousand years old. But he went back to$4$ the inn and
221:129,05['  ]| contrived to$9$ wait there, deliberately, for$4$ the next two
221:129,06['  ]| hours. He thought it 
221:129,06@b   | more than probable that$3$ Urbain*de*Bellegarde
221:129,07@b   | would give no$2$ sign; for$3$ an answer to$4$ his
221:129,08@b   | challenge, in$4$ either sense, would be a confession of guilt.
221:129,09@b   | what he most expected was silence ~~ in$4$ other words, defiance.
221:129,10['  ]| But he prayed that$3$, as he imaged it, 
221:129,10@b   | his shot
221:129,11@b   | might bring them down. 
221:129,11['  ]| It did bring, by$4$ three o'clock,
221:129,12['  ]| a note, delivered by$4$ a footman; a note addressed in$4$
221:129,13['  ]| Urbain*de*Bellegarde's handsome English hand. It ran
221:129,14['  ]| as follows:~~
221:129,15['  ]| 
221:129,16[D  ]| "I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of letting you
221:129,17[D  ]| know that$3$ I return to$4$ Paris to-morrow, with my mother,
221:129,18[D  ]| in$4$ order that$3$ we may see my sister and confirm her in$4$
221:129,19[D  ]| the resolution which$6#1$ is the most effectual reply to$4$ your
221:129,20[D  ]| audacious pertinacity.
221:129,21[D  ]| "HENRI-URBAIN*DE*BELLEGARDE."
221:129,22['  ]| 
221:129,23['  ]| Newman put the letter into his pocket, and continued
221:129,24['  ]| his walk up$4$ and down the inn parlour. He had spent
221:129,25['  ]| most of his time, for$4$ the past week, in$4$ walking up$5$ and
221:129,26['  ]| down. He continued to$9$ measure the length of the little
221:129,27['  ]| \9salle\ of the Armes*de*France until the day began to$9$ wane,
221:129,28['  ]| when he went out to$9$ keep his rendezvous with Mrs%*Bread.
221:129,29['  ]| The path which$6#1$ led up$4$ the hill to$4$ the ruin was
221:129,30['  ]| easy to$9$ find, and Newman in$4$ a short time had followed
221:129,31['  ]| it to$4$ the top. He passed beneath the rugged arch of the
221:129,32['  ]| castle wall, and looked about him in$4$ the early dusk for$4$
221:129,33['  ]| an old woman in$4$ black. The castle yard was empty,
221:129,34['  ]| but the door of the church was open. Newman went
221:129,35['  ]| into the little nave, and of course found a deeper dusk
221:129,36['  ]| than without. A couple of tapers, however, twinkled on$4$
221:129,37['  ]| the altar, and just enabled him to$9$ perceive a figure seated
221:130,01['  ]| by$4$ one of the pillars. Closer inspection helped him to$9$
221:130,02['  ]| recognise Mrs%*Bread, in$4$ spite of the fact that$3$ she was
221:130,03['  ]| dressed with unwonted splendour. She wore a large
221:130,04['  ]| silk bonnet, with imposing bows of crape, and an
221:130,05['  ]| old black satin dress disposed itself in$4$ vaguely lustrous
221:130,06['  ]| folds about her person. She had judged it proper to$4$
221:130,07['  ]| the occasion to$9$ appear in$4$ her stateliest apparel. She
221:130,08['  ]| had been sitting with her eyes fixed upon$4$ the ground, but
221:130,09['  ]| when Newman passed before her she looked up$5$ at him,
221:130,10['  ]| and then she rose.
221:130,11[B  ]| "Are you a Catholic, Mrs%*Bread?" 
221:130,11['  ]| he asked.
221:130,12[J  ]| "No$7$, sir; I am a good Church*of*England woman,
221:130,13[J  ]| very Low," 
221:130,13['  ]| she answered. 
221:130,13[J  ]| "But I thought I should be
221:130,14[J  ]| safer in$4$ here than outside. I was never out in$4$ the evening
221:130,15[J  ]| before, sir."
221:130,16[B  ]| "We shall be safer," 
221:130,16['  ]| said Newman, 
221:130,16[B  ]| "where no*one
221:130,17[B  ]| can hear us." 
221:130,17['  ]| And he led the way back into the castle
221:130,18['  ]| court, and then followed a path beside the church, 
221:130,18@b   | which$6#1$
221:130,19['  ]| he was sure 
221:130,19@b   | must lead into another part of the ruin. 
221:130,19['  ]| He
221:130,20['  ]| was not deceived. It wandered along the crest of the
221:130,21['  ]| hill and terminated before a fragment of wall pierced by$4$
221:130,22['  ]| a rough aperture which$6#1$ had once been a door. Through
221:130,23['  ]| this aperture Newman passed, and found himself in$4$ a
221:130,24['  ]| nook peculiarly favourable to$4$ quiet conversation, as probably
221:130,25['  ]| many an earnest couple, otherwise assorted then
221:130,26['  ]| our friends, had assured themselves. The hill sloped
221:130,27['  ]| abruptly away, and on$4$ the remnant of its crest were
221:130,28['  ]| scattered two or three fragments of stone. Beneath, over
221:130,29['  ]| the plain, lay the gathered twilight, through which$6#1$, in$4$
221:130,30['  ]| the near distance, gleamed two or three lights from the
221:130,31['  ]| cha^teau. Mrs%*Bread rustled slowly after her guide, and
221:130,32['  ]| Newman, satisfying himself that$3$ one of the fallen stones
221:130,33['  ]| was steady, proposed to$4$ her to$9$ sit upon$4$ it. She cautiously
221:130,34['  ]| complied, and he placed himself upon$4$ another,
221:130,35['  ]| near her.
222:131,01[B  ]| "I am very much obliged to$4$ you for$4$ coming," 
222:131,01['  ]| Newman
222:131,02['  ]| said. 
222:131,02[B  ]| "I hope it will$1$ not get you into trouble."
222:131,03[J  ]| "I do not think I shall be missed. My lady, in$4$ these
222:131,04[J  ]| days, is not fond of having me about her." 
222:131,04['  ]| This was
222:131,05['  ]| said with a certain fluttered eagerness which$6#1$ increased
222:131,06['  ]| Newman's sense of having inspired the old woman with
222:131,07['  ]| confidence.
222:131,08[B  ]| "From the first, you know," 
222:131,08['  ]| he answered, 
222:131,08[B  ]| "you took
222:131,09[B  ]| an interest in$4$ my prospects. You were on$4$ my side.
222:131,10[B  ]| That$6#2$ gratified me, I assure you. And now that$3$ you know
222:131,11[B  ]| what they have done to$4$ me, I am sure you are with me
222:131,12[B  ]| all the more."
222:131,13[J  ]| "They have not done well ~~ I must say it," 
222:131,13['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread.
222:131,14[J  ]| "But you must not blame the poor Countess;
222:131,15[J  ]| they pressed her hard."
222:131,16[B  ]| "I would give a million of dollars to$9$ know what they
222:131,17[B  ]| did to$4$ her!" 
222:131,17['  ]| cried Newman.
222:131,18['  ]| Mrs%*Bread sat with a dull, oblique gaze fixed upon$4$
222:131,19['  ]| the lights of the cha^teau. 
222:131,19[J  ]| "They worked on$4$ her feelings;
222:131,20[J  ]| they knew that$6#2$ was the way. She is a delicate
222:131,21[J  ]| creature. They made her feel wicked. She is only too
222:131,22[J  ]| good."
222:131,23[B  ]| "Ah, they made her feel wicked," 
222:131,23['  ]| said Newman,
222:131,24['  ]| slowly; and then he repeated it. 
222:131,24[B  ]| "They made her feel
222:131,25[B  ]| wicked ~~ they made her feel wicked." 
222:131,25['  ]| The words seemed
222:131,26['  ]| to$4$ him for$4$ the moment 
222:131,26@b   | a vivid description of infernal ingenuity.
222:131,27@b   | 
222:131,28[J  ]| "It was because she was so$5#1$ good that$3$ she gave up$5$ ~
222:131,29[J  ]| poor sweet lady!" 
222:131,29['  ]| added Mrs%*Bread.
222:131,30[B  ]| "But she was better to$4$ them than to$4$ me," 
222:131,30['  ]| said Newman.
222:131,31['  ]| 
222:131,32[J  ]| "She was afraid," 
222:131,32['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, very confidently;
222:131,33[J  ]| "she has always been afraid, or at least for$4$ a long time.
222:132,01[J  ]| That$6#2$ was the real trouble, sir. She was like$4$ a fair peach,
222:132,02[J  ]| I may say, with just one little speck. She had one little
222:132,03[J  ]| sad spot. You pushed her into the sunshine, sir, and it
222:132,04[J  ]| almost disappeared. Then they pulled her back into the
222:132,05[J  ]| shade, and in$4$ a moment it began to$9$ spread. Before we
222:132,06[J  ]| knew it she was gone. She was a delicate creature."
222:132,07['  ]| This singular attestation of Madame*de*Cintre='s delicacy,
222:132,08['  ]| for$4$ all its singularity, set Newman's wound aching
222:132,09['  ]| afresh. 
222:132,09[B  ]| "I see," 
222:132,09['  ]| he presently said; 
222:132,09[B  ]| "she knew something
222:132,10[B  ]| bad about her mother."
222:132,11[J  ]| "No$7$, sir, she knew nothing," 
222:132,11['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, holding
222:132,12['  ]| her head very stiff, and keeping her eyes fixed upon$4$
222:132,13['  ]| the glimmering windows of the cha^teau.
222:132,14[B  ]| "She guessed something, then, or suspected it."
222:132,15[J  ]| "She was afraid to$9$ know," 
222:132,15['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread.
222:132,16[B  ]| "But \you\ know, at any rate," 
222:132,16['  ]| said Newman.
222:132,17['  ]| She slowly turned her vague eyes upon$4$ Newman,
222:132,18['  ]| squeezing her hands together in$4$ her lap. 
222:132,18[J  ]| "You are not
222:132,19[J  ]| quite faithful, sir. I thought it was to$9$ tell me about
222:132,20[J  ]| Mr%*Valentin you asked me to$9$ come here."
222:132,21[B  ]| "Oh, the more we talk of Mr%*Valentin the better,"
222:132,22['  ]| said Newman. 
222:132,22[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is exactly what I want. I was
222:132,23[B  ]| with him, as I told you, in$4$ his last hour. He was in$4$
222:132,24[B  ]| a great deal of pain, but he was quite himself. You
222:132,25[B  ]| know what that$6#2$ means; he was bright and lively and
222:132,26[B  ]| clever."
222:132,27[J  ]| "Oh, he would always be clever, sir," 
222:132,27['  ]| said Mrs%*Breaed.
222:132,28[J  ]| "And did he know of your trouble?"
222:132,29[B  ]| "Yes he guessed it of himself."
222:132,30[J  ]| "And what did he say to$4$ it?"
222:132,31[B  ]| "He said it was a disgrace to$4$ his name ~~ but it was
222:132,32[B  ]| not the first."
222:132,33[J  ]| "Lord, Lord!" 
222:132,33['  ]| murmured Mrs%*Bread.
222:132,34[B  ]| "He said that$3$ his mother and his brother had once
222:132,35[B  ]| put their heads together and invented something even
222:132,36[B  ]| worse."
222:132,37[J  ]| "You should not have listened to$4$ that$6#2$, sir."
222:133,01[B  ]| "Perhaps not. But I \did\ listen, and I do not forget it.
222:133,02[B  ]| Now I want to$9$ know what it is they did."
222:133,03['  ]| Mrs%*Bread gave a soft moan. 
222:133,03[J  ]| "And you have
222:133,04[J  ]| enticed me up$5$ into this strange place to$9$ tell you?"
222:133,05[B  ]| "Do not be alarmed," 
222:133,05['  ]| said Newman. 
222:133,05[B  ]| "I will$1$ not say
222:133,06[B  ]| a word that$6#1$ shall be disagreeable to$4$ you. Tell me as it
222:133,07[B  ]| suits you, and when it suits you. Only remember that$3$
222:133,08[B  ]| it was Mr%*Valentin's last wish that$3$ you should."
222:133,09[J  ]| "Did he say that$6#2$?"
222:133,10[B  ]| "He said it with his last breath: 
222:133,10@e   | ""Tell Mrs%*Bread I
222:133,11@e   | told you to$9$ ask her."" "
222:133,12[J  ]| "Why did not he tell you himself?"
222:133,13[B  ]| "It was too long a story for$4$ a dying man; he had no$2$
222:133,14[B  ]| breath left in$4$ his body. He could only say that$3$ he
222:133,15[B  ]| wanted me to$9$ know ~~ that$3$, wronged as I was, it was my
222:133,16[B  ]| right to$9$ know."
222:133,17[J  ]| "But how will$1$ it help you, sir?" 
222:133,17['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread.
222:133,18[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is for$4$ me to$9$ decide. Mr%*Valentin believed it
222:133,19[B  ]| would, and that$6#2$ is why he told me. Your name was
222:133,20[B  ]| almost the last word he spoke."
222:133,21['  ]| Mrs%*Bread was evidently awestruck by$4$ this statement;
222:133,22['  ]| she shook her clasped hands slowly up$5$ and down.
222:133,23[J  ]| "Excuse me, sir," 
222:133,23['  ]| she said, 
222:133,23[J  ]| "if I take a great liberty. Is
222:133,24[J  ]| it the solemn truth you are speaking? I \must\ ask you
222:133,25[J  ]| that$6#2$; must I not, sir?"
222:133,26[B  ]| "There is no$2$ offence. It \is\ the solemn truth; I
222:133,27[B  ]| solemnly swear it. Mr%*Valentin himself would certainly
222:133,28[B  ]| have told me more if he had been able."
222:133,29[J  ]| "Oh, sir he knew more!"
222:133,30[B  ]| "Do not you suppose he did?"
222:133,31[J  ]| "There is no$2$ saying what he knew about anything,"
222:133,32['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, with a mild head-shake. 
222:133,32[J  ]| "He was so$5#1$
222:133,33[J  ]| mightily clever. He could make you believe he knew
222:133,34[J  ]| things that$6#1$ he did not, and that$3$ he did not know others
222:133,35[J  ]| that$6#1$ he had better not have known."
222:133,36[B  ]| "I suspect he knew something about his brother that$6#1$
222:133,37[B  ]| kept the Marquis civil to$4$ him," 
222:133,37['  ]| Newman propounded;
222:134,01[B  ]| "he made the Marquis feel him. What he wanted now
222:134,02[B  ]| was to$9$ put me in$4$ his place; he wanted to$9$ give me a
222:134,03[B  ]| chance to$9$ make the marquis feel \me\."
222:134,04[J  ]| "Mercy on$4$ us!" 
222:134,04['  ]| cried the old waiting-woman, 
222:134,04[J  ]| "how
222:134,05[J  ]| wicked we all are!"
222:134,06[B  ]| "I do not know," 
222:134,06['  ]| said Newman; 
222:134,06[B  ]| "some of us are
222:134,07[B  ]| wicked, certainly. I am very angry, I am very sore, and
222:134,08[B  ]| I am very bitter, but I do not know that$3$ I am wicked. I
222:134,09[B  ]| have been cruelly injured. They have hurt me, and I
222:134,10[B  ]| want to$9$ hurt them. I do not deny that$6#2$; on$4$ the contrary,
222:134,11[B  ]| I tell you plainly that$3$ that$6#2$ is the use I want to$9$ make of
222:134,12[B  ]| your secret."
222:134,13['  ]| Mrs%*Bread seemed to$9$ hold her breath. 
222:134,13[J  ]| "You want
222:134,14[J  ]| to$9$ publish them ~~ you want to$9$ shame them?"
222:134,15[B  ]| "I want to$9$ bring them down ~~ down, down, down!
222:134,16[B  ]| I want to$9$ turn the tables upon$4$ them ~~ I want to$9$ mortify 
222:134,17[B  ]| them as they mortified me. They took me up$5$ into a
222:134,18[B  ]| high place and made me stand there for$4$ all the world to$9$
222:134,19[B  ]| see me, and then they stole behind me and pushed me
222:134,20[B  ]| into this bottomless pit, where I lie howling and gnashing
222:134,21[B  ]| my teeth! I made a fool of myself before all their
222:134,22[B  ]| friends; but I shall make something worse of them."
222:134,23['  ]| This passionate sally, which$6#1$ Newman uttered with
222:134,24['  ]| the greater fervour that$6#1$ it was the first time he had had
222:134,25['  ]| a chance to$9$ say all this aloud, kindled two small sparks
222:134,26['  ]| in$4$ Mrs%*Bread's fixed eyes. 
222:134,26[J  ]| "I suppose you have a right
222:134,27[J  ]| to$4$ your anger, sir; but think of the dishonour you will$1$
222:134,28[J  ]| draw down on$4$ Madame*de*Cintre=."
222:134,29[B  ]| "Madame*de*Cintre= is buried alive," 
222:134,29['  ]| cried Newman.
222:134,30[B  ]| "What is honour or dishonour to$4$ her? The door of
222:134,31[B  ]| the tomb is at this moment closing behind her."
222:134,32[J  ]| "Yes, it is most awful," 
222:134,32['  ]| moaned Mrs%*Bread.
222:134,33[B  ]| "She has moved off, like$4$ her brother Valentin, to$9$
222:134,34[B  ]| give me room to$9$ work. It is as if it were done on$4$
222:134,35[B  ]| purpose."
222:134,36[J  ]| "Surely," 
222:134,36['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, apparently impressed by$4$
222:134,37['  ]| the ingenuity of this reflection. She was silent for$4$ some
222:135,01['  ]| moments; then she added: 
222:135,01[J  ]| "And would you bring my
222:135,02[J  ]| lady before the courts?"
222:135,03[B  ]| "The courts care nothing for$4$ my lady," 
222:135,03['  ]| Newman
222:135,04['  ]| replied. 
222:135,04[B  ]| "If she has committed a crime, she will$1$ be
222:135,05[B  ]| nothing for$4$ the courts but a wicked old woman."
222:135,06[J  ]| "And will$1$ they hang her, sir?"
222:135,07[B  ]| "That$6#2$ depends upon$4$ what she has done." 
222:135,07['  ]| And
222:135,08['  ]| Newman eyed Mrs%*Bread intently.
222:135,09[J  ]| "It would break up$5$ the family most terribly, sir!"
222:135,10[B  ]| "It is time such a family should be broken up$5$!" 
222:135,10['  ]| said
222:135,11['  ]| Newman, with a laugh.
222:135,12[J  ]| "And me at my age out of place, sir!" 
222:135,12['  ]| sighed Mrs%*Bread.
222:135,13['  ]| 
222:135,14[B  ]| "Oh, I will$1$ take care of you! You shall come and
222:135,15[B  ]| live with me. You shall be my housekeeper, or anything
222:135,16[B  ]| you like$1$. I will$1$ pension you for$4$ life."
222:135,17[J  ]| "Dear, dear, sir, you think of everything." 
222:135,17['  ]| And she
222:135,18['  ]| seemed to$9$ fall a-brooding.
222:135,19['  ]| Newman watched her a while, and then he said suddenly:
222:135,20[B  ]| "Ah, Mrs%*Bread, you are too fond of my
222:135,21[B  ]| lady!"
222:135,22['  ]| She looked at him as quickly. 
222:135,22[J  ]| "I would not have you
222:135,23[J  ]| say that$6#2$, sir. I do not think it any part of my duty to$9$ be
222:135,24[J  ]| fond of my lady. I have served her faithfully this many
222:135,25[J  ]| a year; but if she were to$9$ die to-morrow, I believe,
222:135,26[J  ]| before Heaven, I should not shed a tear for$4$ her." 
222:135,26['  ]| Then
222:135,27['  ]| after a pause, 
222:135,27[J  ]| "I have no$2$ reason to$9$ love her!" 
222:135,27['  ]| Mrs%*Bread
222:135,28['  ]| added. 
222:135,28[J  ]| "The most she has done for$4$ me has
222:135,29[J  ]| been not to$9$ turn me out of the house." 
222:135,29['  ]| Newman felt
222:135,30['  ]| that$3$ 
222:135,30@b   | decidedly his companion was more and more confidential
222:135,31@b   | ~~ that$3$ if luxury is corrupting, Mrs%*Bread's
222:135,32@b   | conservative habits were already relaxed by$4$ the spiritual
222:135,33@b   | comfort of this preconcerted interview, in$4$ a remarkable
222:135,34@b   | locality, with a free-spoken millionaire. 
222:135,34['  ]| All his native
222:135,35['  ]| shrewdness admonished him that$3$ 
222:135,35@b   | his part was simply to$9$
222:135,36@b   | let her take her time ~~ let the charm of the occasion
222:135,37@b   | work. 
222:135,37['  ]| So$3$ he said nothing; he only looked at her
222:136,01['  ]| kindly. Mrs%*Bread sat nursing her lean elbows. 
222:136,01[J  ]| "My
222:136,02[J  ]| lady once did me a great wrong," 
222:136,02['  ]| she went on$5$ at last.
222:136,03[J  ]| "She has a terrible tongue when she is vexed. It was
222:136,04[J  ]| many a year ago, but I have never forgotten it. I have
222:136,05[J  ]| never mentioned it to$4$ a human creature; I have kept
222:136,06[J  ]| my grudge to$4$ myself. I daresay I have been wicked,
222:136,07[J  ]| but my grudge has grown old with me. It has grown
222:136,08[J  ]| good for$4$ nothing, too, I daresay; but it has lived along,
222:136,09[J  ]| as I have lived. It will$1$ die when I die ~~ not before!"
222:136,10[B  ]| "And what \is\ your grudge?" 
222:136,10['  ]| Newman asked.
222:136,11['  ]| Mrs%*Bread dropped her eyes and hesitated. 
222:136,11[J  ]| "If I
222:136,12[J  ]| were a foreigner, sir, I should make less of telling you;
222:136,13[J  ]| it comes harder to$4$ a decent Englishwoman. But I
222:136,14[J  ]| sometimes think I have picked up$5$ too many foreign
222:136,15[J  ]| ways. What I was telling you belongs to$4$ a time when
222:136,16[J  ]| I was much younger and very different looking to$4$ what
222:136,17[J  ]| I am now. I had a very high colour, sir, if you can
222:136,18[J  ]| believe it; indeed I was a very smart lass. My lady
222:136,19[J  ]| was younger, too, and the late Marquis was youngest of
222:136,20[J  ]| all ~~ I mean in$4$ the way he went on$5$, sir; he had a very
222:136,21[J  ]| high spirit; he was a magnificent man. He was fond
222:136,22[J  ]| of his pleasure, like$4$ most foreigners, and it must be
222:136,23[J  ]| owned that$3$ he sometimes went rather below him to$9$ take
222:136,24[J  ]| it. My lady was often jealous, and, if you will$1$ believe
222:136,25[J  ]| it, sir, she did me the honour to$9$ be jealous of me. One
222:136,26[J  ]| day I had a red ribbon in$4$ my cap, and my lady flew out
222:136,27[J  ]| at me and ordered me to$9$ take it off. She accused me
222:136,28[J  ]| of putting it on$4$ to$9$ make the Marquis look at me. I
222:136,29[J  ]| do not know that$3$ I was impertinent, but I spoke up$5$ like$4$
222:136,30[J  ]| an honest girl, and did not count my words. A red
222:136,31[J  ]| ribbon indeed! As if it was my ribbons the Marquis
222:136,32[J  ]| looked at! My lady knew afterwards that$3$ I was perfectly
222:136,33[J  ]| respectable, but she never said a word to$9$ show
222:136,34[J  ]| that$3$ she believed it. But the Marquis did!" 
222:136,34['  ]| Mrs%*Bread
222:136,35['  ]| presently added: 
222:136,35[J  ]| "I took off my red ribbon and
222:136,36[J  ]| put it away in$4$ a drawer, where I have kept it to$4$ this
222:136,37[J  ]| day. It is faded, now, it is a very pale pink; but there it
222:137,01[J  ]| lies. My grudge has faded too; the red has all gone
222:137,02[J  ]| out of it; but it lies here yet." 
222:137,02['  ]| And Mrs%*Bread stroked
222:137,03['  ]| her black satin bodice.
222:137,04['  ]| Newman listened with interet to$4$ this decent narrative,
222:137,05['  ]| which$6#1$ seemed to$9$ have opened up$5$ the deeps of memory
222:137,06['  ]| to$4$ his companion. Then, as she remained silent, and
222:137,07['  ]| seemed to$9$ be losing herself in$4$ retrospective meditation
222:137,08['  ]| upon$4$ her perfect respectability, he ventured upon$4$ a short
222:137,09['  ]| cut to$4$ his goal. 
222:137,09[B  ]| "So$3$ Madame*de*Bellegarde was jealous;
222:137,10[B  ]| I see. And M%*de*Bellegardde admired pretty women,
222:137,11[B  ]| without distinction of class. I suppose one must not be
222:137,12[B  ]| hard upon$4$ him, for$3$ they probably did not all behave so$5#1$
222:137,13[B  ]| properly as you. But years afterwards it could hardly
222:137,14[B  ]| have been jealousy that$6#1$ turned Madame*de*Bellegarde
222:137,15[B  ]| into a criminal."
222:137,16['  ]| Mrs%*Bread gave a weary sigh. 
222:137,16[J  ]| "We are using
222:137,17[J  ]| dreadful words, sir, but I do not care now. I see you
222:137,18[J  ]| have your idea, and I have no$2$ will$0$ of my own. My
222:137,19[J  ]| will$0$ was the will$0$ of my children, as I call them; but
222:137,20[J  ]| I have lost my children now. They are dead ~~ I may
222:137,21[J  ]| say it of both of them; and what should I care for$4$ the
222:137,22[J  ]| living? What is any*one in$4$ the house to$4$ me now ~~ what
222:137,23[J  ]| am I to$4$ them? My lady objects to$4$ me ~~ she has objected
222:137,24[J  ]| to$4$ me these thirty years. I should have been glad to$9$ be
222:137,25[J  ]| something to$4$ young Madame*de*Bellegarde, though I
222:137,26[J  ]| never was nurse to$4$ the present Marquis. When he was
222:137,27[J  ]| a baby I was too young; they would not trust me with
222:137,28[J  ]| him. But his wife told her own maid, Mamselle*Clarisse,
222:137,29[J  ]| the opinion she had of me. Perhaps you would like$1$ to$9$
222:137,30[J  ]| hear it, sir."
222:137,31[B  ]| "Oh, immensely," 
222:137,31['  ]| said Newman.
222:137,32[J  ]| "She said that$3$ if I would sit in$4$ her children's schoolroom
222:137,33[J  ]| I should do very well for$4$ a penwiper! When
222:137,34[J  ]| things have come to$4$ that$6#2$ I do not think I need stand
222:137,35[J  ]| upon$4$ ceremony."
222:137,36[B  ]| "Decidedly not," 
222:137,36['  ]| said Newman. 
222:137,36[B  ]| "Go on$5$, Mrs%*Bread."
222:137,37[B  ]| 
222:138,01['  ]| Mrs%*Bread, however, relapsed again into troubled
222:138,02['  ]| dumbness, and all Newman could do was to$9$ fold his
222:138,03['  ]| arms and wait. 
222:138,03@b   | But at last she appeared to$9$ have set
222:138,04@b   | her memories in$4$ order. 
222:138,04[J  ]| "It was when the late Marquis
222:138,05[J  ]| was an old man and his eldest son had been two years
222:138,06[J  ]| married. It was when the time came on$5$ for$4$ marrying
222:138,07[J  ]| Mademoiselle*Claire; that$6#2$ is the way they talk of it here,
222:138,08[J  ]| you know sir. The Marquis's health was bad; he was
222:138,09[J  ]| very much broken down. My lady had picked out M%*de*Cintre=,
222:138,10[J  ]| for$4$ no$2$ good reason that$6#1$ I could see. But
222:138,11[J  ]| there are reasons, I very well know, that$6#1$ are beyond
222:138,12[J  ]| me, and you must be high in$4$ the world to$9$ understand
222:138,13[J  ]| them. Old M%*de*Cintre= was very high, and my lady
222:138,14[J  ]| thought him almost as good as herself; that$6#2$ is saying a
222:138,15[J  ]| good deal. Mr%*Urbain took sides with his mother, as
222:138,16[J  ]| he always did. The trouble, I believe, was that$3$ my
222:138,17[J  ]| lady would give very little money, and all the other
222:138,18[J  ]| gentlemen asked more. It was only M%*de*Cintre= that$6#1$
222:138,19[J  ]| was satisfied. The Lord willed it he should have that$6#2$
222:138,20[J  ]| one soft spot; it was the only one he had. He may
222:138,21[J  ]| have been very grand in$4$ his birth, and he certainly was
222:138,22[J  ]| very grand in$4$ his bows and speeches; but that$6#2$ was all the
222:138,23[J  ]| grandeur he had. I think he was like$4$ what I have heard
222:138,24[J  ]| of comedians; not that$3$ I have ever seen one. But I know
222:138,25[J  ]| he painted his face. He might paint it all he would;
222:138,26[J  ]| he could never make me like$1$ it! The Marquis could not
222:138,27[J  ]| abide him, and declared that$3$ 
222:138,27@w   | sooner than take such a
222:138,28@w   | husband as that$6#2$, Mademoiselle*Claire should take none
222:138,29@W   | at all. 
222:138,29[J  ]| He and my lady had a great scene; it came
222:138,30[J  ]| even to$4$ our ears in$4$ the servants' hall. It was not their
222:138,31[J  ]| first quarrel, if the truth must be told. They were not
222:138,32[J  ]| a loving couple, but they did not often come to$4$ words,
222:138,33[J  ]| because, I think, neither of them thought the other's
222:138,34[J  ]| doings worth the trouble. My lady had long ago got
222:138,35[J  ]| over her jealousy, and she had taken to$4$ indifference. In$4$
222:138,36[J  ]| this, I must say, they were well matched. The Marquis
222:138,37[J  ]| was very easy-going; he had a most gentlemanly temper.
222:139,01[J  ]| He got angry only once a year, but then it was very bad.
222:139,02[J  ]| He always took to$4$ bed directly afterwards. This time I
222:139,03[J  ]| speak of he took to$4$ bed as usual, but he never got up$5$
222:139,04[J  ]| again. I am afraid the poor gentleman was paying for$4$
222:139,05[J  ]| his dissipation; is not it true they mostly do, sir, when
222:139,06[J  ]| they get old? My lady and Mr%*Urbain kept quiet,
222:139,07[J  ]| but I know my lady wrote letters to$4$ M%*de*Cintre=. The
222:139,08[J  ]| Marquis got worse, and the doctors gave him up$5$. My
222:139,09[J  ]| lady she gave him up$5$ too, and if the truth must be told,
222:139,10[J  ]| she gave him up$5$ gladly. When once he was out of the
222:139,11[J  ]| way she could do what she pleased with her daughter,
222:139,12[J  ]| and it was all arranged that$3$ my poor innocent child
222:139,13[J  ]| should be handed over to$4$ M%*de*Cintre=. You do not
222:139,14[J  ]| know what Mademoiselle was in$4$ those days, sir; she
222:139,15[J  ]| was the sweetest young creature in$4$ France, and knew as
222:139,16[J  ]| little of what was going on$5$ around her as the lamb does
222:139,17[J  ]| of the butcher. I used to$9$ nurse the Marquis, and I was
222:139,18[J  ]| always in$4$ his room. It was here at Fleurie=res, in$4$ the
222:139,19[J  ]| autumn. We had a doctor from Paris, who$6#1$ came and
222:139,20[J  ]| stayed two or three weeks in$4$ the house. Then there
222:139,21[J  ]| came two others, and there was a consultation, and these
222:139,22[J  ]| two others, as I said, declared that$3$ 
222:139,22@w   | the Marquis could not
222:139,23@w   | be saved. 
222:139,23[J  ]| After this they went off, pocketing their fees,
222:139,24[J  ]| but the other one stayed and did what he could. The
222:139,25[J  ]| Marquis himself kept crying out that$3$ 
222:139,25@w   | he would not die,
222:139,26@W   | that$3$ he did not want to$9$ die, that$3$ he would live and look
222:139,27@w   | after his daughter. 
222:139,27[J  ]| Mademoiselle*Claire and the Viscount
222:139,28[J  ]| ~~ that$6#2$ was Mr%*Valentin, you know ~~ were both in$4$ the
222:139,29[J  ]| house. The doctor was a clever man ~~ that$6#2$ I could see
222:139,30[J  ]| myself ~~ and I think he believed that$3$ the Marquis might
222:139,31[J  ]| get well. We took good care of him, he and I, between
222:139,32[J  ]| us, and one day, when my lady had almost ordered her
222:139,33[J  ]| mourning, my patient suddenly began to$9$ mend. He
222:139,34[J  ]| got better and better, till the doctor said 
222:139,34@w   | he was out of
222:139,35@w   | danger. 
222:139,35[J  ]| What was killing him was the dreadful fits of
222:139,36[J  ]| pain in$4$ his stomach. But little by$4$ little they stopped,
222:139,37[J  ]| and the poor Marquis began to$9$ make his jokes again.
222:140,01[J  ]| The doctor found something that$3$ gave him great comfort
222:140,02[J  ]| ~~ some white stuff that$6#1$ we kept in$4$ a great bottle on$4$ the
222:140,03[J  ]| chimney-piece. I used to$9$ give it to$4$ the Marquis through
222:140,04[J  ]| a glass tube; it always made him easier. Then the
222:140,05[J  ]| doctor went away, after telling me to$9$ 
222:140,05@w   | keep on$5$ giving
222:140,06@W   | him the mixture whenever he was bad. 
222:140,06[J  ]| After that$6#2$ there
222:140,07[J  ]| was a little doctor from Poitiers, who$6#1$ came every day.
222:140,08[J  ]| So$3$ we were alone in$4$ the house ~~ my lady and her poor
222:140,09[J  ]| husband and their three children. Young Madame*de*Bellegarde
222:140,10[J  ]| had gone away, with her little girl, to$4$ her
222:140,11[J  ]| mother's. You know she is very lively, and her maid
222:140,12[J  ]| told me that$3$ 
222:140,12@v   | she did not like$1$ to$9$ be where people were
222:140,13@v   | dying." 
222:140,13['  ]| Mrs%*Bread paused a moment, and then she
222:140,14['  ]| went on$5$ with the same quiet consistency. 
222:140,14[J  ]| "I think you
222:140,15[J  ]| have guessed, sir, that$3$ when the Marquis began to$9$ turn
222:140,16[J  ]| my lady was disappointed." 
222:140,16['  ]| And she paused again,
222:140,17['  ]| bending upon$4$ Newman a face which$6#1$ seemed to$9$ grow
222:140,18['  ]| whiter as the darkness settled down upon$4$ them.
222:140,19['  ]| Newman had listened eagerly ~~ with an eagerness
222:140,20['  ]| greater even than that$6#2$ with which$6#1$ he had bent his ear to$4$
222:140,21['  ]| Valentin*de*Bellegarde's last words. Every now and
222:140,22['  ]| then, as his companion looked up$5$ at him, she reminded
222:140,23['  ]| him of 
222:140,23@b   | an ancient tabby cat, protracting the enjoyment
222:140,24@b   | of a dish of milk. Even her triumph was measured and
222:140,25@b   | decorous; the faculty of exultation had been chilled by$4$
222:140,26@b   | disuse. 
222:140,26['  ]| She presently continued. 
222:140,26[J  ]| "Late one night I
222:140,27[J  ]| was sitting by$4$ the Marquis in$4$ his room, the great red
222:140,28[J  ]| room in$4$ the west tower. He had been complaining a
222:140,29[J  ]| little, and I gave him a spoonful of the doctor's dose.
222:140,30[J  ]| My lady had been there in$4$ the early part of the evening;
222:140,31[J  ]| she sat for$4$ more than an hour by$4$ his bed. Then she
222:140,32[J  ]| went away and left me alone. After midnight she came
222:140,33[J  ]| back, and her eldest son was with her. They went to$4$
222:140,34[J  ]| the bed and looked at the Marquis, and my lady took
222:140,35[J  ]| hold of his hand. Then she turned to$4$ me and said 
222:140,35@c   | he
222:140,36@c   | was not so$5#1$ well; 
222:140,36[J  ]| I remember how the Marquis, without
222:140,37[J  ]| saying anything, lay staring at her. I can see his white
222:141,01[J  ]| face, at this moment, in$4$ the great black square between
222:141,02[J  ]| the bed-curtains. I said 
222:141,02@j   | I did not think he was very bad;
222:141,03[J  ]| and she told me to$9$ 
222:141,03@c   | go to$4$ bed ~~ she would sit a while
222:141,04@c   | with him. 
222:141,04[J  ]| When the Marquis saw me going he gave a
222:141,05[J  ]| sort of groan, and called out to$4$ me not to$9$ leave him;
222:141,06[J  ]| but Mr%*Urbain opened the door for$4$ me and pointed the
222:141,07[J  ]| way out. The present Marquis ~~ perhaps you have
222:141,08[J  ]| noticed, sir ~~ has a very proud way of giving orders, and
222:141,09[J  ]| I was there to$9$ take orders. I went to$4$ my room, but I
222:141,10[J  ]| was not easy; I could not tell you why. I did not undress;
222:141,11[J  ]| I sat there waiting and listening. For$4$ what would you
222:141,12[J  ]| have said, sir? I could not have told you; for$3$ surely a
222:141,13[J  ]| poor gentleman might be comfortable with his wife and
222:141,14[J  ]| his son. It was as if I expected to$9$ hear the Marquis
222:141,15[J  ]| moaning after me again. I listened, but I heard nothing.
222:141,16[J  ]| It was a very still night; I never knew a night so$5#1$ still.
222:141,17[J  ]| At last the very stillness itself seemed to$9$ frighten me,
222:141,18[J  ]| and I came out of my room and went very softly downstairs.
222:141,19[J  ]| In$4$ the anteroom, outside of the Marquis's
222:141,20[J  ]| chamber, I found Mr%*Urbain walking up$5$ and down.
222:141,21[J  ]| He asked me what I wanted, and I said 
222:141,21@j   | I came back to$9$
222:141,22@j   | relieve my lady. 
222:141,22[J  ]| He said 
222:141,22@d   | \he\ would relieve my lady, 
222:141,22[J  ]| and
222:141,23[J  ]| ordered me back to$4$ bed; but as I stood there, unwilling
222:141,24[J  ]| to$9$ turn away, the door of the room opened and my lady
222:141,25[J  ]| came out. I noticed she was very pale; she was very
222:141,26[J  ]| strange. She looked a moment at the Count and at me,
222:141,27[J  ]| and then she held out her arms to$4$ the Count. He went
222:141,28[J  ]| to$4$ her, and she fell upon$4$ him and hid her face. I went
222:141,29[J  ]| quickly past her into the room, and to$4$ the Marquis's bed.
222:141,30[J  ]| He was lying there, very white, with his eyes shut, like$4$
222:141,31[J  ]| a corpse. I took hold of his hand and spoke to$4$ him
222:141,32[J  ]| and he felt to$4$ me like$4$ a dead man. Then I turned
222:141,33[J  ]| round; my lady and Mr%*Urbain were there. 
222:141,33@c   | ""My poor
222:141,34@c   | Bread,"" 
222:141,34[J  ]| said my lady.
222:141,34@c   | ""M%*le*Marquis is gone."" 
222:141,34[J  ]| Mr%*Urbain
222:141,35[J  ]| knelt down by$4$ the bed, and said softly, 
222:141,35@d   | ""\9Mon
222:141,36@d   | 9pe`re, 9mon 9pe`re\."" 
222:141,36[J  ]| I thought it wonderful strange, and
222:141,37[J  ]| asked my lady 
222:141,37@j   | what in$4$ the world had happened, and why
222:142,01@j   | she had not called me. 
222:142,01[J  ]| She said 
222:142,01@c   | nothing had happened;
222:142,02@c   | that$3$ she had only been sitting there with the Marquis,
222:142,03@c   | very quiet. She had closed her eyes, thinking she might
222:142,04@c   | sleep, and she had slept she did not know how long.
222:142,05@c   | When she woke up$5$ he was dead. ""It is death, my son, 
222:142,06@c   | it is death,"" 
222:142,06[J  ]| she said to$4$ the Count. Mr%*Urbain said 
222:142,06@d   | they
222:142,07@d   | must have the doctor immediately, from Poitiers, and
222:142,08@d   | that$3$ he would ride off and fetch him. 
222:142,08[J  ]| He kissed his
222:142,09[J  ]| father's face, and then he kissed his mother and went
222:142,10[J  ]| away. My lady and I stood there at the bedside. As
222:142,11[J  ]| I looked at the poor Marquis it came into my head that$3$
222:142,12[J  ]| he was not dead, that$3$ he was in$4$ a kind of swoon. And
222:142,13[J  ]| then my lady repeated, 
222:142,13@c   | ""My poor Bread, it is death, it is
222:142,14@c   | death;"" 
222:142,14[J  ]| and I said, 
222:142,14@j   | ""Yes, my lady, it is certainly death.""
222:142,15[J  ]| I said just the opposite to$4$ what I believed; it was my
222:142,16[J  ]| notion. Then my lady said 
222:142,16@c   | we must wait for$4$ the doctor,
222:142,17[J  ]| and we sat there and waited. It was a long time; the
222:142,18[J  ]| poor Marquis neither stirred nor changed. 
222:142,18@c   | ""I have seen
222:142,19@c   | death before,"" 
222:142,19[J  ]| said my lady, 
222:142,19@c   | ""and it is terribly like$4$ this.""
222:142,20@j   | ""Yes, please, my lady,"" 
222:142,20[J  ]| said I; and I kept thinking.
222:142,21[J  ]| The night wore away without the Count's coming back,
222:142,22[J  ]| and my lady began to$9$ be frightened. She was afraid he
222:142,23[J  ]| had had an accident in$4$ the dark, or met with some wild
222:142,24[J  ]| people. At last she got so$5#1$ restless that$3$ she went below
222:142,25[J  ]| to$9$ watch in$4$ the court for$4$ her son's return. I sat there
222:142,26[J  ]| alone, and the Marquis never stirred."
222:142,27['  ]| Here Mrs%*Bread paused again, and the most artistic
222:142,28['  ]| of romancers could not have been more effective. Newman
222:142,29['  ]| made a movement as if he were turning over the
222:142,30['  ]| page of a novel. 
222:142,30[B  ]| "So$3$ he \was\ dead!" 
222:142,30['  ]| he exclaimed.
222:142,31[J  ]| "Three days afterwards he was in$4$ his grave," 
222:142,31['  ]| said
222:142,32[J  ]| Mrs%*Bread sententiously. 
222:142,32[J  ]| "In$4$ a little while I went
222:142,33[J  ]| away to$4$ the front of the house and looked out into the
222:142,34[J  ]| court, and there, before long, I saw Mr%*Urbain ride in$4$
222:142,35[J  ]| alone. I waited a bit, to$9$ hear him come upstairs with
222:142,36[J  ]| his mother, but they stayed below, and I went back to$4$
222:142,37[J  ]| the Marquis's room. I went to$4$ the bed and held up$5$ the
222:143,01[J  ]| light to$4$ him, but I do not know why I did not let the
222:143,02[J  ]| candlestick fall. The Marquis's eyes were open ~~ open 
222:143,03[J  ]| wide! they were staring at me. I knelt down beside
222:143,04[J  ]| him and took his hands, and begged him to$9$ 
222:143,04@j   | tell me, in$4$
222:143,05@j   | the name of wonder, whether he was alive or dead. 
222:143,05[J  ]| Still
222:143,06[J  ]| he looked at me a long time, and then he made me a
222:143,07[J  ]| sign to$9$ put my ear close to$4$ him: 
222:143,07@w   | ""I am dead,"" 
222:143,07[J  ]| he said.
222:143,08@w   | ""I am dead. The Marquise has killed me."" 
222:143,08[J  ]| I was all
222:143,09[J  ]| in$4$ a tremble. I did not understand him. I did not know
222:143,10[J  ]| what had become of him. He seemed both a man and
222:143,11[J  ]| a corpse, if you can fancy, sir. 
222:143,11@j   | ""But you will$1$ get well, now,
222:143,12@j   | sir," 
222:143,12[J  ]| I said. And then he whispered again, ever so$5#1$ weak:
222:143,13@w   | ""I would not get well, for$4$ a kingdom. I would not be that$6#2$
222:143,14@w   | woman's husband again."" 
222:143,14[J  ]| And then he said more; he
222:143,15[J  ]| said 
222:143,15@w   | she had murdered him. 
222:143,15[J  ]| I asked him 
222:143,15@j   | what she had
222:143,16@j   | done to$4$ him, 
222:143,16[J  ]| but he only replied: 
222:143,16@w   | ""Murder, murder.
222:143,17@w   | And she will$1$ kill my daughter,"" 
222:143,17[J  ]| he said; 
222:143,17@w   | ""my poor unhappy
222:143,18@w   | child."" 
222:143,18[J  ]| And he begged me to$9$ prevent that$6#2$, and then he
222:143,19[J  ]| said that$3$ 
222:143,19@w   | he was dying, that$3$ he was dead. 
222:143,19[J  ]| I was afraid
222:143,20[J  ]| to$9$ move or to$9$ leave him; I was almost dead myself.
222:143,21[J  ]| All of a sudden he asked me to$9$ 
222:143,21@w   | get a pencil and write
222:143,22@w   | for$4$ him; 
222:143,22[J  ]| and then I had to$9$ tell him that$3$ 
222:143,22@j   | I could not
222:143,23@j   | manage a pencil. 
222:143,23[J  ]| He asked me to$9$ 
222:143,23@w   | hold him up$5$ in$4$ bed
222:143,24@w   | while he wrote himself, 
222:143,24[J  ]| and I said 
222:143,24@j   | he could never, never
222:143,25@j   | do such a thing. 
222:143,25[J  ]| But he seemed to$9$ have a kind of terror
222:143,26[J  ]| that$6#1$ gave him strength. I found a pencil in$4$ the room
222:143,27[J  ]| and a piece of paper and a book, and I put the paper on$4$
222:143,28[J  ]| the book and the pencil into his hand, and moved the
222:143,29[J  ]| candle near him. You will$1$ think all this very strange,
222:143,30[J  ]| sir; and very strange it was. The strangest part of it
222:143,31[J  ]| was that$3$ I believed he was dying, and that$3$ I was eager
222:143,32[J  ]| to$9$ help him to$9$ write. I sat on$4$ the bed and put my arm
222:143,33[J  ]| round him, and held him up$5$. I felt very strong; I believe
222:143,34[J  ]| I could have lifted him and carried him. It was a
222:143,35[J  ]| wonder how he wrote, but he did write, in$4$ a big scratching
222:143,36[J  ]| hand; he almost covered one side of the paper. It
222:143,37[J  ]| seemed a long time; I suppose it was three or four
222:144,01[J  ]| minutes. He was groaning, terribly, all the while.
222:144,02[J  ]| Then he said 
222:144,02@w   | it was ended, 
222:144,02[J  ]| and I let him down upon$4$ his
222:144,03[J  ]| pillows, and he gave me the paper and told me to$9$ 
222:144,03@w   | fold it,
222:144,04@w   | and hide it, and to$9$ give it to$4$ those who$6#1$ would act upon$4$
222:144,05@w   | it. 
222:144,05@j   | ""Whom do you mean?"" 
222:144,05[J  ]| I said. 
222:144,05@j   | ""Who$6#2$ are those
222:144,06@j   | who$6#1$ will$1$ act upon$4$ it?"" 
222:144,06[J  ]| But he only groaned, for$4$ an
222:144,07[J  ]| answer; he could not speak, for$4$ weakness. In$4$ a few
222:144,08[J  ]| minutes he told me to$9$ 
222:144,08@w   | go and look at the bottle on$4$ the
222:144,09@w   | chimney-piece. 
222:144,09[J  ]| I knew the bottle he meant; the white
222:144,10[J  ]| stuff that$6#1$ was good for$4$ his stomach. I went and looked
222:144,11[J  ]| at it, but it was empty. When I came back his eyes
222:144,12[J  ]| were open and he was staring at me; but soon he closed
222:144,13[J  ]| them and he said no$2$ more. I hid the paper in$4$ my dress;
222:144,14[J  ]| I did not look at what was written upon$4$ it, though I can
222:144,15[J  ]| read very well, sir, if I have not any handwriting. I sat
222:144,16[J  ]| down near the bed, but it was nearly half an hour before
222:144,17[J  ]| my lady and the Count came in$5$. The Marquis looked
222:144,18[J  ]| as he did when they left him, and I never said a word
222:144,19[J  ]| about his having been otherwise. Mr%*Urbain said that$3$
222:144,20@d   | the doctor had been called to$4$ a person in$4$ childbirth, but
222:144,21@d   | that$3$ he promised to$9$ set out for$4$ Fleurie=res immediately.
222:144,22[J  ]| In$4$ another half-hour he arrived, and as soon as he had
222:144,23[J  ]| examined the Marquis he said that$3$ 
222:144,23@w   | we had had a false
222:144,24@w   | alarm. The poor gentleman was very low, but he was
222:144,25@w   | still living. 
222:144,25[J  ]| I watched my lady and her son when he
222:144,26[J  ]| said this, to$9$ see if they looked at each other, and I am
222:144,27[J  ]| obliged to$9$ admit that$3$ they did not. The doctor said 
222:144,27@w   | there
222:144,28@w   | was no$2$ reason he should die; he had been going on$5$ so$5#1$
222:144,29@w   | well. 
222:144,29[J  ]| And then he wanted to$9$ know 
222:144,29@w   | how he had suddenly
222:144,30@w   | fallen off; he had left him so$5#1$ very hearty. 
222:144,30[J  ]| My lady told
222:144,31[J  ]| her little story again ~~ what she had told Mr%*Urbain and
222:144,32[J  ]| me ~~ and the doctor looked at her and said nothing. He
222:144,33[J  ]| stayed all the next day at the cha^teau, and hardly left the
222:144,34[J  ]| Marquis. I was always there. Mademoiselle and Mr%*Valentin
222:144,35[J  ]| came and looked at their father, but he never
222:144,36[J  ]| stirred. It was a strange deathly stupor. My lady was
222:144,37[J  ]| always about; her face was as white as her husband's,
222:145,01[J  ]| and she looked very proud, as I had seen her look when
222:145,02[J  ]| her orders or her wishes had been disobeyed. It was as
222:145,03[J  ]| if the poor Marquis had defied her; and the way she
222:145,04[J  ]| took it made me afraid of her. The apothecary from
222:145,05[J  ]| Poitiers kept the Marquis along through the day, and we
222:145,06[J  ]| waited for$4$ the other doctor from Paris, who$6#1$, as I told
222:145,07[J  ]| you, had been staying at Fleurie=res. They had telegraphed
222:145,08[J  ]| for$4$ him early in$4$ the morning, and in$4$ the evening
222:145,09[J  ]| he arrived. He talked a bit outside with the doctor from
222:145,10[J  ]| Poitiers, and then they came in$5$ to$9$ see the Marquis together.
222:145,11[J  ]| I was with him, and so$5#2$ was Mr%*Urbain. My
222:145,12[J  ]| lady had been to$9$ receive the doctor from Paris, and she
222:145,13[J  ]| did not come back with him into the room. He sat down
222:145,14[J  ]| by$4$ the Marquis ~~ I can see him there now, and his hand
222:145,15[J  ]| on$4$ the Marquis's wrist, and Mr%*Urbain watching him
222:145,16[J  ]| with a little looking-glass in$4$ his hand. 
222:145,16@w   | ""I am sure he is
222:145,17@w   | better,"" 
222:145,17[J  ]| said the little doctor from Poitiers; 
222:145,17@w   | ""I am sure he will$1$
222:145,18@w   | come back."" 
222:145,18[J  ]| A few moments after he had said this the
222:145,19[J  ]| Marquis opened his eyes, as if he were waking up$5$, and
222:145,20[J  ]| looked at us, from one to$4$ the other. I saw him look at
222:145,21[J  ]| me very softly, as you would say. At the same moment my
222:145,22[J  ]| lady came in$5$ on$4$ tiptoe; she came up$5$ to$4$ the bed and put
222:145,23[J  ]| in$5$ her head between me and the count. The Marquis
222:145,24[J  ]| saw her and gave a long, most wonderful moan. He
222:145,25[J  ]| said something we could not understand, and he seemed
222:145,26[J  ]| to$9$ have a kind of spasm. He shook all over, and then
222:145,27[J  ]| closed his eyes, and the doctor jumped up$5$ and took hold
222:145,28[J  ]| of my lady. He held her for$4$ a moment a bit roughly.
222:145,29[J  ]| The Marquis was stone dead! This time there were
222:145,30[J  ]| those there that$6#1$ knew."
222:145,31['  ]| Newman felt as if he had been reading by$4$ starlight the
222:145,32['  ]| report of highly important evidence in$4$ a great murder
222:145,33['  ]| case. 
222:145,33[B  ]| "And the paper ~~ the paper!" 
222:145,33['  ]| he said, excitedly.
222:145,34[B  ]| "What was written upon$4$ it?"
222:145,35[J  ]| "I can not tell you, sir," 
222:145,35['  ]| answered Mrs%*Bread. 
222:145,35[J  ]| "I
222:145,36[J  ]| could not read it; it was in$4$ French."
222:145,37[B  ]| "But could no*one else read it?"
222:146,01[J  ]| "I never asked a human creature."
222:146,02[B  ]| "No*one has ever seen it?"
222:146,03[J  ]| "If you see it you will$1$ be the first."
222:146,04['  ]| Newman seized the old woman's hand in$4$ both his own
222:146,05['  ]| and pressed it vigorously. 
222:146,05[B  ]| "I thank you ever so$5#1$ much
222:146,06[B  ]| for$4$ that$6#2$," 
222:146,06['  ]| he cried. 
222:146,06[B  ]| "I want to$9$ be the first; I want it
222:146,07[B  ]| to$9$ be my property and no*one else's! You are the wisest
222:146,08[B  ]| old woman in$4$ Europe. And what did you do with the
222:146,09[B  ]| paper?" 
222:146,09['  ]| This information had made him feel extraordinarily
222:146,10['  ]| strong. 
222:146,10[B  ]| "Give it to$4$ me quick!"
222:146,11['  ]| Mrs%*Bread got up$5$ with a certain majesty. 
222:146,11[J  ]| "It is
222:146,12[J  ]| not so$5#1$ easy as that$6#2$, sir. If you want the paper, you
222:146,13[J  ]| must wait."
222:146,14[B  ]| "But waiting is horrible, you know," 
222:146,14['  ]| urged Newman.
222:146,15[J  ]| "I am sure I have waited; I have waited these many
222:146,16[J  ]| years," 
222:146,16['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread.
222:146,17[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is very true. You have waited for$4$ me. I
222:146,18[B  ]| will$1$ not forget it. And yet, how comes it you did not
222:146,19[B  ]| do as M%*de*Bellegarde said, show the paper to$4$ some*one?"
222:146,20[B  ]| 
222:146,21[J  ]| "To$4$ whom should I show it?" 
222:146,21['  ]| answered Mrs%*Bread,
222:146,22['  ]| mournfully. 
222:146,22[J  ]| "It was not easy to$9$ know, and many is the
222:146,23[J  ]| night I have lain awake thinking of it. Six months afterwards,
222:146,24[J  ]| when they married Mademoiselle to$4$ her vicious
222:146,25[J  ]| old husband, I was very near bringing it out. I thought
222:146,26[J  ]| it was my duty to$9$ do something with it, and yet I was
222:146,27[J  ]| mightily afraid. I did not know what was written on$4$ the
222:146,28[J  ]| paper, or how bad it might be, and there was no*one I
222:146,29[J  ]| could trust enough to$9$ ask. And it seemed to$4$ me a cruel
222:146,30[J  ]| kindness to$9$ do that$6#2$ sweet young creature, letting her
222:146,31[J  ]| know that$3$ her father had written her mother down so$5#1$
222:146,32[J  ]| shamefully; for$3$ that$6#2$ is what he did, I suppose. I thought
222:146,33[J  ]| she would rather be unhappy with her husband than be
222:146,34[J  ]| unhappy that$6#2$ way. It was for$4$ her and for$4$ my dear Mr%*Valentin
222:146,35[J  ]| I kept quiet. Quiet I call it, but for$4$ me it was
222:146,36[J  ]| a weary quietness. It worried me terribly, and it changed
222:146,37[J  ]| me altogether. But for$4$ others I held my tongue, and no*one,
222:147,01[J  ]| to$4$ this hour, knows what passed between the poor
222:147,02[J  ]| Marquis and me."
222:147,03[B  ]| "But evidently there were suspicions," 
222:147,03['  ]| said Newman.
222:147,04[B  ]| "Where did Mr%*Valentin get his ideas?"
222:147,05[J  ]| "It was the little doctor from Poitiers. He was very
222:147,06[J  ]| ill-satisfied, and he made a great talk. He was a sharp
222:147,07[J  ]| Frenchman, and coming to$4$ the house, as he did, day after
222:147,08[J  ]| day, I suppose he saw more than he seemed to$9$ see. And
222:147,09[J  ]| indeed the way the poor Marquis went off as soon as his
222:147,10[J  ]| eyes fell on$4$ my lady was a most shocking sight for$4$ any*one.
222:147,11[J  ]| The medical gentleman from Paris was much more
222:147,12[J  ]| accommodating, and he hushed up$5$ the other. But for$4$ all
222:147,13[J  ]| he could do Mr%*Valentin and Mademoiselle heard something;
222:147,14[J  ]| they knew their father's death was somehow
222:147,15[J  ]| against nature. Of course they could not accuse their
222:147,16[J  ]| mother, and, as I tell you, I was as dumb as that$6#2$ stone.
222:147,17[J  ]| Mr%*Valentin used to$9$ look at me sometimes, and his eyes
222:147,18[J  ]| seemed to$9$ shine, as if he were thinking of asking me
222:147,19[J  ]| something. I was dreadfully afraid he would speak, and
222:147,20[J  ]| I always looked away and went about my business. If I
222:147,21[J  ]| were to$9$ tell him, I was sure he would hate me afterwards,
222:147,22[J  ]| and that$6#2$ I could never have borne. Once I went up$5$ to$4$
222:147,23[J  ]| him and took a great liberty; I kissed him, as I had
222:147,24[J  ]| kissed him when he was a child. 
222:147,24@j   | ""You ought not to$9$ look
222:147,25@j   | so$5#1$ sad, sir,"" 
222:147,25[J  ]| I said; 
222:147,25@j   | ""believe your poor old Bread. Such
222:147,26@j   | a gallant, handsome young man can having nothing to$9$ be
222:147,27@j   | sad about."" 
222:147,27[J  ]| And I think he understood me; he understood
222:147,28[J  ]| that$3$ I was begging off, and he made up$5$ his mind
222:147,29[J  ]| in$4$ his own way. He went about with his unasked question
222:147,30[J  ]| in$4$ his mind, as I did with my untold tale; we were
222:147,31[J  ]| both afraid of bringing dishonour on$4$ a great house. And
222:147,32[J  ]| it was the same with Mademoiselle. She did not know
222:147,33[J  ]| what had happened; she would not know. My lady and
222:147,34[J  ]| Mr%*Urbain asked me no$2$ questions, because they had no$2$
222:147,35[J  ]| reason. I was as still as a mouse. When I was younger
222:147,36[J  ]| my lady thought me a hussy, and now she thought me a
222:147,37[J  ]| fool. How should I have any ideas?"
222:148,01[B  ]| "But you say the little doctor from Poitiers made a
222:148,02[B  ]| talk," 
222:148,02['  ]| said Newman. 
222:148,02[B  ]| "Did no*one take it up$5$?"
222:148,03[J  ]| "I heard nothing of it, sir. They are always talking
222:148,04[J  ]| scandal in$4$ these foreign countries ~~ you may have noticed
222:148,05[J  ]| ~~ and I suppose they shook their heads over Madame*de*Bellegarde.
222:148,06[J  ]| But, after all, what could they say? The
222:148,07[J  ]| Marquis had been ill, and the Marquis had died; he had
222:148,08[J  ]| as good a right to$9$ die as any*one. The doctor could not
222:148,09[J  ]| say he had not come honestly by$4$ his cramps. The next
222:148,10[J  ]| year the little doctor left the place and bought a practice
222:148,11[J  ]| in$4$ Bordeaux, and if there has been any gossip it died
222:148,12[J  ]| out. And I do not think there could have been much
222:148,13[J  ]| gossip about my lady that$6#1$ any*one would listen to$4$. My
222:148,14[J  ]| lady is so$5#1$ very respectable."
222:148,15['  ]| Newman, at this last affirmation, broke into an immense,
222:148,16['  ]| resounding laugh. Mrs%*Bread had begun to$9$
222:148,17['  ]| move away from the spot where they were sitting, and he
222:148,18['  ]| helped her through the aperture in$4$ the wall and along the
222:148,19['  ]| homeward path. 
222:148,19[B  ]| "Yes," 
222:148,19['  ]| he said, 
222:148,19[B  ]| "my lady's respectability
222:148,20[B  ]| is delicious; it will$1$ be a great crash!" 
222:148,20['  ]| They
222:148,21['  ]| reached the empty space in$4$ front of the church, where
222:148,22['  ]| they stopped a moment, looking at each other with
222:148,23['  ]| something of an air of closer fellowship ~~ like$4$ two sociable
222:148,24['  ]| conspirators. 
222:148,24[B  ]| "But what was it," 
222:148,24['  ]| said Newman, 
222:148,24[B  ]| "What 
222:148,25[B  ]| was it she did to$4$ her husband? She did not stab him or
222:148,26[B  ]| poison him."
222:148,27[J  ]| "I do not know, sir; no*one saw it."
222:148,28[B  ]| "Unless it was Mr%*Urbain. You say he was walking
222:148,29[B  ]| up$5$ and down, outside the room. Perhaps he looked
222:148,30[B  ]| through the keyhole. But no$7$; I think that$3$ with his
222:148,31[B  ]| mother he would take it on$4$ trust."
222:148,32[J  ]| "You may be sure I have often thought of it," 
222:148,32['  ]| said
222:148,33['  ]| Mrs%*Bread. 
222:148,33[J  ]| "I am sure she did not touch him with her
222:148,34[J  ]| hands. I saw nothing on$4$ him, anywhere. I believe it
222:148,35[J  ]| was in$4$ this way. He had a fit of his great pain, and he
222:148,36[J  ]| asked her for$4$ his medicine. Instead of giving it to$4$ him
222:148,37[J  ]| she went and poured it away, before his eyes. Then he
222:149,01[J  ]| saw what she meant, and, weak and helpless as he was,
222:149,02[J  ]| he was frightened, he was terrified. 
222:149,02@w   | ""You want to$9$ kill
222:149,03@w   | me,"" 
222:149,03[J  ]| he said. 
222:149,03@c   | ""Yes, M%*le*Marquis, I want to$9$ kill you,""
222:149,04[J  ]| says my lady, and sits down and fixes her eyes upon$4$ him.
222:149,05[J  ]| You know my lady's eyes, I think, sir; it was with them
222:149,06[J  ]| she killed him; it was with the terrible strong will$0$ she
222:149,07[J  ]| put into them. It was like$4$ a frost on$4$ flowers."
222:149,08[B  ]| "Well, you are a very intelligent woman; you have
222:149,09[B  ]| shown great discretion," 
222:149,09['  ]| said Newman. 
222:149,09[B  ]| "I shall value
222:149,10[B  ]| your services as housekeeper extremely."
222:149,11['  ]| They had begun to$9$ descend the hill, and Mrs%*Bread
222:149,12['  ]| said nothing until they reached the foot. Newman
222:149,13['  ]| strolled lightly beside her; his head was thrown back as
222:149,14['  ]| he was gazing at all the stars: he seemed to$4$ himself 
222:149,14@b   | to$9$
222:149,15@b   | be riding his vengeance along the Milky*Way. 
222:149,15[J  ]| "So$3$ you
222:149,16[J  ]| are serious, sir, about that$6#2$?" 
222:149,16['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, softly.
222:149,17[B  ]| "About your living with me? Why of course I take
222:149,18[B  ]| care of you to$4$ the end of your days. You can not live
222:149,19[B  ]| with those people any longer. And you ought not to$9$,
222:149,20[B  ]| you know, after this. You give me the paper, and you
222:149,21[B  ]| move away."
222:149,22[J  ]| "It seems very flighty in$4$ me to$9$ be taking a new place
222:149,23[J  ]| at this time of life," 
222:149,23['  ]| observed Mrs%*Bread, lugubriously.
222:149,24[J  ]| "But if you are going to$9$ turn the house upside down, I
222:149,25[J  ]| would rather be out of it."
222:149,26[B  ]| "Oh," 
222:149,26['  ]| said Newman, in$4$ the cheerful tone of a man
222:149,27['  ]| who$6#1$ feels rich in$4$ alternatives, 
222:149,27[B  ]| "I do not think I shall
222:149,28[B  ]| bring in$5$ the constables, if that$6#2$ is what you mean. Whatever
222:149,29[B  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde did, I am afraid the law
222:149,30[B  ]| can not take hold of it. But I am glad of that$6#2$; it leaves
222:149,31[B  ]| it altogether to$4$ me!"
222:149,32[J  ]| "You are a mighty bold gentleman, sir," 
222:149,32['  ]| murmured
222:149,33['  ]| Mrs%*Bread, looking at him round the edge of her great
222:149,34['  ]| bonnet.
222:149,35['  ]| He walked with her back to$4$ the cha^teau; the curfew
222:149,36['  ]| had tolled for$4$ the laborious villagers of Fleurie=res, and
222:149,37['  ]| the street was unlighted and empty. She promised him
222:150,01['  ]| that$3$ 
222:150,01@j   | he should have the Marquis's manuscript in$4$ half an
222:150,02@j   | hour. 
222:150,02['  ]| Mrs%*Bread choosing not to$9$ go in$5$ by$4$ the great
222:150,03['  ]| gate, they passed round by$4$ a winding lane to$4$ a door in$4$
222:150,04['  ]| the wall of the park, of which$6#1$ she had the key, and
222:150,05['  ]| which$6#1$ would enable her to$9$ enter the cha^teau from
222:150,06['  ]| behind. Newman arranged with her that$3$ he should
222:150,07['  ]| await outside the wall her return with the coveted
222:150,08['  ]| document.
222:150,09['  ]| She went in$5$, and his half-hour in$4$ the dusky lane
222:150,10['  ]| seemed very long. But he had plenty to$9$ think about.
222:150,11['  ]| At last the door in$4$ the wall opened and Mrs%*Bread stood
222:150,12['  ]| there, with one hand on$4$ the latch and the other holding
222:150,13['  ]| out a scrap of white paper, folded small. In$4$ a moment
222:150,14['  ]| he was master of it, and it had passed into his waistcoat
222:150,15['  ]| pocket. 
222:150,15[B  ]| "Come and see me in$4$ Paris," 
222:150,15['  ]| he said; 
222:150,15[B  ]| "we
222:150,16[B  ]| are to$9$ settle your future, you know; and I will$1$ translate
222:150,17[B  ]| poor M%*de*Bellegarde's French to$4$ you." 
222:150,17['  ]| Never had he
222:150,18['  ]| felt so$5#1$ grateful as at this moment for$4$ M%*Nioche's
222:150,19['  ]| instructions.
222:150,20['  ]| Mrs%*Bread's dull eyes had followed the disappearance
222:150,21['  ]| of the paper, and she gave a heavy sigh. 
222:150,21[J  ]| "Well, you
222:150,22[J  ]| have done what you would with me, sir, and I suppose
222:150,23[J  ]| you will$1$ do it again. You \must\ take care of me now.
222:150,24[J  ]| You are a terribly positive gentleman."
222:150,25[B  ]| "Just now," 
222:150,25['  ]| said Newman, 
222:150,25[B  ]| "I am a terribly impatient
222:150,26[B  ]| gentleman!" 
222:150,26['  ]| And he bade her good*night, and walked
222:150,27['  ]| rapidly back to$4$ the inn. He ordered his vehicle to$9$ be
222:150,28['  ]| prepared for$4$ his return to$4$ Poitiers, and then he shut the
222:150,29['  ]| door of the common 9salle and strode towards the solitary
222:150,30['  ]| lamp on$4$ the chimney-piece. He pulled out the paper
222:150,31['  ]| and quickly unfolded it. It was covered with pencil-marks,
222:150,32['  ]| which$6#1$ at first, in$4$ the feeble light, seemed indistinct.
222:150,33['  ]| But Newman's fierce curiosity forced a meaning from the
222:150,34['  ]| tremulous signs. The English of them was as follows:
222:150,35['  ]| 
222:150,36[W  ]| "My wife has tried to$9$ kill me, and she has done it;
222:150,37[W  ]| I am dying, dying horribly. It is to$9$ marry my dear
222:151,01[W  ]| daughter to$4$ M%*de*Cintre=. With all my soul I protest ~
222:151,02[W  ]| I forbid it. I am not insane ~~ ask the doctors, ask Mrs%*B~~.
222:151,03[W  ]| It was alone with me here, to-night; she
222:151,04[W  ]| attacked me and put me to$4$ death. It is murder, if
222:151,05[W  ]| murder ever was. Ask the doctors.
222:151,06[W  ]| "HENRI-URBAIN*DE*BELLEGARDE."
223:151,01['  ]| Newman returned to$4$ Paris the second day after his
223:151,02['  ]| interview with Mrs%*Bread. The morrow he had spent
223:151,03['  ]| at Poitiers, reading over and over again the little document
223:151,04['  ]| which$6#1$ he had lodged in$4$ his pocket-book, and
223:151,05['  ]| thinking what he would do in$4$ the circumstances, and how
223:151,06['  ]| he would do it. He would not have said that$3$ Poitiers
223:151,07['  ]| was an amusing place; yet the day seemed very short.
223:151,08['  ]| Domiciled once more in$4$ the Boulevard*Haussmann, he
223:151,09['  ]| walked over to$4$ the Rue*de*l'Universite= and inquired of
223:151,10['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde's portress 
223:151,10@b   | whether the Marquise
223:151,11@b   | had come back. 
223:151,11['  ]| The portress told him that$3$ 
223:151,11@v   | she had
223:151,12@v   | arrived, with M%*le*Marquis, on$4$ the preceding day, 
223:151,12['  ]| and
223:151,13['  ]| further informed him that$3$ 
223:151,13@v   | if he desired to$9$ enter, Madame*de*Bellegarde
223:151,14@v   | and her son were both at home. 
223:151,14['  ]| As she
223:151,15['  ]| said these words the little white-faced old woman who$6#1$
223:151,16['  ]| peered out of the dusky gate-house of the Ho^tel*de*Bellegarde
223:151,17['  ]| gave a small wicked smile ~~ a smile which$6#1$ seemed
223:151,18['  ]| to$4$ Newman to$9$ mean, 
223:151,18@v   | "Go in$5$ if you dare!" 
223:151,18['  ]| She was
223:151,19['  ]| evidently versed in$4$ the current domestic history; she
223:151,20['  ]| was placed where she could feel the pulse of the house.
223:151,21['  ]| Newman stood a moment, twisting his moustache and
223:151,22['  ]| looking at her; then he abruptly turned away. But
223:151,23['  ]| this was not because he was afraid to$9$ go in$5$ ~~ though he
223:151,24['  ]| doubted whether, if he did so$5#2$, he should be able to$9$
223:151,25['  ]| make his way, unchallenged, into the presence of
223:152,01['  ]| Madame*de*Cintre='s relatives. Confidence ~~ excessive
223:152,02['  ]| confidence, perhaps ~~ quite as much as timidity, prompted
223:152,03['  ]| his retreat. He was nursing this thunderbolt; he loved
223:152,04['  ]| it; he was unwilling to$9$ part with it. He seemed 
223:152,04@b   | to$9$ be
223:152,05@b   | holding it aloft in$4$ the rumbling, vaguely-flashing air,
223:152,06@b   | directly over the heads of his victims, 
223:152,06['  ]| and he fancied 
223:152,06@b   | he
223:152,07@b   | could see their pale upturned faces. 
223:152,07['  ]| Few specimens of
223:152,08['  ]| the human countenance had ever given him such pleasure
223:152,09['  ]| as these, lighted in$4$ the lurid fashion I have hinted at,
223:152,10['  ]| and he was disposed to$9$ sip the cup of contemplative
223:152,11['  ]| revenge in$4$ a leisurely fashion. It must be added, too,
223:152,12['  ]| that$3$ 
223:152,12@b   | he was at a loss to$9$ see exactly how he could arrange
223:152,13@b   | to$9$ witness the operation of his thunder. To$9$ send in$4$ his
223:152,14@b   | card to$4$ Madame*de*Bellegarde would be a waste of
223:152,15@b   | ceremony; she would certainly decline to$9$ receive him.
223:152,16@b   | On$4$ the other hand, he could not force his way into her
223:152,17@b   | presence. 
223:152,17['  ]| It annoyed him keenly to$9$ think that$3$ 
223:152,16@b   | he
223:152,18@b   | might be reduced to$4$ the blind satisfaction of writing her
223:152,19@b   | a letter; 
223:152,19['  ]| but he consoled himself in$4$ a measure with the
223:152,20['  ]| reflection that$3$ 
223:152,20@b   | a letter might lead to$4$ an interview. 
223:152,20['  ]| He
223:152,21['  ]| went home, and feeling rather tired ~~ 
223:152,21@b   | nursing a vengeance
223:152,22@b   | was, 
223:152,22['  ]| it must be confessed, 
223:152,22@b   | a rather fatiguing process;
223:152,23@b   | it took a good deal out of one ~~ 
223:152,23['  ]| flung himself into
223:152,24['  ]| one of his brocaded 9fauteuils, stretched his legs, thrust
223:152,25['  ]| his hands into his pockets, and, while he watched the
223:152,26['  ]| reflected sunset fading from the ornate house-tops on$4$ the
223:152,27['  ]| opposite side of the Boulovard, began mentally to$9$ compose
223:152,28['  ]| a cool epistle to$4$ Madame*de*Bellegarde. While
223:152,29['  ]| he was so$5#2$ occupied his servant threw open the door and
223:152,30['  ]| announced ceremoniously, 
223:152,30[W  ]| "Madame*Brett!"
223:152,31['  ]| Newman roused himself, expectantly, and in$4$ a few
223:152,32['  ]| moments perceived upon$4$ his threshold the worthy woman
223:152,33['  ]| with whom he had conversed to$4$ such good purpose on$4$
223:152,34['  ]| the starlit hill-top of Fleurie=res. Mrs%*Bread had made
223:152,35['  ]| for$4$ this visit the same toilet as for$4$ her former expedition.
223:152,36['  ]| Newman was struck with her distinguished appearance.
223:152,37['  ]| His lamp was not lit, and as her large grave face gazed
223:153,01['  ]| at him through the light dusk from under the shadow of
223:153,02['  ]| her ample bonnet, he felt the incongruity of such a person
223:153,03['  ]| presenting herself as a servant. He greeted her with
223:153,04['  ]| high geniality, and bade her 
223:153,04@b   | come in$5$ and sit down and
223:153,05@b   | make herself comfortable. There was something which$6#1$
223:153,06@b   | might have touched the springs both of mirth and of
223:153,07@b   | melancholy in$4$ the ancient maidenliness with which$6#1$ Mrs%*Bread
223:153,08@b   | endeavoured to$9$ comply with these directions.
223:153,09@b   | She was not playing at being fluttered, which$6#1$ would
223:153,10@b   | have been simply ridiculous; she was doing her best to$9$
223:153,11@b   | carry herself as a person so$5#1$ humble, that$3$, for$4$ her, even
223:153,12@b   | embarrassment would have been pretentious; but evidently
223:153,13@b   | she had never dreamed of its being in$4$ her horoscope
223:153,14@b   | to$9$ pay a visit, at nightfall, to$4$ a friendly single
223:153,15@b   | gentleman who$6#1$ lived in$4$ theatrical-looking rooms on$4$ one
223:153,16@b   | of the new boulevards.
223:153,17[J  ]| "I truly hope I am not forgetting my place, sir," 
223:153,17['  ]| she
223:153,18['  ]| murmured.
223:153,19[B  ]| "Forgetting your place?" 
223:153,19['  ]| cried Newman. 
223:153,19[B  ]| "Why,
223:153,20[B  ]| you are remembering it. This is your place, you know.
223:153,21[B  ]| You are already in$4$ my service; your wages, as housekeeper,
223:153,22[B  ]| began a fortnight ago. I can tell you my house
223:153,23[B  ]| wants keeping! Why do not you take off your bonnet
223:153,24[B  ]| and stay?"
223:153,25[J  ]| "Take off my bonnet?" 
223:153,25['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, with a timid
223:153,26['  ]| literalness. 
223:153,26[J  ]| "Oh sir, I have not my cap. And with
223:153,27[J  ]| your leave, sir, I could not keep house in$4$ my best gown."
223:153,28[B  ]| "Never mind your gown," 
223:153,28['  ]| said Newman, cheerfully.
223:153,29[B  ]| "You shall have a better gown than that$6#2$."
223:153,30['  ]| Mrs%*Bread stared solemnly, and then stretched her
223:153,31['  ]| hands over her lustreless satin skirt, as if the perilous
223:153,32['  ]| side of her situation was defining itself. 
223:153,32[J  ]| "Oh sir, I am
223:153,33[J  ]| fond of my own clothes," 
223:153,33['  ]| she murmured.
223:153,34[B  ]| "I hope you have left those wicked people, at any
223:153,35[B  ]| rate," 
223:153,35['  ]| said Newman.
223:153,36[J  ]| "Well, sir, here I am!" 
223:153,36['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread. 
223:153,36[J  ]| "That$6#2$ is
223:153,37[J  ]| all I can tell you. Here I sit, poor Catherine*Bread.
223:154,01[J  ]| It is a strange place for$4$ me to$9$ be. I do not know myself;
223:154,02[J  ]| I never supposed I was so$5#1$ bold. But indeed, sir, I have
223:154,03[J  ]| gone as far as my own strength will$1$ bear me."
223:154,04[B  ]| "Oh, come, Mrs%*Bread!" 
223:154,04['  ]| said Newman, almost
223:154,05['  ]| caressingly, 
223:154,05[B  ]| "do not make yourself uncomfortable. Now is
223:154,06[B  ]| the time to$9$ feel lively, you know."
223:154,07['  ]| She began to$9$ speak again with a trembling voice. 
223:154,07[J  ]| "I
223:154,08[J  ]| think it would be more respectable if I could ~~ if I could
223:154,09[J  ]| ~~" 
223:154,09['  ]| and her voice trembled to$4$ a pause.
223:154,10[B  ]| "If you could give up$5$ this sort of thing altogether?"
223:154,11['  ]| said Newman kindly, trying to$9$ anticipate her meaning,
223:154,12['  ]| which$6#1$ he supposed might be a wish to$9$ retire from service.
223:154,13[J  ]| "If I could give up$5$ everything, sir! All I should
223:154,14[J  ]| ask is a decent Protestant burial."
223:154,15[B  ]| "Burial!" 
223:154,15['  ]| cried Newman, with a burst of laughter.
223:154,16[B  ]| "Why, to$9$ bury you now would be a sad piece of
223:154,17[B  ]| extravagance. It is only rascals who$6#1$ have to$9$ be buried
223:154,18[B  ]| to$9$ get respectable. Honest folks like$4$ you and me can
223:154,19[B  ]| live our time out ~~ and live together. Come! did you
223:154,20[B  ]| bring your baggage?"
223:154,21[J  ]| "My box is locked and corded; but I have not yet
223:154,22[J  ]| spoken to$4$ my lady."
223:154,23[B  ]| "Speak to$4$ her, then, and have done with it. I should
223:154,24[B  ]| like$1$ to$9$ have your chance!" 
223:154,24['  ]| cried Newman.
223:154,25[J  ]| "I would gladly give it you, sir. I have passed some
223:154,26[J  ]| weary hours in$4$ my lady's dressing-room; but this will$1$ be
223:154,27[J  ]| one of the longest. She will$1$ tax me with ingratitude."
223:154,28[B  ]| "Well," 
223:154,28['  ]| said Newman, 
223:154,28[B  ]| "so$5#1$ long as you can tax her
223:154,29[B  ]| with murder ~"
223:154,30[J  ]| "Oh, sir, I can not; not I," 
223:154,30['  ]| sighed Mrs%*Bread.
223:154,31[B  ]| "You do not mean to$9$ say anything about it? So$5#1$ much
223:154,32[B  ]| the better. Leave that$6#2$ to$4$ me."
223:154,33[J  ]| "If she calls me a thankless old woman," 
223:154,33['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread,
223:154,34[J  ]| "I shall have nothing to$9$ say. But it is better
223:154,35[J  ]| so$5#2$," 
223:154,35['  ]| she softly added. 
223:154,35[J  ]| "She shall be my lady to$4$ the
223:154,36[J  ]| last. That$6#2$ will$1$ be more respectable."
223:154,37[B  ]| "And then you will$1$ come to$4$ me and I shall be your
223:155,01[B  ]| gentleman," 
223:155,01['  ]| said Newman; 
223:155,01[B  ]| "that$6#2$ will$1$ be more respectable
223:155,02[B  ]| still!"
223:155,03['  ]| Mrs%*Bread rose, with lowered eyes, and stood a
223:155,04['  ]| moment; then, looking up$5$, she rested her eyes upon$4$
223:155,05['  ]| Newman's face. The disordered proprieties were somehow
223:155,06['  ]| settling to$4$ rest. She looked at Newman so$5#1$ long
223:155,07['  ]| and so$5#1$ fixedly, with such a dull intense devotedness,
223:155,08['  ]| that$3$ he himself might have had a pretext for$4$ embarrassment.
223:155,09['  ]| At last she said gently: 
223:155,09[J  ]| "You are not
223:155,10[J  ]| looking well, sir."
223:155,11[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is natural enough," 
223:155,11['  ]| said Newman. 
223:155,11[B  ]| "I have
223:155,12[B  ]| nothing to$9$ feel well about. To$9$ be very indifferent and
223:155,13[B  ]| very fierce, very dull and very jovial, very sick and very
223:155,14[B  ]| lively, all at once ~~ why, it rather mixes one up$5$."
223:155,15['  ]| Mrs%*Bread gave a noiseless sigh. 
223:155,15[J  ]| "I can tell you
223:155,16[J  ]| something that$6#1$ will$1$ make you feel duller still, if you
223:155,17[J  ]| want to$9$ feel all one way. About Madame*de*Cintre=."
223:155,18[B  ]| "What can you tell me?" 
223:155,18['  ]| Newman demanded.
223:155,19[B  ]| "Not that$3$ you have seen her?"
223:155,20['  ]| She shook her head. 
223:155,20[J  ]| "No$7$, indeed, sir, nor ever
223:155,21[J  ]| shall. That$6#2$ is the dullness of it. Nor my lady. Nor
223:155,22[J  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde."
223:155,23[B  ]| "You mean that$3$ she is kept so$5#1$ close?"
223:155,24[J  ]| "Close, close," 
223:155,24['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, very softly.
223:155,25['  ]| These words, for$4$ an instant, seemed to$9$ check the
223:155,26['  ]| beating of Newman's heart. He leaned back in$4$ his
223:155,27['  ]| chair, staring up$5$ at the old woman. 
223:155,27[B  ]| "They have tried
223:155,28[B  ]| to$9$ see her, and she would not ~~ she could not?"
223:155,29[J  ]| "She refused ~~ for*ever! I had it from my lady's own
223:155,30[J  ]| maid," 
223:155,30['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, 
223:155,30[J  ]| "who$6#1$ had it from my lady.
223:155,31[J  ]| To$9$ speak of it to$4$ such a person my lady must have felt
223:155,32[J  ]| the shock. Madame*de*Cintre= will$1$ not see them now,
223:155,34[J  ]| and now is her only chance. A while hence she will$1$
223:155,35[J  ]| have no$2$ chance."
223:155,36[B  ]| "You mean the other women ~~ the mothers, the
223:155,37[B  ]| daughters, the sisters; what is it they call them? ~~ will$1$ not
223:155,38[B  ]| let her?"
223:156,01[J  ]| "It is what they call the rule of the house ~~ or of the
223:156,02[J  ]| order, I believe," 
223:156,02['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread. 
223:156,02[J  ]| "There is no$2$ rule
223:156,03[J  ]| so$5#1$ strict as that$6#2$ of the Carmelites. The bad women in$4$
223:156,04[J  ]| the reformatories are fine ladies to$4$ them. They wear
223:156,05[J  ]| old brown cloaks ~~ so$5#2$ the \9femme*de*chambre\ told me ~
223:156,06[J  ]| that$3$ you would not use for$4$ a horse blanket. And the
223:156,07[J  ]| poor Countess was so$5#1$ fond of soft-feeling dresses; she
223:156,08[J  ]| would never have anything stiff! They sleep on$4$ the
223:156,09[J  ]| ground," 
223:156,09['  ]| Mrs%*Bread went on$5$; 
223:156,09[J  ]| "they are no$2$ better, no$2$
223:156,10[J  ]| better" 
223:156,10['  ]| ~~ and she hesitated for$4$ a comparison ~~ 
223:156,10[J  ]| "they
223:156,11[J  ]| are no$2$ better than tinkers' wives. They give up$5$ everything,
223:156,12[J  ]| down to$4$ the very name their poor old nurses
223:156,13[J  ]| called them by$5$. They give up$5$ father and mother,
223:156,14[J  ]| brother and sister ~~ to$9$ say nothing of other persons,"
223:156,15['  ]| Mrs%*Bread delicately added. 
223:156,15[J  ]| "They wear a shroud
223:156,16[J  ]| under their brown cloaks and a rope round their waists,
223:156,17[J  ]| and they get up$5$ on$4$ winter nights and go off into cold
223:156,18[J  ]| places to$9$ pray to$4$ the Virgin*Mary. The Virgin*Mary
223:156,19[J  ]| is a hard mistress!"
223:156,20['  ]| Mrs%*Bread, dwelling on$4$ these terrible facts, sat dry-eyed
223:156,21['  ]| and pale, with her hands clasped in$4$ her satin
223:156,22['  ]| lap. Newman gave a melancholy groan and fell forward,
223:156,23['  ]| leaning his head in$4$ his hands. There was a long silence,
223:156,24['  ]| broken only by$4$ the ticking of the great gilded clock on$4$
223:156,25['  ]| the chimney-piece.
223:156,26[B  ]| "Where is this place ~~ where is the convent?"
223:156,27['  ]| Newman asked at last, looking up$5$.
223:156,28[J  ]| "There are two houses," 
223:156,28['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread. 
223:156,28[J  ]| "I found
223:156,29[J  ]| out; I thought you would like$1$ to$9$ know ~~ though it is
223:156,30[J  ]| poor comfort, I think. One is the Avenue*de*Messine;
223:156,31[J  ]| they have learned that$3$ Madame*de*Cintre= is here. The
223:156,32[J  ]| other is in$4$ the Rue*d'Enfer. That$6#2$ is a terrible name; I
223:156,33[J  ]| suppose you know what it means."
223:156,34['  ]| Newman got up$5$ and walked away to$4$ the end of his
223:156,35['  ]| long room. When he came back Mrs%*Bread had got
223:156,36['  ]| up$5$, and stood by$4$ the fire with folded hands. 
223:156,36[B  ]| "Tell me
223:156,37[B  ]| this," 
223:156,37['  ]| he said. 
223:156,37[B  ]| "Can I get near her ~~ even if I do not
223:157,01[B  ]| see her? Can I look through a grating, or some such
223:157,02[B  ]| thing, at the place where she is?"
223:157,03['  ]| It is said that$3$ all women love a lover, and Mrs%*Bread's
223:157,04['  ]| sense of the pre-established harmony which$6#1$ kept
223:157,05['  ]| servants in$4$ their "place," even as planets in$4$ their orbits
223:157,06['  ]| (not that$3$ Mrs%*Bread had ever consciously likened herself
223:157,07['  ]| to$4$ a planet), barely availed to$9$ temper the maternal
223:157,08['  ]| melancholy with which$6#1$ she leaned her head on$4$ one side
223:157,09['  ]| and gazed at her new employer. She probably felt for$4$
223:157,10['  ]| the moment as if, forty years before, she had held him
223:157,11['  ]| also in$4$ her arms. 
223:157,11[J  ]| "That$6#2$ would not help you, sir. It
223:157,12[J  ]| would only make her seem farther away."
223:157,13[B  ]| "I want to$9$ go there, at all events," 
223:157,13['  ]| said Newman.
223:157,14[B  ]| "Avenue*de*Messine, you say? And what is it they
223:157,15[B  ]| call themselves?"
223:157,16[J  ]| "Carmelites," 
223:157,16['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread.
223:157,17[B  ]| "I shall remember that$6#2$."
223:157,18['  ]| Mrs%*Bread hesitated a moment, and then: 
223:157,18[J  ]| "It is
223:157,19[J  ]| my duty to$9$ tell you this, sir," 
223:157,19['  ]| she went on$5$. 
223:157,19[J  ]| "The
223:157,20[J  ]| convent has a chapel, and some people are admitted on$4$
223:157,21[J  ]| Sunday to$4$ the mass. You do not see the poor creatures
223:157,22[J  ]| that$6#1$ are shut up$4$ there, but I am told you can hear them
223:157,23[J  ]| sing. It is a wonder they have any heart for$4$ singing!
223:157,24[J  ]| Some Sunday I shall make bold to$9$ go. It seems to$4$ me
223:157,25[J  ]| I should know \her\ voice in$4$ fifty."
223:157,26['  ]| Newman looked at his visitor very gratefully; then
223:157,27['  ]| he held out his hand and shook hers. 
223:157,27[B  ]| "Thank you,"
223:157,28['  ]| he said. 
223:157,28[B  ]| "If any*one can get in$5$, I will$1$." 
223:157,28['  ]| A moment
223:157,29['  ]| later Mrs%*Bread proposed, deferentially, to$9$ retire, but
223:157,30['  ]| he checked her and put a lighted candle into her hand.
223:157,31[B  ]| "There are half a dozen rooms there I do not use," 
223:157,31['  ]| he
223:157,32['  ]| said, pointing through an open door. 
223:157,32[B  ]| "Go and look
223:157,33[B  ]| at them and take your choice. You can live in$4$ the one
223:157,34[B  ]| you like$1$ best." 
223:157,34['  ]| From this bewildering opportunity Mrs%*Bread
223:157,35['  ]| at first recoiled; but finally, yielding to$4$ Newman's
223:157,36['  ]| gentle, reassuring push, she wandered off into the dusk
223:157,37['  ]| with her tremulous taper. She remained absent a
223:158,01['  ]| quarter of an hour, during which$6#1$ Newman paced up$5$ and
223:158,02['  ]| down, stopped occasionally to$9$ look out of the window at
223:158,03['  ]| the lights on$4$ the Boulevard, and then resumed his walk.
223:158,04['  ]| Mrs%*Bread's relish for$4$ her investigations apparently
223:158,05['  ]| increased as she proceeded; but at last she reappeared
223:158,06['  ]| and deposited her candlestick on$4$ the chimney-piece.
223:158,07[B  ]| "Well, have you picked one out?" 
223:158,07['  ]| asked Newman.
223:158,08[J  ]| "A room, sir? They are all too fine for$4$ a dingy old
223:158,09[J  ]| body like$4$ me. There is not one that$6#1$ has not a bit of
223:158,10[J  ]| gilding."
223:158,11[B  ]| "It is only tinsel, Mrs%*Bread," 
223:158,11['  ]| said Newman. 
223:158,11[B  ]| "If
223:158,12[B  ]| you stay there a while it will$1$ all peel off of itself." 
223:158,12['  ]| And
223:158,13['  ]| he gave a dismal smile.
223:158,14[J  ]| "Oh, sir, there are things enough peeling off already!"
223:158,15['  ]| rejoined Mrs%*Bread, with a head-shake. 
223:158,15[J  ]| "Since I was
223:158,16[J  ]| there I thought I would look about me. I do not believe
223:158,17[J  ]| you know, sir. The corners are most dreadful. You
223:158,18[J  ]| do want a housekeeper, that$6#2$ you do; you want a tidy
223:158,19[J  ]| Englishwoman that$6#1$ is not above taking hold of a broom."
223:158,20['  ]| Newman assured her that$3$ 
223:158,20@b   | he suspected, if he had not
223:158,21@b   | measured, his domestic abuses, and that$3$ to$9$ reform them
223:158,22@b   | was a mission worthy of her powers. 
223:158,22['  ]| She held her
223:158,23['  ]| candlestick aloft again and looked round the salon with
223:158,24['  ]| compassionate glances; then she intimated that$3$ she
223:158,25['  ]| accepted the mission, and that$3$ its sacred character would 
223:158,26['  ]| sustain her in$4$ her rupture with Madame*de*Bellegarde.
223:158,27['  ]| With this she curtsied herself away.
223:158,28['  ]| She came back the next day with her worldly goods,
223:158,29['  ]| and Newman going into his drawing-room, found her
223:158,30['  ]| upon$4$ her aged knees before a divan, sewing up$5$ some
223:158,31['  ]| detached fringe. He questioned her as to$4$ her leavetaking
223:158,32['  ]| with her late mistress, and she said 
223:158,32@j   | it had proved
223:158,33@j   | easier than she feared. 
223:158,33[J  ]| "I was perfectly civil, sir, but
223:158,34[J  ]| the Lord helped me to$9$ remember that$3$ a good woman
223:158,35[J  ]| has no$2$ call to$9$ tremble before a bad one."
223:158,36[B  ]| "I should think so$5#2$!" 
223:158,36['  ]| cried Newman. 
223:158,36[B  ]| "And does
223:158,37[B  ]| she know you have come to$4$ me?"
223:159,01[J  ]| "She asked me where I was going, and I mentioned
223:159,02[J  ]| your name," 
223:159,02['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread.
223:159,03[B  ]| "What did she say to$4$ that$6#2$?"
223:159,04[J  ]| "She looked at me very hard, and she turned very
223:159,05[J  ]| red. Then she bade me leave her. I was all ready to$9$
223:159,06[J  ]| go, and I had got the coachman, who$6#1$ is an Englishman,
223:159,07[J  ]| to$9$ bring down my poor box, and to$9$ fetch me a cab.
223:159,08[J  ]| But when I went down myself to$4$ the gate I found it
223:159,09[J  ]| closed. My lady had sent orders to$4$ the porter not to$9$
223:159,10[J  ]| let me pass, and by$4$ the same orders the porter's wife ~
223:159,11[J  ]| she is a dreadful sly old body ~~ had gone out in$4$ a cab to$9$
223:159,12[J  ]| fetch home M%*de*Bellegarde from his club."
223:159,13['  ]| Newman slapped his knee. 
223:159,13[B  ]| "She \is\ scared! she \is\ 
223:159,14[B  ]| scared!" 
223:159,14['  ]| he cried, exultantly.
223:159,15[J  ]| "I was frightened too, sir," 
223:159,15['  ]| said Mrs%*Bread, 
223:159,15[J  ]| "but I
223:159,16[J  ]| was almost mightily vexed. I took it very high with the
223:159,17[J  ]| porter, and asked him by$4$ what right he used violence to$4$
223:159,18[J  ]| an honourable Englishwoman who$6#1$ had lived in$4$ the house
223:159,19[J  ]| for$4$ thirty years before he was heard of. Oh, sir, I was
223:159,20[J  ]| very grand, and I brought the man down. He drew his
223:159,21[J  ]| bolts, and let me out, and I promised the cabman something
223:159,22[J  ]| handsome if he would drive fast. But he was
223:159,23[J  ]| terribly slow; it seemed as if we should never reach you
223:159,24[J  ]| blessed door. I am all of a tremble still; it took me
223:159,25[J  ]| five minutes, just now, to$9$ thread my needle."
223:159,26['  ]| Newman told her, with a gleeful laugh, that$3$ 
223:159,26@b   | if she
223:159,27@b   | chose she might have a little maid on$4$ purpose to$9$ thread
223:159,28@b   | her needles; 
223:159,28['  ]| and he went away murmuring to$4$ himself
223:159,29['  ]| again that$3$ 
223:159,29@b   | the old woman \was\ scared ~~ she \was\ scared!
223:159,30['  ]| He had not shown Mrs%*Tristram the little paper that$3$
223:159,31['  ]| he carried in$4$ his pocket-book, but since his return to$4$
223:159,32['  ]| Paris he had seen her several times, and she had told
223:159,33['  ]| him that$3$ 
223:159,33@i   | he seemed to$4$ her to$9$ be in$4$ a strange way ~~ an
223:159,34@i   | even stranger way than his sad situation made natural.
223:159,35@i   | Had his disappointment gone to$4$ his head? He looked 
223:159,36@i   | like$4$ a man who$6#1$ was going to$9$ be ill, and yet she had
223:159,37@i   | never seen him more restless and active. One day he
223:160,01@i   | would sit hanging his head and looking as if he were
223:160,02@i   | firmly resolved never to$9$ smile again; another he would
223:160,03@i   | indulge in$4$ laughter that$6#1$ was almost unseemly, and made
223:160,04@i   | jokes that$6#1$ were bad even for$4$ him. If he was trying to$9$
223:160,05@i   | carry off his sorrow, he at such times really went too far.
223:160,06['  ]| She begged him 
223:160,06@i   | of all things not to$9$ be "strange."
223:160,07@i   | Feeling in$4$ a measure responsible as she did for$4$ the affair
223:160,08@i   | which$6#1$ had turned out so$5#1$ ill for$4$ him, she could endure
223:160,09@i   | anything but his strangeness. He might be melancholy
223:160,10@i   | if he would, or he might be stoical, he might be cross
223:160,11@i   | and cantankerous with her and ask her why she had ever
223:160,12@i   | dared to$9$ meddle with his destiny: to$4$ this she would
223:160,13@i   | submit; for$4$ this she would make allowances. Only, for$4$
223:160,14@i   | Heaven's sake, let him not be incoherent. That$6#2$ would
223:160,15@i   | be extremely unpleasant. It was like$4$ people talking in$4$
223:160,16@i   | their sleep; they always frightened her. 
223:160,16['  ]| And Mrs%*Tristram
223:160,17['  ]| intimated that$3$, 
223:160,17@i   | taking very high ground as regards
223:160,18@i   | the moral obligation which$6#1$ events had laid upon$4$
223:160,19@i   | her, she proposed not to$9$ rest quiet until she should have
223:160,20@i   | confronted him with the least inadequate substitute for$4$
223:160,21@i   | Madame*de*Cintre= that$6#1$ the two hemispheres contained.
223:160,22[B  ]| "Oh," 
223:160,22['  ]| said Newman, 
223:160,22[B  ]| "we are even now, and we had
223:160,23[B  ]| better not open a new account! You may bury me
223:160,24[B  ]| some day, but you shall never marry me. It is too
223:160,25[B  ]| rough. I hope, at any rate," 
223:160,25['  ]| he added, 
223:160,25[B  ]| "that$3$ there is
223:160,26[B  ]| nothing incoherent in$4$ this ~~ that$3$ I want to$9$ go next Sunday
223:160,27[B  ]| to$4$ the Carmelite chapel in$4$ the Avenue*de*Messine.
223:160,28[B  ]| You know one of the Catholic ministers ~~ an abbe=, is
223:160,29[B  ]| that$6#2$ it? ~~ I have seen him here, you know; that$6#2$ motherly
223:160,30[B  ]| old gentleman with the big waist-band. Please ask him
223:160,31[B  ]| if I need a special leave to$9$ go in$5$, and if I do, beg him
223:160,32[B  ]| to$9$ obtain it for$4$ me."
223:160,33['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram gave expression to$4$ the liveliest joy. 
223:160,33[I  ]| "I
223:160,34[I  ]| am so$5#1$ glad you have asked me to$9$ do something!" 
223:160,34['  ]| she
223:160,35['  ]| cried. 
223:160,35[I  ]| "You shall get into the chapel if the abbe= is
223:160,36[I  ]| disfrocked for$4$ his share in$4$ it." 
223:160,36['  ]| And two days afterwards
223:160,37['  ]| she told him that$3$ 
223:160,37@i   | it was all arranged; the abbe=
223:161,01@i   | was enchanted to$9$ serve him, and if he would present
223:161,02@i   | himself civilly at the convent gate there would be no$2$
223:161,03@i   | difficulty.
224:161,01['  ]| Sunday was as yet two days off; but meanwhile, to$9$
224:161,02['  ]| beguile his impatience, Newman took his way to$4$ the
224:161,03['  ]| Avenue*de*Messine and got what comfort he could in$4$
224:161,04['  ]| staring at the blank outer wall of Madame*de*Cintre='s
224:161,05['  ]| present residence. The street in$4$ question, as some
224:161,06['  ]| travellers will$1$ remember, adjoins the Parc*Monceau,
224:161,07['  ]| which$6#1$ is one of the prettiest corners of Paris. The
224:161,08['  ]| quarter has an air of modern opulence and convenience
224:161,09['  ]| which$6#1$ seems at variance with the ascetic institution, and
224:161,10['  ]| the impression made upon$4$ Newman's gloomily-irritated
224:161,11['  ]| gaze by$4$ the fresh-looking, windowless expanse behind
224:161,12['  ]| which$6#1$ the woman he loved was perhaps even then pledging
224:161,13['  ]| herself to$9$ pass the rest of her days was less exasperating
224:161,14['  ]| than he had feared. 
224:161,14@b   | The place suggested a convent 
224:161,15@b   | with the modern improvements ~~ an asylum in$4$ which$6#1$
224:161,16@b   | privacy, though unbroken, might be not quite identical
224:161,17@b   | with privation, and meditation, though monotonous,
224:161,18@b   | might be of a cheerful cast. 
224:161,18['  ]| And yet he knew the case
224:161,19['  ]| was otherwise; 
224:161,19@b   | only at present it was not a reality to$4$
224:161,20@b   | him. It was too strange and too mocking to$9$ be real;
224:161,21@b   | it was like$4$ a page torn out of a romance, with no$2$ context
224:161,22@b   | in$4$ his own experience.
224:161,23['  ]| On$4$ Sunday morning, at the hour which$6#1$ Mrs%*Tristram
224:161,24['  ]| had indicated, he rang at the gate in$4$ the blank wall. It
224:161,25['  ]| instantly opened and admitted him into a clean, cold-looking
224:161,26['  ]| court, from beyond which$6#1$ a dull, plain edifice
224:161,27['  ]| looked down upon$4$ him. A robust lay sister with a
224:161,28['  ]| cheerful complexion emerged from a porter's lodge, and,
224:161,29['  ]| on$4$ his stating his errand, pointed to$4$ the open door of
224:162,01['  ]| the chapel, an edifice which$6#1$ occupied the right side of
224:162,02['  ]| the court and was preceded by$4$ a high flight of steps.
224:162,03['  ]| Newman ascended the steps and immediately entered
224:162,04['  ]| the open door. Service had not yet begun; the place
224:162,05['  ]| was dimly lighted, and it was some moments before he
224:162,06['  ]| could distinguish its features. Then he saw it was
224:162,07['  ]| divided by$4$ a large close iron screen into two unequal
224:162,08['  ]| portions. The altar was on$4$ the hither side of the screen,
224:162,09['  ]| and between it and the entrance were disposed several
224:162,10['  ]| benches and chairs. Three or four of these were occupied
224:162,11['  ]| by$4$ vague, motionless figures ~~ figures that$6#1$ he presently
224:162,12['  ]| perceived to$9$ be women, deeply absorbed in$4$ their
224:162,13['  ]| devotion. The place seemed to$4$ Newman very cold;
224:162,14['  ]| the smell of the incense itself was cold. Besides this
224:162,15['  ]| there was a twinkle of tapers, and here and there a glow
224:162,16['  ]| of coloured glass. Newman seated himself; the praying
224:162,17['  ]| women kept still, with their backs turned. He saw 
224:162,17@b   | they
224:162,18@b   | were visitors like$4$ himself, and he would have liked to$9$ see
224:162,19@b   | their faces; 
224:162,19['  ]| for$3$ he believed that$3$ 
224:162,19@b   | they were the mourning
224:162,20@b   | mothers and sisters of other women who$6#1$ had had the
224:162,21@b   | same pitiless courage as Madame*de*Cintre=. But they
224:162,22@b   | were better off than he, for$3$ they at least shared the faith to$4$
224:162,23@b   | which$6#1$ the others had sacrificed themselves. 
224:162,23['  ]| Three or
224:162,24['  ]| four persons came in$5$; two of them were elderly gentlemen.
224:162,25['  ]| Every*one was very quiet. Newman fastened his
224:162,26['  ]| eyes upon$4$ the screen behind the altar. 
224:162,26@b   | That$6#2$ was the
224:162,27@b   | convent, the real convent, the place where she was. 
224:162,27['  ]| But
224:162,28['  ]| he could see nothing; no$2$ light came through the crevices.
224:162,29['  ]| He got up$5$ and approached the partition very gently, trying
224:162,30['  ]| to$9$ look through. 
224:162,30@b   | But behind it there was darkness,
224:162,31@b   | with nothing stirring. 
224:162,31['  ]| He went back to$4$ his place, and
224:162,32['  ]| after that$6#2$ a priest and two altar-boys came in$5$ and began
224:162,33['  ]| to$9$ say mass.
224:162,34['  ]| Newman watched their genuflexions and gyrations
224:162,35['  ]| with a grim, still enmity; 
224:162,35@b   | they seemed aids and abettors
224:162,36@b   | of Madame*de*Cintre='s desertion; they were mouthing
224:162,37@b   | and droning out their triumph. 
224:162,37['  ]| The priest's long, dismal
224:163,01['  ]| intonings acted upon$4$ his nerves and deepened his
224:163,02['  ]| wrath; 
224:163,02@b   | there was something defiant in$4$ his unintelligible
224:163,03@b   | drawl; 
224:163,03['  ]| it seemed meant for$4$ Newman himself. Suddenly
224:163,04['  ]| there arose from the depths of the chapel, from behind
224:163,05['  ]| the inexorable grating, a sound which$6#1$ drew his attention
224:163,06['  ]| from the altar ~~ 
224:163,06@b   | the sound of a strange, lugubrious chant
224:163,07@b   | uttered by$4$ women's voices. 
224:163,07['  ]| It began softly, but it presently
224:163,08['  ]| grew louder, and as it increased it became more
224:163,09['  ]| of a wail and a dirge. It was the chant of the Carmelite
224:163,10['  ]| nuns, their only human utterance. It was their dirge
224:163,11['  ]| over the buried affections and over the vanity of earthly
224:163,12['  ]| desires. At first Newman was bewildered ~~ almost
224:163,13['  ]| stunned ~~ by$4$ the strangeness of the sound; then, as he
224:163,14['  ]| comprehended its meaning, he listened intently and his
224:163,15['  ]| heart began to$9$ throb. He listened for$4$ Madame*de*Cintre='s
224:163,16['  ]| voice, and in$4$ the very heart of the tuneless harmony he
224:163,17['  ]| imagined he made it out. (We are obliged to$9$ believe
224:163,18['  ]| that$3$ he was wrong, inasmuch as she had obviously not
224:163,19['  ]| yet had time to$9$ become a member of the invisible sisterhood.)
224:163,20['  ]| The chant kept on$5$, mechanical and monotonous,
224:163,21['  ]| with dismal repetitions and despairing cadences. 
224:163,21@b   | It was
224:163,22@b   | hideous, it was horrible; 
224:163,22['  ]| as it continued, Newman felt
224:163,23['  ]| that$3$ 
224:163,23@b   | he needed all his self-control. He was growing
224:163,24@b   | more agitated; he felt tears in$4$ his eyes. 
224:163,24['  ]| At last, as in$4$
224:163,25['  ]| its full force the thought came over him that$3$ 
224:163,25@b   | this confused,
224:163,26@b   | impersonal wail was all that$6#1$ he or the world she had deserted
224:163,27@b   | should ever hear of the voice he had found so$5#1$
224:163,28@b   | sweet, 
224:163,28['  ]| he felt that$3$ 
224:163,28@b   | he could bear it no$2$ longer. 
224:163,28['  ]| He rose
224:163,29['  ]| abruptly and made his way out. On$4$ the threshold he
224:163,30['  ]| paused, listened again to$4$ the dreary strain, and then
224:163,31['  ]| hastily descended into the court. As he did so$5#2$ he 
224:163,32['  ]| saw that$3$ 
224:163,32@b   | the good sister with the high-coloured cheeks and
224:163,33@b   | the fan-like frill to$4$ her coiffure, who$6#1$ had admitted him,
224:163,34@b   | was in$4$ conference at the gate with two persons who$6#1$ had
224:163,35@b   | just come in$5$. 
224:163,35['  ]| A second glance informed him that$3$ 
224:163,35@b   | these
224:163,36@b   | persons were Madame*de*Bellegarde and her son, and
224:163,37@b   | that$3$ they were about to$9$ avail themselves of that$6#2$ method
224:164,01@b   | of approach to$4$ Madame*de*Cintre= which$6#1$ Newman had
224:164,02@b   | found but a mockery of consolation. 
224:164,02['  ]| As he crossed the
224:164,03['  ]| court M%*de*Bellegarde recognised him; the Marquis
224:164,04['  ]| was coming to$4$ the steps, leading his mother. The old
224:164,05['  ]| lady also gave Newman a look, and it resembled that$6#2$ of
224:164,06['  ]| her son. Both faces expressed a franker perturbation,
224:164,07['  ]| something more akin to$4$ the humbleness of dismay than
224:164,08['  ]| Newman had yet seen in$4$ them. Evidently he startled
224:164,09['  ]| the Bellegardes, and they had not their grand behaviour
224:164,10['  ]| immediately in$4$ hand. Newman hurried past them, guided
224:164,11['  ]| only by$4$ the desire to$9$ get out of the convent walls into the
224:164,12['  ]| street. The gate opened itself at his approach; he strode
224:164,13['  ]| over the threshold and it closed behind him. A carriage,
224:164,14['  ]| which$6#1$ appeared to$9$ have been standing there, was just
224:164,15['  ]| turning away from the side walk. Newman looked at it
224:164,16['  ]| for$4$ a moment, blankly; then he became conscious,
224:164,17['  ]| through the dusky mist that$6#1$ swam before his eyes, that$3$
224:164,18@b   | a lady seated in$4$ it was bowing to$4$ him. The vehicle had
224:164,19@b   | turned away before he recognised her; it was an ancient
224:164,20@b   | landau with one half the cover lowered. The lady's bow
224:164,21@b   | was very positive, and accompanied with a smile; a little
224:164,22@b   | girl was seated beside her. 
224:164,22['  ]| He raised his hat, and then
224:164,23['  ]| the lady bade the coachman stop.
224:164,24['  ]| The carriage halted again beside the pavement, and
224:164,25['  ]| she sat there and beckoned to$4$ Newman ~~ beckoned with
224:164,26['  ]| the demonstrative grace of Madame*Urbain*de*Bellegarde.
224:164,27['  ]| Newman hesitated a moment before he obeyed her summons;
224:164,28['  ]| during this moment he had time to$9$ 
224:164,28@b   | curse his stupidity
224:164,29@b   | for$4$ letting the others escape him. He had been
224:164,30@b   | wondering how he could get at them; fool that$3$ he was 
224:164,31@b   | for$4$ not stopping them then and there! What better
224:164,32@b   | place than beneath the very prison walls to$4$ which$6#1$ they
224:164,33@b   | had consigned the promise of his joy? 
224:164,33['  ]| He had been too
224:164,34['  ]| bewildered to$9$ stop them, but now he felt ready to$9$ wait
224:164,35['  ]| for$4$ them at the gate. Madame*Urbain, with a certain
224:164,36['  ]| attractive petulance, beckoned to$4$ him again, and this
224:164,37['  ]| time he went over to$4$ the carriage. She leaned out
224:165,01['  ]| and gave him her hand, looking at him kindly, and
224:165,02['  ]| smiling.
224:165,03[L  ]| "Ah, Monsieur," 
224:165,03['  ]| she said, 
224:165,03[L  ]| "you do not include me in$4$
224:165,04[L  ]| your wrath? I had nothing to$9$ do with it."
224:165,05[B  ]| "Oh, I do not suppose \you\ could have prevented it?"
224:165,06['  ]| Newman answered in$4$ a tone which$6#1$ was not that$6#2$ of
224:165,07['  ]| studied gallantry.
224:165,08[L  ]| "What you say is too true for$4$ me to$9$ resent the small
224:165,09[L  ]| account it makes of my influence. I forgive you, at any
224:165,10[L  ]| rate, because you look as if you had seen a ghost."
224:165,11[B  ]| "I have!" 
224:165,11['  ]| said Newman.
224:165,12[L  ]| "I am glad, then, I did not go in$5$ with Madame*de*Bellegarde
224:165,13[L  ]| and my husband. You must have seen them,
224:165,14[L  ]| eh? Was the meeting affectionate? Did you hear the
224:165,15[L  ]| chanting? They say it is like$4$ the lamentations of the
224:165,16[L  ]| damned. I would not go in$5$: one is certain to$9$ hear that$6#2$
224:165,17[L  ]| soon enough. Poor Claire ~~ in$4$ a white shroud and a
224:165,18[L  ]| big brown cloak! That$6#2$ is the \9toilette\ of the Carmelites,
224:165,19[L  ]| you know. Well, she was always fond of long, loose
224:165,20[L  ]| things. But I must not speak of her to$4$ you; only I
224:165,21[L  ]| must say that$3$ I am very sorry for$4$ you, that$3$ if I could
224:165,22[L  ]| have helped you I would, and that$3$ I think every*one has
224:165,23[L  ]| been very shabby. I was afraid of it, you know; I felt
224:165,24[L  ]| it in$4$ the air for$4$ a fortnight before it came. When I saw
224:165,25[L  ]| you at my mother-in-law's ball, taking it all so$5#1$ easily, I
224:165,26[L  ]| felt as if you were dancing on$4$ your grave. But what
224:165,27[L  ]| could I do? I wish you all the good I can think of.
224:165,28[L  ]| You will$1$ say that$6#2$ is not much! Yes; they have been
224:165,29[L  ]| very shabby; I am not a bit afraid to$9$ say it; I assure
224:165,30[L  ]| you every*one thinks so$5#2$. We are not all like$4$ that$6#2$. I
224:165,31[L  ]| am sorry I am not going to$9$ see you again; you know I
224:165,32[L  ]| think you very good company. I would prove it by$4$
224:165,33[L  ]| asking you to$9$ get into the carriage and drive with me for$4$
224:165,34[L  ]| a quarter of an hour, while I wait for$4$ my mother-in-law.
224:165,35[L  ]| Only if we were seen ~~ considering what has passed, and
224:165,36[L  ]| every*one knows you have been turned away ~~ it might
224:165,37[L  ]| be thought I was going a little too far, even for$4$ me.
224:166,01[L  ]| But I shall see you sometimes ~~ somewhere, eh? You
224:166,02[L  ]| know!" 
224:166,02['  ]| ~~ this was said in$4$ English ~~ 
224:166,02[L  ]| "we have a plan for$4$
224:166,03[L  ]| a little amusement."
224:166,04['  ]| Newman stood there with his hand on$4$ the carriage
224:166,05['  ]| door, listening to$4$ this consolatory murmur with an unlighted
224:166,06['  ]| eye. He hardly knew what Madame*de*Bellegarde
224:166,07['  ]| was saying; he was only conscious that$3$ 
224:166,07@b   | she was
224:166,08@b   | chattering ineffectively. 
224:166,08['  ]| But suddenly it occurred to$4$ him
224:166,09['  ]| that$3$, with her pretty professions, 
224:166,09@b   | there was a way of
224:166,10@b   | making her effective; she might help him to$9$ get at the
224:166,11@b   | old woman and the Marquis. 
224:166,11[B  ]| "They are coming back
224:166,12[B  ]| soon ~~ your companions?" 
224:166,12['  ]| he said. 
223:166,12[B  ]| "You are waiting
224:166,13[B  ]| for$4$ them?"
224:166,14[L  ]| "They will$1$ hear the mass out; there is nothing to$9$
224:166,15[L  ]| keep them longer. Claire has refused to$9$ see them."
224:166,16[B  ]| "I want to$9$ speak to$4$ them," 
224:166,16['  ]| said Newman; 
224:166,16[B  ]| "and you
224:166,17[B  ]| can help me, you can do me a favour. Delay your return
224:166,18[B  ]| for$4$ five minutes, and give me a chance at them. I will$1$
224:166,19[B  ]| wait for$4$ them here."
224:166,20['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde clasped her hands with a tender
224:166,21['  ]| grimace. 
224:166,21[L  ]| "My poor friend, what do you want to$9$ do to$4$
224:166,22[L  ]| them? To$9$ beg them to$9$ come back to$4$ you? It will$1$ be
224:166,23[L  ]| wasted words. They will$1$ never come back!"
224:166,24[B  ]| "I want to$9$ speak to$4$ them, all the same. Pray do
224:166,25[B  ]| what I ask you. Stay away and leave them to$4$ me for$4$
224:166,26[B  ]| five minutes; you need not be afraid; I shall not be violent;
224:166,27[B  ]| I am very quiet."
224:166,28[L  ]| "Yes, you look very quiet! If they had \9le 9coeur 9tendre\
224:166,29[L  ]| you would move them. But they have not! However,
224:166,30[L  ]| I will$1$ do better for$4$ you than what you propose. The
224:166,31[L  ]| understanding is not that$3$ I shall come back for$4$ them.
224:166,32[L  ]| I am going into the Parc*Monceau with my little girl to$9$
224:166,33[L  ]| give her a walk, and my mother-in-law, who$6#1$ comes so$5#1$
224:166,34[L  ]| rarely into this quarter, is to$9$ profit by$4$ the same opportunity
224:166,35[L  ]| to$9$ take the air. We are to$9$ wait for$4$ her in$4$ the
224:166,36[L  ]| park, where my husband is to$9$ bring her to$4$ us. Follow
224:166,37[L  ]| me now; just within the gates I shall get out of my carriage.
224:167,01[L  ]| Sit down on$4$ a chair in$4$ some quiet corner and I
224:167,02[L  ]| will$1$ bring them near you. There is devotion for$4$ you!
224:167,03[L  ]| \9Le 9reste 9vous 9regarde\."
224:167,04['  ]| This proposal seemed to$4$ Newman extremely felicitous;
224:167,05['  ]| it revived his drooping spirit, and he reflected that$3$
224:167,06@b   | Madame*Urbain was not such a goose as she seemed.
224:167,07['  ]| He promised immediately to$9$ overtake her, and the carriage
224:167,08['  ]| drove away.
224:167,09['  ]| The Parc*Monceau is a very pretty piece of landscape-gardening,
224:167,10['  ]| but Newman, passing into it, bestowed little
224:167,11['  ]| attention upon$4$ its elegant vegetation, which$6#1$ was full of
224:167,12['  ]| the freshness of spring. He found Madame*de*Bellegarde
224:167,13['  ]| promptly, seated in$4$ one of the quiet corners of which$6#1$ she
224:167,14['  ]| had spoken, while before her, in$4$ the alley, her little girl,
224:167,15['  ]| attended by$4$ the footman and the lap-dog, walked up$5$ and
224:167,16['  ]| down as if she were taking a lesson in$4$ deportment.
224:167,17['  ]| Newman sat down beside the mamma, and she talked a
224:167,18['  ]| great deal, apparently with the design of convincing him
224:167,19['  ]| that$3$ 
224:167,19@l   | ~~ if he would only see it ~~ poor dear Claire did not
224:167,20@l   | belong to$4$ the most fascinating type of woman. She was
224:167,21@l   | too tall and thin, too stiff and cold; her mouth was too
224:167,22@l   | wide and her nose too narrow. She had no$2$ dimples
224:167,23@l   | anywhere. And then she was eccentric, eccentric in$4$
224:167,24@l   | cold blood; she was an Anglaise, after all. 
224:167,24['  ]| Newman
224:167,25['  ]| was very impatient; he was counting the minutes until
224:167,26['  ]| his victims should reappear. He sat silent, leaning upon$4$
224:167,27['  ]| his cane, looking absently and insensibly at the little
224:167,28['  ]| Marquise. At length Madame*de*Bellegarde said 
224:167,28@l   | she
224:167,29@l   | would walk toward the gate of the park and meet her
224:167,30@l   | companions; 
224:167,30['  ]| but before she went she dropped her eyes,
224:167,31['  ]| and, after playing a moment with the lace of her sleeve,
224:167,32['  ]| looked up$5$ again at Newman.
224:167,33[L  ]| "Do you remember," 
224:167,33['  ]| she asked, 
224:167,33[L  ]| "the promise you
224:167,34[L  ]| made me three weeks ago?" 
224:167,34['  ]| And then, as Newman,
224:167,35['  ]| vainly consulting his memory, was obliged to$9$ confess
224:167,36['  ]| that$3$ 
224:167,36@b   | the promise had escaped it, 
224:167,36['  ]| she declared that$3$ 
224;167,36@l   | he
224:167,37@l   | had made her, at the time, a very queer answer ~~ an
224:168,01@l   | answer at which$6#1$, viewing it in$4$ the light of the sequel,
224:168,02@l   | she had fair ground for$4$ taking offence. 
224:168,02[L  ]| "You promised
224:168,03[L  ]| to$9$ take me to$4$ Bullier's after your marriage. After your
224:168,04[L  ]| marriage ~~ you made a great point of that$6#2$. Three days
224:168,05[L  ]| after that$6#2$ your marriage was broken off. Do you know,
224:168,06[L  ]| when I heard the news, the first thing I said to$4$ myself?
224:168,07@l   | ""Oh heaven, now he will$1$ not go with me to$4$ Bullier's!""
224:168,08[L  ]| And I really began to$9$ wonder if you had not been expecting
224:168,09[L  ]| the rupture."
224:168,10[B  ]| "Oh, my dear lady," 
224:168,10['  ]| murmured Newman, looking
224:168,11['  ]| down the path to$9$ see if the others were not coming.
224:168,12[L  ]| "I shall be good-natured," 
224:168,12['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
224:168,13[L  ]| "One must not ask too much of a gentleman
224:168,14[L  ]| who$6#1$ is in$4$ love with a cloistered nun. Besides, I can not
224:168,15[L  ]| go to$4$ Bullier's while we are in$4$ mourning. But I have not
224:168,16[L  ]| given it up$5$ for$4$ that$6#2$. The \9partie\ is arranged; I have my
224:168,17[L  ]| cavalier. Lord*Deepmere, if you please! He has gone
224:168,18[L  ]| back to$4$ his dear Dublin; but a few months hence I am
224:168,19[L  ]| to$9$ name any evening, and he will$1$ come from Ireland
224:168,20[L  ]| on$4$ purpose. That$6#2$ is what I call gallantry!"
224:168,21['  ]| Shortly after this Madame*de*Bellegarde walked away
224:168,22['  ]| with her little girl. Newman sat in$4$ his place; the time
224:168,23['  ]| seemed terribly long. He felt how fiercely his quarter
224:168,24['  ]| of an hour in$4$ the convent chapel had raked over the
224:168,25['  ]| glowing coals of his resentment. Madame*de*Bellegarde
224:168,26['  ]| kept him waiting, but she proved as good as her word.
224:168,27['  ]| At last she reappeared at the end of the path, with her
224:168,28['  ]| little girl and her footman; beside her slowly walked her
224:168,29['  ]| husband, with his mother on$4$ his arm. They were a long
224:168,30['  ]| time advancing, during which$6#1$ Newman sat unmoved.
224:168,31['  ]| Tingling as he was with passion, it was extremely characteristic
224:168,32['  ]| of him that$3$ he was able to$9$ moderate his expression
224:168,33['  ]| of it, as he would have turned down a flaring gasburner.
224:168,34['  ]| His native coolness, shrewdness, and deliberateness,
224:168,35['  ]| his lifelong submissiveness to$4$ the sentiment that$3$
224:168,36@b   | words were acts and acts were steps in$4$ life, and that$3$ in$4$
224:168,37@b   | this matter of taking steps curveting and prancing were
224:169,01@b   | exclusively reserved for$4$ quadrupeds and foreigners ~~ 
224:169,01['  ]| all
224:169,02['  ]| this admonished him that$3$ 
224:169,02@b   | rightful wrath had no$2$ connection
224:169,03@b   | with being a fool and indulging in$4$ spectacular violence.
224:169,04['  ]| So$3$ as he rose, when old Madame*de*Bellegarde
224:169,05['  ]| and her son were close to$4$ him, he only felt very tall and
224:169,06['  ]| light. He had been sitting beside some shrubbery, in$4$
224:169,07['  ]| such a way as not to$9$ be noticeable at a distance; but
224:169,08['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde had evidently already perceived him.
224:169,09['  ]| His mother and he were holding their course, but Newman
224:169,10['  ]| stepped in$4$ front of them, and they were obliged to$9$
224:169,11['  ]| pause. He lifted his hat slightly, and looked at them
224:169,12['  ]| for$4$ a moment; they were pale with amazement and 
224:169,13['  ]| disgust.
224:169,14[B  ]| "Excuse me for$4$ stopping you," 
224:169,14['  ]| he said in$4$ a low tone,
224:169,15[B  ]| "but I must profit by$4$ the occasion. I have ten words
224:169,16[B  ]| to$9$ say to$4$ you. Will$1$ you listen to$4$ them?"
224:169,17['  ]| The Marquis glared at him, and then turned to$4$ his
224:169,18['  ]| mother. 
224:169,18[D  ]| "Can Mr%*Newman possible have anything to$9$
224:169,19[D  ]| say that$6#1$ is worth our listening to$4$?"
224:169,20[B  ]| "I assure you I have something," 
224:169,20['  ]| said Newman;
224:169,21[B  ]| "besides, it is my duty to$9$ say it. It is a notification ~~ a
224:169,22[B  ]| warning."
224:169,23[C  ]| "Your duty?" 
224:169,23['  ]| said old Madame*de*Bellegarde, her
224:169,24['  ]| thin lips curving like$4$ scorched paper. 
224:169,24[C  ]| "That$6#2$ is your 
224:169,25[C  ]| affair, not ours."
224:169,26['  ]| Madame*Urbain meanwhile had seized her little girl by$4$
224:169,27['  ]| the hand, with a gesture of surprise and impatience which$6#1$
224:169,28['  ]| struck Newman, intent as he was upon$4$ his own words,
224:169,29['  ]| with its dramatic effectiveness. 
224:169,29[L  ]| "If Mr%*Newman is
224:169,30[L  ]| going to$9$ make a scene in$4$ public," 
224:169,30['  ]| she exclaimed, 
224:169,30[L  ]| "I will$1$
224:169,31[L  ]| take my poor child out of the \9me^le=e\. She is too young
224:169,32[L  ]| to$9$ see such naughtiness!" 
224:169,32['  ]| and she instantly resumed her
224:169,33['  ]| walk.
224:169,34[B  ]| "You had much better listen to$4$ me," 
224:169,34['  ]| Newman went
224:169,35['  ]| on$5$. 
224:169,35[B  ]| "Whether you do or not, things will$1$ be disagreeable
224:169,36[B  ]| for$4$ you; but at any rate you will$1$ be prepared."
224:169,37[D  ]| "We have already heard something of your threats,"
224:170,01['  ]| said the Marquis, 
224:170,01[D  ]| "and you know what we think of
224:170,02[D  ]| them."
224:170,03[B  ]| "You think a good deal more than you admit. A
224:170,04[B  ]| moment," 
224:170,04['  ]| Newman added in$4$ reply to$4$ an exclamation of
224:170,05['  ]| the old lady. 
224:170,05[B  ]| "I remember perfectly that$3$ we are in$4$ a 
224:170,06[B  ]| public place, and you see I am very quiet. I am not
224:170,07[B  ]| going to$9$ tell your secret to$4$ the passers-by; I shall keep
224:170,08[B  ]| it, to$9$ begin with, for$4$ certain picked listeners. Any*one
224:170,09[B  ]| who$6#1$ observes us will$1$ think that$3$ we are having a friendly
224:170,10[B  ]| chat, and that$3$ I am complimenting you, Madame, on$4$
224:170,11[B  ]| your venerable virtues."
224:170,12['  ]| The Marquis gave three short short raps on$4$ the ground
224:170,13['  ]| with his stick. 
224:170,13[D  ]| "I demand of you to$9$ step out of our
224:170,14[D  ]| path!" 
224:170,14['  ]| he hissed.
224:170,15['  ]| Newman instantly complied, and M%*de*Bellegarde
224:170,16['  ]| stepped forward with his mother. Then Newman said:
224:170,17[B  ]| "Half an hour hence Madame*de*Bellegarde will$1$ regret
224:170,18[B  ]| that$3$ she did not learn exactly what I mean."
224:170,19['  ]| The Marquise had taken a few steps, but at these words
224:170,20['  ]| she paused, looking at Newman with eyes like$4$ two scintillating
224:170,21['  ]| globules of ice. 
224:170,21[C  ]| "You are like$4$ a pedlar with
224:170,22[C  ]| something to$9$ sell," 
224:170,22['  ]| she said, with a little cold laugh
224:170,23['  ]| which$6#1$ only partially concealed the tremor in$4$ her voice.
224:170,24[B  ]| "Oh no$7$, not to$9$ sell," 
224:170,24['  ]| Newman rejoined; 
224:170,24[B  ]| "I give it
224:170,25[B  ]| to$4$ you for$4$ nothing." 
224:170,25['  ]| And he approached nearer to$4$ her,
224:170,26['  ]| looking her straight in$4$ the eyes. 
224:170,26[B  ]| "You killed your
224:170,27[B  ]| husband," 
224:170,27['  ]| he said, almost in$4$ a whisper. 
224:170,27[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is, you
224:170,28[B  ]| tried once and failed, and then, without trying you succeeded."
224:170,29[B  ]| 
224:170,30['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde closed her eyes and gave a little
224:170,31['  ]| cough, which$6#1$, as a piece of dissimulation, struck Newman
224:170,32['  ]| as really heroic. 
224:170,32[D  ]| "Dear mother," 
224:170,32['  ]| said the Marquis,
224:170,33[D  ]| "does this stuff amuse you so$5#1$ much?"
224:170,34[B  ]| "The rest is more amusing," 
224:170,34['  ]| said Newman. 
224:170,34[B  ]| "You
224:170,35[B  ]| had better not lose it."
224:170,36['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde opened her eyes; the scintillations
224:170,37['  ]| had gone out of them; they were fixed and dead.
224:171,01['  ]| But she smiled superbly, with her narrow little lips, and
224:171,02['  ]| repeated Newman's word. 
224:171,02[C  ]| "Amusing? Have I killed
224:171,03[C  ]| some*one else?"
224:171,04[B  ]| "I do not count your daughter," 
224:171,04['  ]| said Newman, 
224:171,04[B  ]| "though
224:171,05[B  ]| I might! Your husband knew what you were doing. I
224:171,06[B  ]| have a proof of it, whose existence you have never suspected."
224:171,07['  ]| And he turned to$4$ the Marquis, who$6#1$ was terribly
224:171,08['  ]| white ~~ whiter than Newman had ever seen any*one out
224:171,09['  ]| of a picture. 
224:171,09[B  ]| "A paper written by$4$ the hand, and signed
224:171,10[B  ]| with the name of Henri-Urbain*de*Bellegarde. Written
224:171,11[B  ]| after you, Madame, had left him for$4$ dead, and while you,
224:171,12[B  ]| sir, had gone ~~ not very fast ~~ for$4$ the doctor."
224:171,13['  ]| The Marquis looked at his mother; she turned away,
224:171,14['  ]| looking vaguely round her. 
224:171,14[C  ]| "I must sit down," 
224:171,14['  ]| she said
224:171,15['  ]| in$4$ a low tone, going toward the bench on$4$ which$6#1$ Newman
224:171,16['  ]| had been sitting.
224:171,17[D  ]| "Could not you have spoken to$4$ me alone?" 
224:171,17['  ]| said the
224:171,18['  ]| Marquis to$4$ Newman, with a strange look.
224:171,19[B  ]| "Well, yes, if I could have been sure of speaking to$4$
224:171,20[B  ]| your mother alone, too," 
224:171,20['  ]| Newman answered. 
224:171,20[B  ]| "But I
224:171,21[B  ]| have had to$9$ take you as I could get you."
224:171,22['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde, with a movement very eloquent
224:171,23['  ]| of what he would have called her 
224:171,23@b   | "grit," 
224:171,23['  ]| her steel-cold
224:171,24['  ]| pluck and her instinctive appeal to$4$ her own personal
224:171,25['  ]| resources, drew her hand out of her son's arm and went
224:171,26['  ]| and seated herself upon$4$ the bench. There she remained,
224:171,27['  ]| with her hands folded in$4$ her lap, looking straight at
224:171,28['  ]| Newman. The expression of her face was such that$3$ he
224:171,29['  ]| fancied at first that$3$ she was smiling; but he went and
224:171,30['  ]| stood in$4$ front of her, and saw that$3$ her elegant features
224:171,31['  ]| were distorted by$4$ agitation. He saw, however, equally,
224:171,32['  ]| that$3$ 
224:171,32@b   | she was resisting her agitation with all the rigour of
224:171,33@b   | her inflexible will$0$, and there was nothing like$4$ either fear
224:171,34@b   | or submission in$4$ her stony stare. She had been startled,
224:171,35@b   | but she was not terrified. 
224:171,35['  ]| Newman had an exasperating
224:171,36['  ]| feeling that$3$ 
224:171,36@b   | she would get the better of him still; 
224:171,36['  ]| he
224:171,37['  ]| would not have believed it possible that$3$ 
224:171,37@b   | he could so$5#1$
224:172,01@b   | utterly fail to$9$ be touched by$4$ the sight of a woman (criminal
224:172,02@b   | or other) in$4$ so$5#1$ tight a place. Madame*de*Bellegarde
224:172,03@b   | gave a glance at her son which$6#1$ seemed tantamount to$4$ an
224:172,04@b   | injunction to$9$ be silent and leave her to$4$ her own devices.
224:172,05['  ]| The Marquis stood beside her, with his hands behind him,
224:172,06['  ]| looking at Newman.
224:172,07[C  ]| "What paper is this you speak of?" 
224:172,07['  ]| asked the old
224:172,08['  ]| lady, with an imitation of tranquillity which$6#1$ would have
224:172,09['  ]| been applauded in$4$ a veteran actress.
224:172,10[B  ]| "Exactly what I have told you," 
224:172,10['  ]| said Newman. 
224:172,10[B  ]| "A
224:172,11[B  ]| paper written by$4$ your husband after you had left him for$4$
224:172,12[B  ]| dead, and during the couple of hours before you returned.
224:172,13[B  ]| You see he had the time; you should not have stayed
224:172,14[B  ]| away so$5#1$ long. It declared distinctly his wife's murderous
224:172,15[B  ]| intent."
224:172,16[C  ]| "I should like$1$ to$9$ see it," 
224:172,16['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde
224:172,17['  ]| observed.
224:172,18[B  ]| "I thought you might," 
224:172,18['  ]| said Newman, 
224:172,18[B  ]| "and I have
224:172,19[B  ]| taken a copy." 
224:172,19['  ]| And he drew from his waistcoat pocket
224:172,20['  ]| a small folded sheet.
224:172,21[C  ]| "Give it to$4$ my son," 
224:172,21['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
224:172,22['  ]| Newman handed it to$4$ the Marquis, whose mother, glancing
224:172,23['  ]| at him, said simply, 
224:172,23[C  ]| "Look at it." 
224:172,23['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde's
224:172,24['  ]| eyes had a pale eagerness which$6#1$ it was useless
224:172,25['  ]| for$4$ him to$9$ try to$9$ dissimulate; he took the paper in$4$ his
224:172,26['  ]| light-gloved fingers and opened it. There was a silence,
224:172,27['  ]| during which$6#1$ he read it. He had more than time to$9$
224:172,28['  ]| read it, but still he said nothing; he stood staring at it.
224:172,29[C  ]| "Where is the original?" 
224:172,29['  ]| asked Madame*de*Bellegarde,
224:172,30['  ]| in$4$ a voice which$6#1$ was really a consummate negation of
224:172,31['  ]| impatience.
224:172,32[B  ]| "In$4$ a very safe place. Of course I can not show you
224:172,33[B  ]| that$6#2$," 
224:172,33['  ]| said Newman. 
224:172,33[B  ]| "You might want to$9$ take hold of
224:172,34[B  ]| it," 
224:172,34['  ]| he added, with conscious quaintness. 
224:172,34[B  ]| "But that$6#2$ is a
224:172,35[B  ]| very correct copy ~~ except, of course, the handwriting.
224:172,36[B  ]| I am keeping the original to$9$ show some*one else."
224:172,37['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde at last looked up$5$, and his eyes
224:173,01['  ]| were still very eager. 
224:173,01[D  ]| "To$4$ whom do you mean to$9$
224:173,02[D  ]| show it?"
224:173,03[B  ]| "Well, I am thinking of beginning with the Duchess,"
224:173,04['  ]| said Newman; 
224:173,04[B  ]| "that$6#2$ stout lady I saw at your ball. She
224:173,05[B  ]| asked me to$9$ come and see her, you know. I thought
224:173,06[B  ]| at the moment I should not have much to$9$ say to$4$ her; but
224:173,07[B  ]| my little document will$1$ give us something to$9$ talk about."
224:173,08[C  ]| "You had better keep it, my son," 
224:173,08['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde.
224:173,09['  ]| 
224:173,10[B  ]| "By$4$ all means," 
224:173,10['  ]| said Newman; 
224:173,10[B  ]| "keep it and show
224:173,11[B  ]| it to$4$ your mother when you get home."
224:173,12[D  ]| "And after showing it to$4$ the Duchess?" 
224:173,12['  ]| asked the
224:173,13['  ]| Marquis, folding the paper and putting it away.
224:173,14[B  ]| "Well, I will$1$ take up$5$ the dukes," 
224:173,14['  ]| said Newman. 
224:173,14[B  ]| "Then
224:173,15[B  ]| the counts and the barons ~~ all the people you had the
224:173,16[B  ]| cruelty to$9$ introduce me to$4$ in$4$ a character of which$6#1$ you
224:173,17[B  ]| meant immediately to$9$ deprive me. I have made out a
224:173,18[B  ]| list."
224:173,19['  ]| For$4$ a moment neither Madame*de*Bellegarde nor her
224:173,20['  ]| son said a word; the old lady sat with her eyes fixed upon$4$
224:173,21['  ]| the ground; M%*de*Bellegarde's blanched pupils were
224:173,22['  ]| fixed upon$4$ her face. Then, looking at Newman, 
224:173,22[C  ]| "Is
224:173,23[C  ]| that$6#2$ all you have to$9$ say?" 
224:173,23['  ]| she asked.
224:173,24[B  ]| "No$7$, I want to$9$ say a few words more. I want to$9$
224:173,25[B  ]| say that$3$ I hope you quite understand what I am about.
224:173,26[B  ]| This is my revenge, you know. You have treated me
224:173,27[B  ]| before the world ~~ convened for$4$ the express purpose ~
224:173,28[B  ]| as if I were not good enough for$4$ you. I mean to$9$ show
224:173,29[B  ]| the world that$3$, however bad I may be, you are not quite
224:173,30[B  ]| the people to$9$ say it."
224:173,31['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde was silent again, and then she
224:173,32['  ]| broke her silence. Her self-possession continued to$9$ be
224:173,33['  ]| extraordinary. 
224:173,33[C  ]| "I need not ask you who$6#1$ has been your
224:173,34[C  ]| accomplice. Mrs%*Bread told me that$3$ you had purchased
224:173,35[C  ]| her services."
224:173,36[B  ]| "Do not accuse Mrs%*Bread of venality," 
224:173,36['  ]| said Newman.
224:173,37[B  ]| "She has kept your secret all these years. She has
224:174,01[B  ]| given you a long respite. It was beneath her eyes your
224:174,02[B  ]| husband wrote that$6#2$ paper; he put it into her hands with
224:174,03[B  ]| a solemn injunction that$3$ she was to$9$ make it public. She
224:174,04[B  ]| was too good-hearted to$9$ make use of it."
224:174,05['  ]| The old lady appeared for$4$ an instant to$9$ hesitate, and 
224:174,06['  ]| then, 
224:174,06[C  ]| "She was my husband's mistress," 
224:174,06['  ]| she said, softly.
224:174,07['  ]| This was the only concession to$4$ self-defence that$6#1$ she
224:174,08['  ]| condescended to$9$ make.
224:174,09[B  ]| "I doubt that$6#2$," 
224:174,09['  ]| said Newman.
224:174,10['  ]| Madame*de*Bellegarde got up$5$ from her bench. 
224:174,10[C  ]| "It
224:174,11[C  ]| was not to$4$ your opinions I undertook to$9$ listen, and if
224:174,12[C  ]| you have nothing left but them to$9$ tell me I think this
224:174,13[C  ]| remarkable interview may terminate." 
224:174,13['  ]| And turning to$4$
224:174,14['  ]| the Marquis she took his arm again. 
224:174,14[C  ]| "My son," 
224:174,14['  ]| she
224:174,15['  ]| said, 
224:174,15[C  ]| "say something!"
224:174,16['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde looked down at his mother, passing
224:174,17['  ]| his hand over his forehead, and then, tenderly, caressingly,
224:174,18[D  ]| "What shall I say?" 
224:174,18['  ]| he asked.
224:174,19[C  ]| "There is only one thing to$9$ say," 
224:174,19['  ]| said the Marquise.
224:174,20[C  ]| "That$3$ it was really not worth while to$9$ have interrupted
224:174,21[C  ]| our walk."
224:174,22['  ]| But the Marquis thought he could improve this.
224:174,23[D  ]| "Your paper is a forgery," 
224:174,23['  ]| he said to$4$ Newman.
224:174,24['  ]| Newman shook his head a little, with a tranquil smile.
224:174,25[B  ]| "M%*de*Bellegarde," 
224:174,25['  ]| he said, 
224:174,25[B  ]| "your mother does better.
224:174,26[B  ]| She has done better all along, from the first of my
224:174,27[B  ]| knowing you. You are a mighty plucky woman, Madame,"
224:174,28['  ]| he continued. 
224:174,28[B  ]| "It is a great pity you have made me
224:174,29[B  ]| your enemy. I should have been one of your greatest
224:174,30[B  ]| admirers."
224:174,31[C  ]| "\9Mon 9pauvre 9ami\," 
224:174,31['  ]| said Madame*de*Bellegarde to$4$
224:174,32['  ]| her son in$4$ French, and as if she had not heard these
224:174,33['  ]| words, 
224:174,33[C  ]| "you must take me immediately to$4$ my carriage."
224:174,34['  ]| Newman stepped back and let them leave him; he
224:174,35['  ]| watched them a moment and saw Madame*Urbain, with
224:174,36['  ]| her little girl, come out of a by-path to$9$ meet them. The
224:174,37['  ]| old lady stooped and kissed her grandchild. 
224:174,37[B  ]| "Damn it,
224:175,01[B  ]| she \is\ plucky!" 
224:175,01['  ]| said Newman, and he walked home with
224:175,02['  ]| a slight sense of being balked. 
224:175,02@b   | She was so$5#1$ inexpressively
224:175,03@b   | defiant! 
224:175,03['  ]| But on$4$ reflection he decided that$3$ 
224:175,03@b   | what
224:175,04@b   | he had witnessed was no$2$ real sense of security, still less
224:175,05@b   | a real innocence. It was only a very superior style of
224:175,06@b   | brazen assurance. "Wait till she reads the paper!"
224:175,06['  ]| he
224:175,07['  ]| said to$4$ himself; and he concluded that$3$ 
224:175,07@b   | he should hear
224:175,08@b   | from her soon.
224:175,09['  ]| He heard sooner than he expected. The next morning,
224:175,10['  ]| before midday, when he was about to$9$ give orders
224:175,11['  ]| for$4$ his breakfast to$9$ be served, M%*de*Bellegarde's card
224:175,12['  ]| was brought to$4$ him. 
224:175,12[B  ]| "She has read the paper and she
224:175,13[B  ]| has passed a bad night," 
224:175,13['  ]| said Newman. He instantly
224:175,14['  ]| admitted his visitor, who$6#1$ came in$5$ with the air of the ambassador
224:175,15['  ]| of a great power meeting the delegate of a barbarous
224:175,16['  ]| tribe whom an absurd accident had enabled for$4$ the
224:175,17['  ]| moment to$9$ be abominably annoying. The ambassador,
224:175,18['  ]| at all events, had passed a bad night, and his faultlessly
224:175,19['  ]| careful toilet only threw into relief the frigid rancour in$4$
224:175,20['  ]| his eyes and the mottled tones of his refined complexion.
224:175,21['  ]| He stood before Newman a moment, breathing quickly
224:175,22['  ]| and softly, and shaking his forefinger curtly as his host
224:175,23['  ]| pointed to$4$ a chair.
224:175,24[D  ]| "What I have come to$9$ say is soon said," 
224:175,24['  ]| he declared.
224:175,25[D  ]| "and can only be said without ceremony."
224:175,26[B  ]| "I am good for$4$ as much or for$4$ as little as you desire,"
224:175,27['  ]| said Newman.
224:175,28['  ]| The Marquis looked round the room a moment, and
224:175,29['  ]| then: 
224:175,29[D  ]| "On$4$ what terms will$1$ you part with your scrap of
224:175,30[D  ]| paper?"
224:175,31[B  ]| "On$4$ none!" 
224:175,31['  ]| And while Newman, with his head on$4$
224:175,32['  ]| one side and his hands behind him, sounded the Marquis's
224:175,33['  ]| turbid gaze with his own, he added: 
224:175,33[B  ]| "Certainly, that$6#2$ is
224:175,34[B  ]| not worth sitting down about."
224:175,35['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde hesitated a moment, as if he had
224:175,36['  ]| not heard Newman's refusal. 
224:175,36[D  ]| "My mother and I, last
224:175,37[D  ]| evening," 
224:175,37['  ]| he said, 
224:175,37[D  ]| "talked over your story. You will$1$
224:176,01[D  ]| be surprised to$9$ learn that$3$ we think your little document
224:176,02[D  ]| is ~~ a" 
224:176,02['  ]| ~~ and he held back his word a moment ~
224:176,02[D  ]| "is
224:176,03[D  ]| genuine."
224:176,04[B  ]| "You forget that$3$ with you I am used to$4$ surprises!"
224:176,05['  ]| exclaimed Newman, with a laugh.
224:176,06[D  ]| "The very smallest amount of respect that$6#1$ we owe to$4$
224:176,07[D  ]| my father's memory," 
224:176,07['  ]| the Marquis continued, 
224:176,07[D  ]| "makes us
224:176,08[D  ]| desire that$3$ he should not be held up$5$ to$4$ the world as the
224:176,09[D  ]| author of so$5#1$ ~~ so$5#1$ infernal an attack upon$4$ the reputation
224:176,10[D  ]| of a wife whose only fault was that$3$ she had been submissive
224:176,11[D  ]| to$4$ accumulated injury."
224:176,12[B  ]| "Oh, I see," 
224:176,12['  ]| said Newman. 
224:176,12[B  ]| "It is for$4$ your father's
224:176,13[B  ]| sake." 
224:176,13['  ]| And he laughed the laugh in$4$ which$6#1$ he indulged
224:176,14['  ]| when he was most amused ~~ a noiseless laugh, with his
224:176,15['  ]| lips closed.
224:176,16['  ]| But M%*de*Bellegarde's gravity held good. 
224:176,16[D  ]| "There
224:176,17[D  ]| are a few of my father's particular friends for$4$ whom the
224:176,18[D  ]| knowledge of so$5#1$ ~~ so$5#1$ unfortunate an ~~ inspiration ~~ would
224:176,19[D  ]| be a real grief. Even say we firmly established by$4$
224:176,20[D  ]| medical evidence the presumption of a mind disordered
224:176,21[D  ]| by$4$ fever, \9il 9en 9resterait 9quelque 9chose\. At the best it
224:176,22[D  ]| would look ill in$4$ him. Very ill!"
224:176,23[B  ]| "Do not try medical evidence," 
224:176,23['  ]| said Newman. 
224:176,23[B  ]| "Do not
224:176,24[B  ]| touch the doctors and they will$1$ not touch you. I do not
224:176,25[B  ]| mind your knowing that$3$ I have not written to$4$ them."
224:176,26['  ]| Newman fancied that$3$ 
224:176,26@b   | he saw signs in$4$ M%*de*Bellegarde's
224:176,27@b   | discoloured mask that$3$ this information was extremely 
224:176,28@b   | pertinent. But it may have been merely fancy;
224:176,29@b   | for$3$ the Marquis remained majestically argumentative.
224:176,30[D  ]| "For$4$ instance, Madame*d'Outreville," 
224:176,30['  ]| he said, 
224:176,30[D  ]| "of
224:176,31[D  ]| whom you spoke yesterday. I can imagine nothing that$6#1$
224:176,32[D  ]| would shock her more."
224:176,33[B  ]| "Oh, I am quite prepared to$9$ shock Madame*d'Outreville,
224:176,34[B  ]| you know. That$6#2$ is on$4$ the cards. I expect to$9$
224:176,35[B  ]| shock a great many people."
224:176,36['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde examined for$4$ a moment the stitching
224:176,37['  ]| on$4$ the back of one of his gloves. Then, without looking
224:177,01['  ]| up$5$, 
224:177,01[D  ]| "We do not offer you money," 
224:177,01['  ]| he said. 
224:177,01[D  ]| "That$6#2$
224:177,02[D  ]| we suppose to$9$ be useless."
224:177,03['  ]| Newman, turning away, took a few turns about the
224:177,04['  ]| room, and then came back. 
224:177,04[B  ]| "What \do\ you offer me?
224:177,05[B  ]| By$4$ what I can make out, the generosity is all to$9$ be on$4$
224:177,06[B  ]| my side."
224:177,07['  ]| The Marquis dropped his arms at his side and held his
224:177,08['  ]| head a little higher. 
224:177,08[D  ]| "What we offer you is a chance ~
224:177,09[D  ]| a chance that$6#1$ a gentleman should appreciate. A chance
224:177,10[D  ]| to$9$ abstain from inflicting a terrible blot upon$4$ the memory
224:177,11[D  ]| of a man who$6#1$ certainly had his faults, but who$6#1$, personally,
224:177,12[D  ]| had done you no$2$ wrong."
224:177,13[B  ]| "There are two things to$9$ say to$4$ that$6#2$," 
224:177,13['  ]| said Newman.
224:177,14[B  ]| "The first is, as regards appreciating your ""chance,"" that$3$
224:177,15[B  ]| you do not consider me a gentleman. That$6#2$ is your great
224:177,16[B  ]| point, you know. It is a poor rule that$6#1$ will$1$ not work both
224:177,17[B  ]| ways. The second is that$3$ ~~ well, in$4$ a word, you are
224:177,18[B  ]| talking great nonsense!"
224:177,19['  ]| Newman, who$6#1$ in$4$ the midst of his bitterness had, as I
224:177,20['  ]| have said, kept well before his eyes a certain ideal of
224:177,21['  ]| saying nothing rude, was immediately somewhat regretfully
224:177,22['  ]| conscious of the sharpness of these words. But he
224:177,23['  ]| speedily observed that$3$ 
224:177,23@b   | the Marquis took them more
224:177,24@b   | quietly than might have been expected. 
224:177,24['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde,
224:177,25['  ]| like$4$ the stately ambassador that$6#1$ he was, continued
224:177,26['  ]| the policy of ignoring what was disagreeable in$4$ his
224:177,27['  ]| adversary's replies. He gazed at the gilded arabesques
224:177,28['  ]| on$4$ the opposite wall, and then presently transferred his
224:177,29['  ]| glance to$4$ Newman, as if he too were a large grotesque
224:177,30['  ]| in$4$ a rather vulgar system of chamber-decoration. 
224:177,30[D  ]| "I
224:177,31[D  ]| suppose you know that$3$, as regards yourself, it will$1$ not do
224:177,32[D  ]| at all."
224:177,33[B  ]| "How do you mean it will$1$ not do?"
224:177,34[D  ]| "Why, of course you damn yourself. But I suppose
224:177,35[D  ]| that$6#2$ is in$4$ your programme. You propose to$9$ throw mud
224:177,36[D  ]| at us; you believe, you hope, that$3$ some of it may stick.
224:177,37[D  ]| We know, of course, it can not," 
224:177,37['  ]| explained the Marquis in$4$
224:178,01['  ]| a tone of conscious lucidity; 
224:178,01[D  ]| "but you take the chance,
224:178,02[D  ]| and are willing at any rate to$9$ show that$3$ you yourself
224:178,03[D  ]| have dirty hands."
224:178,04[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is a good comparison; at least half of it is,"
224:178,05['  ]| said Newman. 
224:178,05[B  ]| "I take the chance of something sticking.
224:178,06[B  ]| But as regards my hands, they are clean. I have taken
224:178,07[B  ]| the matter up$5$ with my finger-tips."
224:178,08['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde looked a moment into his hat.
224:178,09[D  ]| "All our friends are quite with us," 
224:178,09['  ]| he said. 
224:178,09[D  ]| "They
224:178,10[D  ]| would have done exactly as we have done."
224:178,11[B  ]| "I shall believe that$6#2$ when I hear them say it. Meanwhile
224:178,12[B  ]| I shall think better of human nature."
224:178,13['  ]| The Marquis looked into his hat again. 
224:178,13[D  ]| "Madame*de*Cintre=
224:178,14[D  ]| was extremely fond of her father. If she knew
224:178,15[D  ]| of the existence of the few written words of which$6#1$ you
224:178,16[D  ]| propose to$9$ make this scandalous use, she would demand
224:178,17[D  ]| of you proudly for$4$ his sake to$9$ give it up$5$ to$4$ her, and she
224:178,18[D  ]| would destroy it without reading it."
224:178,19[B  ]| "Very possibly," 
224:178,19['  ]| Newman rejoined. 
224:178,19[B  ]| "But she will$1$
224:178,20[B  ]| not know. I was in$4$ that$6#2$ convent yesterday, and I know
224:178,21[B  ]| what \she\ is doing. Lord deliver us! You can guess
224:178,22[B  ]| whether it made me feel forgiving!"
224:178,23['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde appeared to$9$ have nothing more to$9$
224:178,24['  ]| suggest; but he continued to$9$ stand there, rigid and
224:178,25['  ]| elegant, as a man who$6#1$ believed that$3$ his mere personal
224:178,26['  ]| presence had an argumentative value. Newman watched
224:178,27['  ]| him, and without yielding an inch on$4$ the main issue, felt
224:178,28['  ]| an incongruously good-natured impulse to$9$ help him to$9$
224:178,29['  ]| retreat in$4$ good order.
224:178,30[B  ]| "Your visit is a failure, you see," 
224:178,30['  ]| he said. 
224:178,30[B  ]| "You
224:178,31[B  ]| offer too little."
224:178,32[D  ]| "Propose something yourself," 
224:178,32['  ]| said the Marquis.
224:178,33[B  ]| "Give me back Madame*de*Cintre= in$4$ the same state
224:178,34[B  ]| in$4$ which$6#1$ you took her from me."
224:178,35['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde threw back his head and his pale
224:178,36['  ]| face flushed. 
224:178,36[D  ]| "Never!" 
224:178,36['  ]| he said.
224:178,37[B  ]| "You can not!"
224:179,01[D  ]| "We would not if we could! In$4$ the sentiment which$6#1$
224:179,02[D  ]| led us to$9$ deprecate her marriage nothing is changed."
224:179,03[B  ]| " ""Deprecate"" is good!" 
224:179,03['  ]| cried Newman. 
224:179,03[B  ]| "It was
224:179,04[B  ]| hardly worth while to$9$ come here only to$9$ tell me that$3$ you
224:179,05[B  ]| are not ashamed of yourselves. I could have guessed
224:179,06[B  ]| that$6#2$!"
224:179,07['  ]| The Marquis slowly walked towards the door, and
224:179,08['  ]| Newman, following, opened it for$4$ him. 
224:179,08[D  ]| "What you propose
224:179,09[D  ]| to$9$ do will$1$ be very disagreeable," 
224:179,09['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde
224:179,10['  ]| said. 
224:179,10[D  ]| "That$6#2$ is very evident. But it will$1$ be nothing more."
224:179,11[B  ]| "As I understand it," 
224:179,11['  ]| Newman answered, 
224:179,11[B  ]| "that$6#2$ will$1$
224:179,12[B  ]| be quite enough!"
224:179,13['  ]| M%*de*Bellegarde stood a moment looking on$4$ the
224:179,14['  ]| ground, as if he were ransacking his ingenuity to$9$ see
224:179,15['  ]| what else he could do to$9$ save his father's reputation.
224:179,16['  ]| Then, with a little cold sigh, he seemed to$9$ signify that$3$
224:179,17['  ]| he regretfully surrendered the late Marquis to$4$ the penalty
224:179,18['  ]| of his turpitude. He gave a hardly perceptible shrug,
224:179,19['  ]| took his neat umbrella from the servant in$4$ the vestibule,
224:179,20['  ]| and, with his gentlemanly walk, passed out. Newman
224:179,21['  ]| stood listening till he heard the door close; then he
224:179,22['  ]| slowly exclaimed: 
224:179,22[B  ]| "Well, I ought to$9$ begin to$9$ be satisfied
224:179,23[B  ]| now!"
225:179,01['  ]| Newman called upon$4$ the comical Duchess, and found her
225:179,02['  ]| at home. An old gentleman with a high nose and a gold-headed
225:179,03['  ]| cane was just taking leave of her; he made
225:179,04['  ]| Newman a protracted obeisance as he retired, and our
225:179,05['  ]| hero supposed that$3$ he was one of the mysterious grandees
225:179,06['  ]| with whom he had shaken hands at Madame*de*Bellegarde's
225:179,07['  ]| ball. The Duchess, in$4$ her armchair, from which$6#1$
225:179,08['  ]| she did not move, with a great flower-pot on$4$ one side of
225:179,09['  ]| her, a pile of pink-covered novels on$4$ the other, and a
225:180,01['  ]| large piece of tapestry depending from her lap, presented
225:180,02['  ]| an expansive and imposing front; but her aspect was in$4$
225:180,03['  ]| the highest degree gracious, and there was nothing in$4$ her
225:180,04['  ]| manner to$9$ check the effusion of his confidence. She
225:180,05['  ]| talked to$4$ him about flowers and books, getting launched
225:180,06['  ]| with marvellous promptitude; about the theatres, about
225:180,07['  ]| the peculiar institutions of his native country, about the
225:180,08['  ]| humidity of Paris, about the pretty complexions of the
225:180,09['  ]| American ladies, about his impressions of France and his
225:180,10['  ]| opinion of its female inhabitants. All this was a brilliant
225:180,11['  ]| monologue on$4$ the part of the Duchess, who$6#1$, like$4$ many of
225:180,12['  ]| her countrywomen, was a person of an affirmative rather
225:180,13['  ]| than an interrogative cast of mind, who$6#1$ made \9mots\ and
225:180,14['  ]| put them herself into circulation, and who$6#1$ was apt to$9$
225:180,15['  ]| offer you a present of a convenient little opinion, neatly
225:180,16['  ]| enveloped in$4$ the gilt paper of a happy Gallicism.
225:180,17['  ]| Newman had come to$4$ her with a grievance, but he
225:180,18['  ]| found himself in$4$ an atmosphere in$4$ which$6#1$ apparently
225:180,19['  ]| no$2$ cognisance was taken of grievances; an atmosphere
225:180,20['  ]| into which$6#1$ the chill of discomfort had never penetrated,
225:180,21['  ]| and which$6#1$ seemed exclusively made up$5$ of mild, sweet,
225:180,22['  ]| stale intellectual perfumes. The feeling with which$6#1$ he
225:180,23['  ]| had watched Madame*d'Outreville at the treacherous
225:180,24['  ]| festival of the Bellegardes came back to$4$ him; she struck
225:180,25['  ]| him as 
225:180,25@b   | a wonderful old lady in$4$ a comedy, particularly
225:180,26@b   | well up$5$ in$4$ her part. 
225:180,26['  ]| He observed before long that$3$ 
225:180,26@b   | she
225:180,27@b   | asked him no$2$ questions about their common friends; she
225:180,28@b   | made no$2$ allusion to$4$ the circumstances under which$6#1$ he
225:180,29@b   | had been presented to$4$ her. She neither feigned ignorance
225:180,30@b   | of a change in$4$ these circumstances nor pretended
225:180,31@b   | to$9$ condole with him upon$4$ it; but she smiled and
225:180,32@b   | discoursed and compared the tender-tinted wools of her
225:180,33@b   | tapestry, as if the Bellegardes and their wickedness were
225:180,34@b   | not of this world. "She is fighting shy!"
225:180,34['  ]| said Newman
225:180,35['  ]| to$4$ himself and, having made the observation, he was
225:180,36['  ]| prompted to$9$ observe, further, 
225:180,36@b   | how the Duchess would
225:180,37@b   | carry off her indifference. She did so$5#2$ in$4$ a masterly
225:181,01@b   | manner. There was not a gleam of disguised consciousness
225:181,02@b   | in$4$ those small, clear, demonstrative eyes which$6#1$
225:181,03@b   | constituted her nearest claim to$4$ personal loveliness;
225:181,04@b   | there was not a symptom of apprehension that$3$ Newman
225:181,05@b   | would trench upon$4$ the ground she proposed to$9$ avoid.
225:181,06@b   | "Upon$4$ my word, she does it very well," 
225:181,06['  ]| he tacitly
225:181,07['  ]| commented. 
225:181,07@b   | "They all hold together bravely, and,
225:181,08@b   | whether any*one else can trust them or not, they can
225:181,09@b   | certainly trust each other."
225:181,10['  ]| Newman, at this juncture, fell to$9$ admiring the
225:181,11['  ]| Duchess for$4$ her fine manners. He felt, most accurately,
225:181,12['  ]| that$3$ 
225:181,12@b   | she was not a grain less urbane than she would have
225:181,13@b   | been if his marriage were still in$4$ prospect; but he felt
225:181,14@b   | also that$3$ she was not a particle more urbane. He had
225:181,15@b   | come, so$5#2$ reasoned the Duchess ~~ Heaven knew why he 
225:181,16@b   | had come, after what had happened; and for$4$ the half
225:181,17@b   | hour, therefore, she would be \9charmante\. But she would
225:181,18@b   | never see him again. 
225:181,18['  ]| Finding no$2$ ready-made opportunity
225:181,19['  ]| to$9$ tell his story, Newman pondered these things more
225:181,20['  ]| dispassionately than might have been expected; he
225:181,21['  ]| stretched his legs, as usual, and even chuckled a little,
225:181,22['  ]| appreciatively and noiselessly. And then as the Duchess
225:181,23['  ]| went on$5$ relating a \9mot\ with which$6#1$ her mother had
225:181,24['  ]| snubbed the great Napoleon, it occurred to$4$ Newman
225:181,25['  ]| that$3$ 
225:181,25@b   | her evasion of a chapter of French history more
225:181,26@b   | interesting to$4$ himself might possibly be the result of an
225:181,27@b   | extreme consideration for$4$ his feelings. Perhaps it was
225:181,28@b   | delicacy on$4$ the Duchess's part ~~ not policy. 
225:181,28['  ]| He was on$4$
225:181,29['  ]| the point of saying something himself, to$9$ make the chance
225:181,30['  ]| which$6#1$ he had determined to$9$ give her still better, when
225:181,31['  ]| the servant announced another visitor. The Duchess on$4$
225:181,32['  ]| hearing the name ~~ it was that$6#2$ of an Italian prince ~
225:181,33['  ]| gave a little imperceptible pout, and said to$4$ Newman,
225:181,34['  ]| rapidly: 
225:181,34[V  ]| "I beg you to$9$ remain; I desire this visit to$9$ be
225:181,35[V  ]| short." 
225:181,35['  ]| Newman said to$4$ himself, at this, that$3$ 
225:181,35@b   | Madame*d'Outreville
225:181,36@b   | intended, after all, that$3$ they should discuss
225:181,37@b   | the Bellegardes together.
225:182,01['  ]| The Prince was a short stout man, with a head disproportionately
225:182,02['  ]| large. He had a dusky complexion and 
225:182,03['  ]| a bushy eyebrow, beneath which$6#1$ his eye wore a fixed
225:182,04['  ]| and somewhat defiant expression; he seemed to$9$ be
225:182,05['  ]| challenging you to$9$ insinuate that$3$ he was top-heavy.
225:182,06['  ]| The Duchess, judging from her charge to$4$ Newman, regarded
225:182,07['  ]| him as a bore; but this was not apparent from
225:182,08['  ]| the unchecked flow of her conversation. She made a
225:182,09['  ]| fresh series of \9mots\, characterised with great felicity the
225:182,10['  ]| Italian intellect and the taste of the figs at Sorrento,
225:182,11['  ]| predicted the ultimate future of the Italian kingdom
225:182,12['  ]| (disgust with the brutal Sardinian rule and complete reversion,
225:182,13['  ]| throughout the peninsula, to$4$ the sacred sway of
225:182,14['  ]| the Holy*Father), and, finally, gave a history of the love
225:182,15['  ]| affairs of the princess*X~~. This narrative provoked
225:182,16['  ]| some rectifications on$4$ the part of the prince, who$6#1$, as he
225:182,17['  ]| said, pretended to$9$ know something about that$6#2$ matter;
225:182,18['  ]| and having satisfied himself that$3$ Newman was in$4$ no$2$
225:182,19['  ]| laughing mood, either with regard to$4$ the size of his head
225:182,20['  ]| or anything else, he entered into the controversy with an
225:182,21['  ]| animation for$4$ which$6#1$ the Duchess, when she set him down
225:182,22['  ]| as a bore, could not have been prepared. The sentimental
225:182,23['  ]| vicissitudes of the princess*X~~ led to$4$ a discussion
225:182,24['  ]| of the heart-history of Florentine nobility in$4$ general;
225:182,25['  ]| the Duchess had spent five weeks in$4$ Florence, and had
225:182,26['  ]| gathered much information on$4$ the subject. This was
225:182,27['  ]| merged, in$4$ turn, in$4$ an examination of the Italian heart
225:182,28['  ]| \7per*se\. The Duchess took a brilliantly heterodox view ~
225:182,29['  ]| thought it the least susceptible organ of its kind that$6#1$ she
225:182,30['  ]| had ever encountered, related examples of its want of
225:182,31['  ]| susceptibility, and at last declared that$3$ 
225:182,31@v   | for$4$ her the
225:182,32@v   | Italians were a people of ice. 
225:182,32['  ]| The Prince became flame
225:182,33['  ]| to$9$ refute her, and his visit really proved charming.
225:182,34['  ]| Newman was naturally out of the conversation; he sat
225:182,35['  ]| with his head a little on$4$ one side watching the interlocutors.
225:182,36['  ]| The Duchess, as she talked, frequently looked
225:182,37['  ]| at him with a smile, as if to$9$ intimate, in$4$ the charming
225:183,01['  ]| manner of her nation, that$3$ it lay only with him to$9$ say
225:183,02['  ]| something very much to$4$ the point. But he said nothing
225:183,03['  ]| at all, and at last his thoughts began to$9$ wander. A
225:183,04['  ]| singular feeling came over him ~~ a sudden sense of the
225:183,05['  ]| folly of his errand. 
225:183,05@b   | What under the sun had he to$9$ say
225:183,06@b   | to$4$ the Duchess, after all? Wherein would it profit him
225:183,07@b   | to$9$ tell her that$3$ the Bellegardes were traitors and that$3$ the
225:183,08@b   | old lady, into the bargain, was a murderess? 
225:183,08['  ]| He seemed
225:183,09['  ]| morally to$9$ have turned a sort of somersault, and to$9$ find
225:183,10['  ]| things looking differently in$4$ consequence. He felt a
225:183,11['  ]| sudden stiffening of his will$0$ and quickening of his reserve.
225:183,12@b   | What in$4$ the world had he been thinking of
225:183,13@b   | when he fancied the Duchess could help him, and that$3$
225:183,14@b   | it would conduce to$4$ his comfort to$9$ make her think ill of
225:183,15@b   | the Bellegardes? What did her opinion of the Bellegardes
225:183,16@b   | matter to$4$ him? It was only a shade more important
225:183,17@b   | than the opinion the Bellegardes entertained of
225:183,18@b   | her. The Duchess help him ~~ that$6#2$ cold, stout, soft,
225:183,19@b   | artificial woman help him? ~~ she who$6#1$ in$4$ the last twenty
225:183,20@b   | minutes had built up$5$ between them a wall of polite conversation
225:183,21@b   | in$4$ which$6#1$ she evidently flattered herself that$3$ he
225:183,22@b   | would never find a gate. Had it come to$4$ that$6#2$ ~~ that$3$ he
225:183,23@b   | was asking favours of conceited people, and appealing
225:183,24@b   | for$4$ sympathy where he had no$2$ sympathy to$9$ give? 
225:183,24['  ]| He
225:183,25['  ]| rested his arms on$4$ his knees, and sat for$4$ some minutes
225:183,26['  ]| staring into his hat. As he did so$5#2$ his ears tingled ~~ 
225:183,26@b   | he
225:183,27@b   | had come very near being an ass. Whether or no$5$ the
225:183,28@b   | Duchess would hear his story, he would not tell it. Was
225:183,29@b   | he to$9$ sit there another half-hour for$4$ the sake of exposing
225:183,30@b   | the Bellegardes? The Bellegardes be hanged! 
225:183,30['  ]| He
225:183,31['  ]| got up$5$ abruptly, and advanced to$9$ shake hands with his
225:183,32['  ]| hostess.
225:183,33[V  ]| "You can not stay longer?" 
225:183,33['  ]| she asked, very graciously.
225:183,34[B  ]| "I am afraid not," 
225:183,34['  ]| he said.
225:183,35['  ]| She hesitated a moment, and then, 
225:183,35[V  ]| "I had an idea
225:183,36[V  ]| you had something particular to$9$ say to$4$ me," 
225:183,36['  ]| she declared.
225:183,37['  ]| Newman looked at her; he felt a little dizzy; for$4$ the
225:184,01['  ]| moment he seemed to$9$ be turning his somersault again.
225:184,02['  ]| The little Italian prince came to$4$ his help; 
225:184,02[W  ]| "Ah, Madame,
225:184,03[W  ]| who$6#2$ has not that$6#2$?" 
225:184,03['  ]| he softly sighed.
225:184,04[V  ]| "Do not teach Mr%*Newman to$9$ say \9fadaises\," 
225:184,04['  ]| said the
225:184,05['  ]| Duchess. 
225:184,05[V  ]| "It is his merit that$3$ he does not know how."
225:184,06[B  ]| "Yes, I do not know how to$9$ say \9fadaises\," 
225:184,06['  ]| said Newman,
225:184,07[B  ]| "and I do not want to$9$ say anything unpleasant."
225:184,08[V  ]| "I am sure you are very considerate," 
225:184,08['  ]| said the Duchess,
225:184,09['  ]| with a smile; and she gave him a little nod for$4$ goodbye,
225:184,10['  ]| with which$6#1$ he took his departure.
225:184,11['  ]| Once in$4$ the street, he stood for$4$ some time on$4$ the
225:184,12['  ]| pavement, wondering 
225:184,12@b   | whether, after all, he was not an
225:184,13@b   | ass not to$9$ have discharged his pistol. 
225:184,13['  ]| And then he
225:184,14['  ]| decided that$3$ 
225:184,14@b   | to$9$ talk to$4$ any*one whomsoever about the
225:184,15@b   | Bellegardes would be extremely disagreeable to$4$ him.
225:184,16@b   | The least disagreeable thing, under the circumstances,
225:184,17@b   | was to$9$ banish them from his mind, and never think of
225:184,18@b   | them again. 
225:184,18['  ]| Indecision had not hitherto been one of
225:184,19['  ]| Newman's weaknesses, and in$4$ this case it was not of
225:184,20['  ]| long duration. For$4$ three days after this he did not, or
225:184,21['  ]| at least he tried not to$9$, think of the Bellegardes. He
225:184,22['  ]| dined with Mrs%*Tristram, and on$4$ her mentioning their
225:184,23['  ]| name, he begged her almost severely to$9$ desist. This
225:184,24['  ]| gave Tom*Tristram a much-coveted opportunity to$9$ offer
225:184,25['  ]| his condolences.
225:184,26['  ]| He leaned forward, laying his hand on$4$ Newman's arm,
225:184,27['  ]| compressing his lips, and shaking his head. 
225:184,27[H  ]| "The fact
225:184,28[H  ]| is, my dear fellow, you see that$3$ you ought never to$9$ have
225:184,29[H  ]| gone into it. It was not your doing, I know ~~ it was all
225:184,30[H  ]| my wife. If you want to$9$ come down on$4$ her, I will$1$ stand
225:184,31[H  ]| off: I give you leave to$9$ hit her as hard as you like$1$.
225:184,32[H  ]| You know she has never had a word of reproach from
225:184,33[H  ]| me in$4$ her life, and I think she is in$4$ need of something
225:184,34[H  ]| of the kind. Why did not you listen to$4$ \9me\? You know
225:184,35[H  ]| I did not believe in$4$ the thing. I thought it at the best
225:184,36[H  ]| an amiable delusion. I do not profess to$9$ be a Don*Juan
225:184,37[H  ]| or a gay Lothario ~~ that$6#2$ class of man, you know; but I
225:185,01[H  ]| do pretend to$9$ know something about the harder sex. I
225:185,02[H  ]| have never disliked a woman in$4$ my life that$6#1$ she has not
225:185,03[H  ]| turned out badly. I was not at all deceived in$4$ Lizzie,
225:185,04[H  ]| for$4$ instance; I always had my doubts about her. Whatever
225:185,05[H  ]| you may think of my present situation, I must at
225:185,06[H  ]| least admit that$3$ I got into it with my eyes open. Now
225:185,07[H  ]| suppose you had got into something like$4$ this box with
225:185,08[H  ]| Madame*de*Cintre=. You may depend upon$4$ it she would
225:185,09[H  ]| have turned out a stiff one. And upon$4$ my word I do not
225:185,10[H  ]| see where you could have found your comfort. Not
225:185,11[H  ]| from the Marquis, my dear Newman; he was not a man
225:185,12[H  ]| you could go and talk things over with in$4$ a sociable,
225:185,13[H  ]| common-sense way. Did he ever seem to$9$ want to$9$ have
225:185,14[H  ]| you on$4$ the premises ~~ did he ever try to$9$ see you alone?
225:185,15[H  ]| Did he ever ask you to$9$ come and smoke a cigar with
225:185,16[H  ]| him of an evening, or step in$5$, when you had been calling
225:185,17[H  ]| on$4$ the ladies, and take something? I do not think you would
225:185,18[H  ]| have got much encouragement out of \him\. And as for$4$ the
225:185,19[H  ]| old lady, she struck one as an uncommonly strong dose.
225:185,20[H  ]| They have a great expression here, you know; they call
225:185,21[H  ]| it ""sympathetic."" Everything is sympathetic ~~ or ought
225:185,22[H  ]| to$9$ be. Now Madame*de*Bellegarde is about as sympathetic
225:185,23[H  ]| as that$6#2$ mustard-pot. They are a d~~d cold-blooded
225:185,24[H  ]| lot, any way; I felt it awfully at that$6#2$ ball of
225:185,25[H  ]| theirs. I felt as if I were walking up$5$ and down in$4$ the
225:185,26[H  ]| Armoury, in$4$ the Tower*of*London! My dear boy,
225:185,27[H  ]| do not think me a vulgar brute for$4$ hinting at it, but you
225:185,28[H  ]| may depend upon$4$ it, all they wanted was your money!
225:185,29[H  ]| I know something about that$6#2$; I can tell when people
225:185,30[H  ]| want one's money! Why they stopped wanting yours
225:185,31[H  ]| I do not know; I suppose because they could get some*one
225:185,32[H  ]| else's without working so$5#1$ hard for$4$ it. It is not worth
225:185,33[H  ]| finding out. It may be that$3$ it was not Madame*de*Cintre=
225:185,34[H  ]| that$6#1$ backed out first; very likely the old woman
225:185,35[H  ]| put her up$5$ to$4$ it. I suspect she and her mother are really
225:185,36[H  ]| as thick as thieves, eh? You are well out of it, my boy;
225:185,37[H  ]| make up$5$ your mind to$4$ that$6#2$. If I express myself strongly
225:186,01[H  ]| it is all because I love you so$5#1$ much; and from that$6#2$ point
225:186,02[H  ]| of view I may say I should as soon have thought of
225:186,03[H  ]| making up$5$ to$4$ that$6#2$ piece of pale high-mightiness as I
225:186,04[H  ]| should have thought of making up$5$ to$4$ the Obelisk in$4$ the
225:186,05[H  ]| Place*de*la*Concorde."
225:186,06['  ]| Newman sat gazing at Tristram during this harangue
225:186,07['  ]| with a lack-lustre eye; never yet had he seemed to$4$ himself
225:186,08['  ]| to$9$ have outgrown so$5#1$ completely the phase of equal
225:186,09['  ]| comradeship with Tom*Tristram. Mrs%*Tristram's
225:186,10['  ]| glance at her husband had more of a spark; she turned
225:186,11['  ]| to$4$ Newman with a slightly lurid smile. 
225:186,11[I  ]| "You must
225:186,12[I  ]| at least do justice," 
225:186,12['  ]| she said, 
225:186,12[I  ]| "to$4$ the felicity with which$6#1$
225:186,13[I  ]| Mr%*Tristram repairs the indiscretions of a too zealous
225:186,14[I  ]| wife."
225:186,15['  ]| But even without the aid of Tom*Tristram's conversational
225:186,16['  ]| felicities, Newman would have begun to$9$ think of
225:186,17['  ]| the Bellegardes again. He could cease to$9$ think of them
225:186,18['  ]| only when he ceased to$9$ think of his loss and privation,
225:186,19['  ]| and the days had as yet but scantily lightened the weight
225:186,20['  ]| of this incommodity. In$4$ vain Mrs%*Tristram begged him
225:186,21['  ]| to$9$ cheer up$5$; she assured him that$3$ 
225:186,21@i   | the sight of his countenance
225:186,22@i   | made her miserable.
225:186,23[B  ]| "How can I help it?" 
225:186,23['  ]| he demanded, with a trembling
225:186,24['  ]| voice. 
225:186,24[B  ]| "I feel like$4$ a widower ~~ and a widower who$6#1$
225:186,25[B  ]| has not even the consolation of going to$9$ stand beside the
225:186,26[B  ]| grave of his wife ~~ who$6#1$ has not the right to$9$ wear so$5#1$
225:186,27[B  ]| much mourning as a weed on$4$ his hat. I feel," 
225:186,27['  ]| he
225:186,28['  ]| added in$4$ a moment, 
225:186,28[B  ]| "as if my wife had been murdered
225:186,29[B  ]| and her assassins were still at large."
225:186,30['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram made no$2$ immediate rejoinder, but at
225:186,31['  ]| last she said, with a smile which$6#1$, in$4$ so$5#1$ far as it was a
225:186,32['  ]| forced one, was less successfully simulated than such
225:186,33['  ]| smiles, on$4$ her lips, usually were: 
225:186,33[I  ]| "Are you very sure
225:186,34[I  ]| that$3$ you would have been happy?"
225:186,35['  ]| Newman stared a moment, and then shook his head.
225:186,36[B  ]| "That$6#2$ is weak," 
225:186,36['  ]| he said; 
225:186,36[B  ]| "that$6#2$ will$1$ not do."
225:186,37[I  ]| "Well," 
225:186,37['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, with a more triumphant
225:187,01['  ]| bravery, 
225:187,01[I  ]| "I do not believe you would have been
225:187,02[I  ]| happy."
225:187,03['  ]| Newman gave a little laugh. 
225:187,03[B  ]| "Say I should have
225:187,04[B  ]| been miserable, then; it is a misery I should have preferred
225:187,05[B  ]| to$4$ any happiness."
225:187,06['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram began to$9$ muse. 
225:187,06[I  ]| "I should have been
225:187,07[I  ]| curious to$9$ see; it would have been very strange."
225:187,08[B  ]| "Was it from curiosity that$3$ you urged me to$9$ try and
225:187,09[B  ]| marry her?"
225:187,10[I  ]| "A little," 
225:187,10['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, growing still more
225:187,11['  ]| audacious. Newman gave her the one angry look he
225:187,12['  ]| had been destined ever to$9$ give her, turned away and took
225:187,13['  ]| up$5$ his hat. She watched him a moment, and then she
225:187,14['  ]| said, 
225:187,14[I  ]| "That$6#2$ sounds very cruel, but it is less so$5#2$ than
225:187,15[I  ]| it sounds. Curiosity has a share in$4$ almost everything I
225:187,16[I  ]| do. I wanted very much to$9$ see, first, whether such a
225:187,17[I  ]| marriage could a actually take place; second, what would
225:187,18[I  ]| happen if it should take place."
225:187,19[B  ]| "So$3$ you did not believe," 
225:187,19['  ]| said Newman, resentfully.
225:187,20[I  ]| "Yes, I believed ~~ I believed that$3$ it would take place,
225:187,21[I  ]| and that$3$ you would be happy. Otherwise I should have
225:187,22[I  ]| been, among my speculations, a very heartless creature.
225:187,23[I  ]| \But\," 
225:187,23['  ]| she continued, laying her hand upon$4$ Newman's
225:187,24['  ]| arm, and hazarding a grave smile, 
225;187,24[I  ]| "it was the highest
225:187,25[I  ]| flight ever taken by$4$ a tolerably bold imagination!"
225:187,26['  ]| Shortly after this she recommended him 
225:187,26@i   | to$9$ leave Paris
225:187,27@i   | and travel for$4$ three months. Change of scene would do
225:187,28@i   | him good, and he would forget his misfortune sooner in$4$
225:187,29@i   | absence from the objects which$6#1$ had witnessed it. 
225:187,29[B  ]| "I
225:187,30[B  ]| really feel," 
225:187,30['  ]| Newman rejoined, 
225:187,30[B  ]| "as if to$9$ leave \you\, at
225:187,31[B  ]| least, would do me good ~~ and cost me very little effort.
225:187,32[B  ]| You are growing cynical; you shock me and pain me."
225:187,33[I  ]| "Very good," 
225:187,33['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, good-naturedly or
225:187,34['  ]| cynically, as may be thought most probable. 
225:187,34[I  ]| "I shall
225:187,35[I  ]| certainly see you again."
225:187,36['  ]| Newman was very willing to$9$ get away from Paris; the
225:187,37['  ]| brilliant streets he had walked through in$4$ his happier
225:188,01['  ]| hours, and which$6#1$ then seemed to$9$ wear a higher brilliancy
225:188,02['  ]| in$4$ honour of his happiness, appeared now to$9$ be in$4$ the
225:188,03['  ]| secret of his defeat and to$9$ look down upon$4$ it in$4$ shining
225:188,04['  ]| mockery. 
225:188,04@b   | He would go somewhere; he cared little
225:188,05@b   | where; and he made his preparations. 
225:188,05['  ]| Then, one
225:188,06['  ]| morning, at haphazard, he drove to$4$ the train that$6#1$ would
225:188,07['  ]| transport him to$4$ Boulogne and despatch him thence to$4$
225:188,08['  ]| the shores of Britain. As he rolled along in$4$ the train
225:188,09['  ]| he asked himself 
225:188,09@b   | what had become of his revenge, 
225:188,09['  ]| and
225:188,10['  ]| he was able to$9$ say that$3$ 
225:188,10@b   | it was provisionally pigeon-holed
225:188,11@b   | in$4$ a very safe place; it would keep till called for$5$.
225:188,12['  ]| He arrived in$4$ London in$4$ the midst of what is called
225:188,13['  ]| "the season," and it seemed to$4$ him at first that$3$ 
225:188,13@b   | he might
225:188,14@b   | here put himself in$4$ the way of being diverted from his
225:188,15@b   | heavy-heartedness. 
225:188,15['  ]| He knew no*one in$4$ all England, but
225:188,16['  ]| the spectacle of the mighty metropolis roused him somewhat
225:188,17['  ]| from his apathy. Anything that$6#1$ was enormous
225:188,18['  ]| usually found favour with Newman, and the multitudinous
225:188,19['  ]| energies and industries of England stirred within him
225:188,20['  ]| a dull vivacity of contemplation. It is on$4$ record that$3$
225:188,21['  ]| the weather, at that$6#2$ moment, was of the finest English
225:188,22['  ]| quality; he took long walks and explored London in$4$
225:188,23['  ]| every direction; he sat by$4$ the hour in$4$ Kensington*Gardens
225:188,24['  ]| and beside the adjoining Drive, watching the
225:188,25['  ]| people and the horses and the carriages; the rosy English
225:188,26['  ]| beauties, the wonderful English dandies, and the splendid
225:188,27['  ]| flunkeys. He went to$4$ the opera and found it better than
225:188,28['  ]| in$4$ Paris; he went to$4$ the theatre and found a surprising
225:188,29['  ]| charm in$4$ listening to$4$ dialogue the finest points of which$6#1$
225:188,30['  ]| came within the range of his comprehension. He made
225:188,31['  ]| several excursions into the country, recommended by$4$ the
225:188,32['  ]| waiter at his hotel, with whom, on$4$ this and similar points,
225:188,33['  ]| he had established confidential relations. He watched
225:188,34['  ]| the deer in$4$ Windsor*Forest and admired the Thames from
225:188,35['  ]| Richmond*Hill; he ate whitebait and brown bread and
225:188,36['  ]| butter at Greenwich, and strolled in$4$ the grassy shadow
225:188,37['  ]| of the cathedral of Canterbury. He also visited the
225:189,01['  ]| Tower*of*London and Madame*Tussaud's exhibition.
225:189,02['  ]| One day he thought he would go to$4$ Sheffield, and then,
225:189,03['  ]| thinking again, he gave it up$5$. 
225:189,03@b   | Why should he go to$4$
225:189,04@b   | Sheffield? 
225:189,04['  ]| He had a feeling that$3$ 
225:189,04@b   | the link which$6#1$ bound
225:189,05@b   | him to$4$ a possible interest in$4$ the manufacture of cutlery
225:189,06@b   | was broken. He had no$2$ desire for$4$ an "inside view" of
225:189,07@b   | any successful enterprise whatever, and he would not have
225:189,08@b   | given the smallest sum for$4$ the privilege of talking over
225:189,09@b   | the details of the most "splendid" business with the
225:189,10@b   | shrewdest of overseers.
225:189,11['  ]| One afternoon he had walked into Hyde*Park, and
225:189,12['  ]| was slowly threading his way through the human maze
225:189,13['  ]| which$6#1$ edges the Drive. The stream of carriages was no$2$
225:189,14['  ]| less dense, and Newman, as usual, marvelled at the
225:189,15['  ]| strange dingy figures which$6#1$ he saw taking the air in$4$ some
225:189,16['  ]| of the stateliest vehicles. They reminded him of what he
225:189,17['  ]| had read of eastern and southern countries, in$4$ which$6#1$
225:189,18['  ]| grotesque idols and fetiches were sometimes taken out of
225:189,19['  ]| their temples and carried abroad in$4$ golden chariots to$9$ be
225:189,20['  ]| displayed to$4$ the multitude. He saw a great many pretty
225:189,21['  ]| cheeks beneath high-plumed hats as he squeezed his way
225:189,22['  ]| through serried waves of crumpled muslin; and sitting
225:189,23['  ]| on$4$ little chairs at the base of the great serious Englsh
225:189,24['  ]| trees, he observed a number of quiet-eyed maidens, who$6#1$
225:189,25['  ]| seemed only to$9$ remind him afresh that$3$ the magic of
225:189,26['  ]| beauty had gone out of the world with Madame*de*Cintre=: 
225:189,27['  ]| to$9$ say nothing of other damsels, whose eyes
225:189,28['  ]| were not quiet, and who$6#1$ struck him still more as a satire
225:189,29['  ]| on$4$ possible consolation. He had been walking for$4$ some
225:189,30['  ]| time, when, directly in$4$ front of him, borne back by$4$ the
225:189,31['  ]| summer breeze, he heard a few words uttered in$4$ that$6#2$
225:189,32['  ]| bright Parisian idiom from which$6#1$ his ears had begun to$9$
225:189,33['  ]| alienate themselves. The voice in$4$ which$6#1$ the words were
225:189,34['  ]| spoken made them seem even more like$4$ a thing with
225:189,35['  ]| which$6#1$ he had once been familiar, and as he bent his eyes
225:189,36['  ]| it lent an identity to$4$ the commonplace elegance of the
225:189,37['  ]| back hair and shoulders of a young lady walking in$4$ the
225:190,01['  ]| same direction as himself. 
225:190,01@b   | Mademoiselle*Nioche, apparently,
225:190,02@b   | had come to$9$ seek a more rapid advancement in$4$
225:190,03@b   | London, 
225:190,03['  ]| and another glance led Newman to$9$ suppose that$3$
225:190,04@b   | she had found it. 
225:190,04['  ]| A gentleman was strolling beside her,
225:190,05['  ]| lending a most attentive ear to$4$ her conversation, and too
225:190,06['  ]| entranced to$9$ open his lips. Newman did not hear his 
225:190,07['  ]| voice, but perceived that$3$ he presented the dorsal expression 
225:190,08['  ]| of a well-dressed Englishman. Mademoiselle*Nioche
225:190,09['  ]| was attracting attention: the ladies who$6#1$ passed her turned
225:190,10['  ]| round to$9$ survey the Parisian perfection of her toilet. A
225:190,11['  ]| great cataract of flounces rolled down from the young
225:190,12['  ]| lady's waist to$4$ Newman's feet; he had to$9$ step aside to$9$
225:190,13['  ]| avoid treading upon$4$ them. He stepped aside, indeed,
225:190,14['  ]| with a decision of movement which$6#1$ the occasion scarcely
225:190,15['  ]| demanded; for$3$ even this imperfect glimpse of Miss*Noe=mie
225:190,16['  ]| had excited his displeasure. 
225:190,16@b   | She seemed an
225:190,17@b   | odious blot upon$4$ the face of nature; he wanted to$9$ put her
225:190,18@b   | out of his sight. 
225:190,18['  ]| He thought 
225:190,18@b   | of Valentin*de*Bellegarde,
225:190,19@b   | still green in$4$ the earth of his burial ~~ his young life clipped
225:190,20@b   | by$4$ this flourishing impudence. The perfume of the young
225:190,21@b   | lady's finery sickened him; 
225:190,21['  ]| he turned his head and tried
225:190,22['  ]| to$9$ deflect his course; but the pressure of the crowd kept
225:190,23['  ]| him near her a few minutes longer, so$3$ that$3$ he heard what
225:190,24['  ]| she was saying.
225:190,25[G  ]| "Ah, I am sure he will$1$ miss me," 
225:190,25['  ]| she murmured.
225:190,26[G  ]| "It was very cruel in$4$ me to$9$ leave him; I am afraid you
225:190,27[G  ]| will$1$ think me a very heartless creature. He might perfectly
225:190,28[G  ]| well have come with us. I do not think he is very
225:190,29[G  ]| well," 
225:190,29['  ]| she added; 
225:190,29[G  ]| "it seemed to$4$ me to-day that$3$ he was
225:190,30[G  ]| not very gay."
225:190,31['  ]| Newman wondered whom she was talking about, but
225:190,32['  ]| just then an opening among his neighbours enabled him
225:190,33['  ]| to$9$ turn away, and he said to$4$ himself that$3$ 
225:190,33@b   | she was probably
225:190,34@b   | paying a tribute to$4$ British propriety, and playing at
225:190,35@b   | tender solicitude about her papa. Was that$6#2$ miserable
225:190,36@b   | old man still treading the path of vice in$4$ her train?
225:190,37@b   | Was he still giving her the benefit of his experience of
225:191,01@b   | affairs, and had he crossed the sea to$9$ serve as her interpreter?
225:191,02['  ]| Newman walked some distance farther, and then
225:191,03['  ]| began to$9$ retrace his steps, taking care not to$9$ traverse again
225:191,04['  ]| the orbit of Mademoiselle*Nioche. At last he looked for$4$
225:191,05['  ]| a chair under the trees, but he had some difficulty in$4$ finding
225:191,06['  ]| an empty one. He was about to$9$ give up$5$ the search
225:191,07['  ]| when he saw a gentleman rise from the seat he had been
225:191,08['  ]| occupying, leaving Newman to$9$ take it without looking at
225:191,09['  ]| his neighbours. He sat there for$4$ some time without
225:191,10['  ]| heeding them; his attention was lost in$4$ the irritation
225:191,11['  ]| and bitterness produced by$4$ his recent glimpse of Miss*Noe=mie's 
225:191,12['  ]| iniquitous vitality. But at the end of a quarter
225:191,13['  ]| of an hour, dropping his eyes, he perceived a small pug
225:191,14['  ]| dog squatted upon$4$ the path near his feet ~~ a diminutive
225:191,15['  ]| but very perfect specimen of its interesting species. The
225:191,16['  ]| pug was sniffing at the fashionable world, as it passed
225:191,17['  ]| him, with his little black muzzle, and was kept from extending
225:191,18['  ]| his investigation by$4$ a large blue ribbon attached
225:191,19['  ]| to$4$ his collar with an enormous rosette, and held in$4$ the
225:191,20['  ]| hand of a person seated next to$4$ Newman. To$4$ this person
225:191,21['  ]| Newman transferred his attention, and immediately perceived
225:191,22['  ]| that$3$ 
225:191,22@b   | he was the object of all that$6#2$ of his neighbour,
225:191,23@b   | who$6#1$ was staring up$5$ at him from a pair of little fixed white
225:191,24@b   | eyes. 
225:191,24['  ]| These eyes Newman instantly recognised; 
225:191,24@b   | he had
225:191,25@b   | been sitting for$4$ the last quarter of an hour beside M%*Nioche.
225:191,26['  ]| He had vaguely felt that$3$ some*one was staring
225:191,27['  ]| at him. M%*Nioche continued to$9$ stare; he appeared
225:191,28['  ]| afraid to$9$ move, even to$4$ the extent of evading Newman's
225:191,29['  ]| glance.
225:191,30[B  ]| "Dear me!" 
225:191,30['  ]| said Newman; 
225:191,30[B  ]| "are you here too?"
225:191,31['  ]| And he looked at his neighbour's helplessness more
225:191,32['  ]| grimly than he knew. M%*Nioche had a new hat and a
225:191,33['  ]| pair of kid gloves; his clothes, too, seemed to$9$ belong
225:191,34['  ]| to$4$ a more recent antiquity than of yore. Over his arm
225:191,35['  ]| was suspended a lady's mantilla ~~ a light and brilliant
225:191,36['  ]| tissue, fringed with white lace ~~ which$6#1$ had apparently
225:191,37['  ]| been committed to$4$ his keeping; and the little dog's blue
225:192,01['  ]| ribbon was wound tightly round his hand. There was
225:192,02['  ]| no$2$ expression of recognition in$4$ his face ~~ or of anything,
225:192,03['  ]| indeed, save a sort of feeble fascinated dread. Newman
225:192,04['  ]| looked at the pug and the lace mantilla, and then he
225:192,05['  ]| met the old man's eyes again. 
225:192,05[B  ]| "You know me, I see,"
225:192,06['  ]| he pursued. 
225:192,06[B  ]| "You might have spoken to$4$ me before."
225:192,07['  ]| M%*Nioche still said nothing, but it seemed to$4$ Newman
225:192,08['  ]| that$3$ 
225:192,08@b   | his eyes began faintly to$9$ water. 
225:192,08[B  ]| "I did not expect,"
225:192,09['  ]| our hero went on$5$, 
225:192,09[B  ]| "to$9$ meet you so$5#1$ far from ~~ from the
225:192,10[B  ]| Cafe=*de*la*Patrie." 
225:192,10['  ]| The old man remained silent, but
225:192,11['  ]| decidedly Newman had touched the source of tears.
225:192,12['  ]| His neighbour sat staring, and Newman added: 
225:192,12[B  ]| "What is
225:192,13[B  ]| the matter, M%*Nioche? You used to$9$ talk ~~ to$9$ talk very
225:192,14[B  ]| prettily. Do not you remember you even gave lessons in$4$
225:192,15[B  ]| conversation?"
225:192,16['  ]| At this M%*Nioche decided to$9$ change his attitude.
225:192,17['  ]| He stooped and picked up$5$ the pug, lifted it to$4$ his face
225:192,18['  ]| and wiped his eyes on$4$ its little soft back. 
225:192,18[F  ]| "I am afraid
225:192,19[F  ]| to$9$ speak to$4$ you," 
225:192,19['  ]| he presently said, looking over the
225:192,20['  ]| puppy's shoulder. 
225:192,20[F  ]| "I hoped you would not notice me.
225:192,21[F  ]| I should have moved away, but I was afraid that$3$ if I
225:192,22[F  ]| moved you would notice me. So$3$ I sat very still."
225:192,23[B  ]| "I suspect you have a bad conscience, sir," 
225:192,23['  ]| said
225:192,24['  ]| Newman.
225:192,25['  ]| The old man put down the little dog and held it
225:192,26['  ]| carefully in$4$ his lap. Then he shook his head, with his
225:192,27['  ]| eyes still fixed upon$4$ his interlocutor. 
225:192,27[F  ]| "No$7$, M%*Newman,
225:192,28[F  ]| I have a good conscience," 
225:192,28['  ]| he murmured.
225:192,29[B  ]| "Then why should you want to$9$ slink away from
225:192,30[B  ]| me?"
225:192,31[F  ]| "Because ~~ because you do not understand my position."
225:192,32[B  ]| "Oh, I think you once explained it to$4$ me," 
225:192,32['  ]| said
225:192,33['  ]| Newman. 
225:192,33[B  ]| "But it seems improved."
225:192,34[F  ]| "Improved!" 
225:192,34['  ]| exclaimed M%*Nioche, under his breath.
225:192,35[F  ]| "Do you call this improvement?" 
225:192,35['  ]| And he glanced at
225:192,36['  ]| the treasures in$4$ his arms.
225:192,37[B  ]| "Why, you are on$4$ your travels," 
225:192,37['  ]| Newman rejoined.
225:193,01[B  ]| "A visit to$4$ London in$4$ the season is certainly a sign of
225:193,02[B  ]| prosperity."
225:193,03['  ]| M%*Nioche, in$4$ answer to$4$ this cruel piece of irony,
225:193,04['  ]| lifted the puppy up$5$ to$4$ his face again, peering at Newman
225:193,05['  ]| with his small blank eye-holes. There was something
225:193,06['  ]| almost imbecile in$4$ the movement, and Newman hardly
225:193,07['  ]| knew 
225:193,07@b   | whether he was taking refuge in$4$ a convenient
225:193,08@b   | affectation of unreason, or whether he had in$4$ fact paid
225:193,09@b   | for$4$ his dishonour by$4$ the loss of his wits. 
225:193,09['  ]| In$4$ the latter
225:193,10['  ]| case, just now, he felt little more tenderly to$4$ the foolish
225:193,11['  ]| old man than in$4$ the former. 
225:193,11@b   | Responsible or not, he
225:193,12@b   | was equally an accomplice of his detestably mischievous
225:193,13@b   | daughter. 
225:193,13['  ]| Newman was going to$9$ leave him abruptly,
225:193,14['  ]| when a ray of entreaty appeared to$9$ disengage itself from
225:193,15['  ]| the old man's misty gaze. 
225:193,15[F  ]| "Are you going away?" 
225:193,15['  ]| he 
225:193,16['  ]| asked.
225:193,17[B  ]| "Do you want me to$9$ stay?" 
225:193,17['  ]| said Newman.
225:193,18[F  ]| "I should have left you ~~ from consideration. But
225:193,19[F  ]| my dignity suffers at your leaving me ~~ that$6#2$ way."
225:193,20[B  ]| "Have you got anything particular to$9$ say to$4$ me?"
225:193,21['  ]| M%*Nioche looked round him to$9$ see that$3$ no*one was
225:193,22['  ]| listening, and then he said, very softly, but distinctly, 
225:193,22[F  ]| "I
225:193,23[F  ]| have \not\ forgiven her!"
225:193,24['  ]| Newman gave a short laugh, but the old man seemed
225:193,25['  ]| for$4$ the moment not to$9$ perceive it; he was gazing away,
225:193,26['  ]| absently, at some metaphysical image of his implacability.
225:193,27[B  ]| "It does not much matter whether you forgive her or not,"
225:193,28['  ]| said Newman. 
225:193,28[B  ]| "There are other people who$6#1$ will$1$ not, I
225:193,29[B  ]| assure you."
225:193,30[F  ]| "What has she done?" 
225:193,30['  ]| M%*Nioche softly questioned,
225:193,31['  ]| turning round again. 
225:193,31[F  ]| "I do not know what she does,
225:193,32[F  ]| you know."
225:193,33[B  ]| "She has done a devilish mischief; it does not matter
225:193,34[B  ]| what," 
225:193,34['  ]| said Newman. 
225:193,34[B  ]| "She is a nuisance; she ought
225:193,35[B  ]| to$9$ be stopped."
225:193,36['  ]| M%*Nioche stealthily put out his hand and laid it very
225:193,37['  ]| gently upon$4$ Newman's arm. 
225:193,37[F  ]| "Stopped, yes," 
225:193,37['  ]| he
225:194,01['  ]| whispered. 
225:194,01[F  ]| "That$6#2$ is it. Stopped short. She is running
225:194,02[F  ]| away ~~ she must be stopped." 
225:194,02['  ]| Then he paused a
225:194,03['  ]| moment and looked round him. 
225:194,03[F  ]| "I mean to$9$ stop her,"
225:194,04['  ]| he went on$5$. 
225:194,04[F  ]| "I am only waiting for$4$ my chance."
225:194,05[B  ]| "I see," 
225:194,05['  ]| said Newman, laughing briefly again. 
225:194,05[B  ]| "She
225:194,06[B  ]| is running away and you are running after her. You
225:194,07[B  ]| have run a long distance!"
225:194,08['  ]| But M%*Nioche stared insistently: 
225:194,08[F  ]| "I shall stop her!"
225:194,09['  ]| he softly repeated.
225:194,10['  ]| He had hardly spoken when the crowd in$4$ front of
225:194,11['  ]| them separated, as if by$4$ the impulse to$9$ make way for$4$ an
225:194,12['  ]| important personage. Presently, through the opening,
225:194,13['  ]| advanced Mademoiselle*Nioche, attended by$4$ the gentleman
225:194,14['  ]| whom Newman had lately observed. His face
225:194,15['  ]| being now presented to$4$ our hero, the latter recognised
225:194,16['  ]| the irregular features, the hardly more regular complexion,
225:194,17['  ]| and the amiable expression of Lord*Deepmere.
225:194,18['  ]| Noe=mie, on$4$ finding herself suddenly confronted with
225:194,19['  ]| Newman, who$6#1$, like$4$ M%*Nioche, had risen from his seat,
225:194,20['  ]| faltered for$4$ a barely perceptible instant. She gave him
225:194,21['  ]| a little nod, as if she had seem him yesterday, and then,
225:194,22['  ]| with a good-natured smile, 
225:194,22[G  ]| "\9Tiens\, how we keep meeting!"
225:194,23['  ]| she said. She looked consummately pretty, and the
225:194,24['  ]| front of her dress was a wonderful work of art. She
225:194,25['  ]| went up$5$ to$4$ her father, stretching out her hands for$4$ the
225:194,26['  ]| little dog, which$6#1$ he submissively placed in$4$ them, and
225:194,27['  ]| she began to$9$ kiss it and murmur over it: 
225:194,27[G  ]| "To$9$ think of
225:194,28[G  ]| leaving him all alone ~~ what a wicked, abominable
225:194,29[G  ]| creature he must believe me! He has been very unwell,"
225:194,30['  ]| she added, turning and affecting to$9$ explain to$4$ Newman,
225:194,31['  ]| with a spark of infernal impudence, fine as needle-point,
225:194,32['  ]| in$4$ her eye. 
225:194,32[G  ]| "I do not think the English climate agrees
225:194,33[G  ]| with him."
225:194,34[B  ]| "It seems to$9$ agree wonderfully well with his mistress,"
225:194,35['  ]| said Newman.
225:194,36[G  ]| "Do you mean me? I have never been better, thank
225:194,37[G  ]| you," 
225:194,37['  ]| Miss*Noe=mie declared. 
225:194,37[G  ]| "But with \milord\," 
225:194,37['  ]| and
225:195,01['  ]| she gave a brilliant glance at her late companion, 
225:195,01[G  ]| "how
225:195,02[G  ]| can one help being well?" 
225:195,02['  ]| She seated herself in$4$ the
225:195,03['  ]| chair from which$6#1$ her father had risen, and began to$9$
225:195,04['  ]| arrange the little dog's rosette.
225:195,05['  ]| Lord*Deepmere carried off such embarrassment as
225:195,06['  ]| might be incidental to$4$ this unexpected encounter with
225:195,07['  ]| the inferior grace of a male and a Briton. He blushed
225:195,08['  ]| a good deal, and greeted the object of his late momentary
225:195,09['  ]| aspiration to$4$ rivalry in$4$ the favour of a person other than
225:195,10['  ]| the mistress of the invalid pug with an awkward nod and
225:195,11['  ]| a rapid ejaculation ~~ an ejaculation to$4$ which$6#1$ Newman,
225:195,12['  ]| who$6#1$ often found it hard to$9$ understand the speech of
225:195,13['  ]| English people, was able to$9$ attach no$2$ meaning. Then
225:195,14['  ]| the young man stood there, with his hand on$4$ his hip, and
225:195,15['  ]| with a conscious grin, staring askance at Miss*Noe=mie.
225:195,16['  ]| Suddenly an idea seemed to$9$ strike him, and he said,
225:195,17['  ]| turning to$4$ Newman. 
225:195,17[W  ]| "Oh, you know her?"
225:195,18[B  ]| "Yes," 
225:195,18['  ]| said Newman, 
225:195,18[B  ]| "I know her. I do not believe
225:195,19[B  ]| you do."
225:195,20[W  ]| "Oh dear, yes, I do!" 
225:195,20['  ]| said Lord*Deepmere, with
225:195,21['  ]| another grin. 
225:195,21[W  ]| "I knew her in$4$ Paris ~~ by$4$ my poor
225:195,22[W  ]| cousin Bellegarde, you know. He knew her, poor
225:195,23[W  ]| fellow, did not he? It was she, you know, who$6#1$ was at
225:195,24[W  ]| the bottom of his affair. Awfully sad, was not it?" 
225:195,24['  ]| continued
225:195,25['  ]| the young man, talking off his embarrassment as
225:195,26['  ]| his simple nature permitted. 
225:195,26[W  ]| "They got up$5$ some story
225:195,27[W  ]| about its being for$4$ the Pope; about the other man having
225:195,28[W  ]| said something against the Pope's morals. They always
225:195,29[W  ]| do that$6#2$, you know. They put it on$4$ the Pope because
225:195,30[W  ]| Bellegarde was once in$4$ the Zouaves. But it was about
225:195,31[W  ]| \her\ morals ~~ \she\ was the Pope!" 
225:195,31['  ]| Lord*Deepmere pursued,
225:195,32['  ]| directing an eye illumined by$4$ this pleasantry
225:195,33['  ]| toward Mademoiselle*Nioche, who$6#1$ was bending gracefully
225:195,34['  ]| over her lap-dog, apparently absorbed in$4$ conversation
225:195,35['  ]| with it. 
225:195,35[W  ]| "I daresay you think it rather odd that$3$ I
225:195,36[W  ]| should ~~ ah ~~ keep up$5$ the acquaintance," 
225:195,36['  ]| the young man
225:195,37['  ]| resumed; 
225:195,37[W  ]| "but she could not help it, you know, and
225:196,01[W  ]| Bellegarde was only my twentieth cousin. I daresay
225:196,02[W  ]| you think it is rather cheeky, my showing with her in$4$
225:196,03[W  ]| Hyde*Park; but you see she is not known yet, and she is
225:196,04[W  ]| in$4$ such a very good form ~" 
225:196,04['  ]| And Lord*Deepmere's
225:196,05['  ]| conclusion was lost in$4$ the attesting glance which$6#1$ he again
225:196,06['  ]| directed toward the young lady.
225:196,07['  ]| Newman turned away; he was having more of her 
225:196,08['  ]| than he relished. M%*Nioche had stepped aside on$4$ his
225:196,09['  ]| daughter's approach, and he stood there, within a very
225:196,10['  ]| small compass, looking down hard at the ground. It
225:196,11['  ]| had never yet, as between him and Newman, been so$5#1$
225:196,12['  ]| apposite to$9$ place on$4$ record the fact that$3$ he had not forgiven
225:196,13['  ]| his daughter. As Newman was moving away he
225:196,14['  ]| looked up$5$ and drew near to$4$ him, and Newman, seeing
225:196,15['  ]| the old man had something particular to$9$ say, bent his
225:196,16['  ]| head for$4$ an instant.
225:196,17[F  ]| "You will$1$ see it some day in$4$ the papers," 
225:196,17['  ]| murmured
225:196,18['  ]| M%*Nioche.
225:196,19['  ]| Our hero departed to$9$ hide his smile, and to$4$ this day,
225:196,20['  ]| though the newspapers form his principal reading, his
225:196,21['  ]| eyes have not been arrested by$4$ any paragraph forming a
225:196,22['  ]| sequel to$4$ this announcement.
226:196,01['  ]| In$4$ that$6#2$ uninitiated observation of the great spectacle of
226:196,02['  ]| English life upon$4$ which$6#1$ I have touched, it might be
226:196,03['  ]| supposed that$3$ Newman passed a great many dull days.
226:196,04['  ]| But the dulness of his days pleased him; his melancholy,
226:196,05['  ]| which$6#1$ was setting into a secondary stage, like$4$ a healing
226:196,06['  ]| wound, had in$4$ it a certain acrid, palatable sweetness.
226:196,07['  ]| He had company in$4$ his thoughts, and for$4$ the present he
226:196,08['  ]| wanted no$2$ other. He had no$2$ desire to$9$ make acquaintances,
226:196,09['  ]| and he left untouched a couple of notes of introduction
226:197,01['  ]| which$6#1$ had been sent him by$4$ Tom*Tristram. He
226:197,02['  ]| thought a great deal of Madame*de*Cintre= ~~ sometimes
226:197,03['  ]| with a dogged tranquillity which$6#1$ might have seemed, for$4$
226:197,04['  ]| a quarter of an hour at a time, a near neighbour to$4$ forgetfulness.
226:197,05['  ]| He lived over again the happiest hours he
226:197,06['  ]| had known ~~ that$6#2$ silver chain of numbered days in$4$ which$6#1$
226:197,07['  ]| his afternoon visits, tending sensibly to$4$ the ideal result,
226:197,08['  ]| had subtilised his good humour to$4$ a sort of spiritual intoxication.
226:197,09['  ]| He came back to$4$ reality, after such reveries,
226:197,10['  ]| with a somewhat muffled shock; he had begun to$9$ feel
226:197,11['  ]| the need of accepting the unchangeable. At other times
226:197,12['  ]| the reality became an infamy again, and the unchangeable
226:197,13['  ]| an imposture, and he gave himself up$5$ to$4$ his angry restlessness
226:197,14['  ]| till he was weary. But on$4$ the whole he fell into
226:197,15['  ]| a rather reflective mood. Without in$4$ the least intending
226:197,16['  ]| it or knowing it, he attempted to$9$ read the moral of his
226:197,17['  ]| strange misadventure. He asked himself, in$4$ his quieter
226:197,18['  ]| hours, 
226:197,18@b   | whether perhaps, after all, he \was\ more commercial
226:197,19@b   | than was pleasant. 
226:197,19['  ]| We know that$3$ it was in$4$ obedience
226:197,20['  ]| to$4$ a strong reaction against questions exclusively commercial
226:197,21['  ]| that$3$ he had come out to$9$ pick up$5$ aesthetic entertainment
226:197,22['  ]| in$4$ Europe; it may therefore be understood that$3$
226:197,23['  ]| he was able to$9$ conceive that$3$ a man might be too commercial.
226:197,24['  ]| He was very willing to$9$ grant it, but the concession,
226:197,25['  ]| as to$4$ his own case, was not made with any very
226:197,26['  ]| oppressive sense of shame. 
226:197,26@b   | If he had been too commercial,
226:197,27@b   | he was ready to$9$ forget it, for$3$ in$4$ being so$5#2$ he had
226:197,28@b   | done no$2$ man any wrong that$6#1$ might not be as easily forgotten.
226:197,29['  ]| He reflected with sober placidity that$3$ 
226:197,29@b   | at least
226:197,30@b   | there were no$2$ monuments of his "meanness" scattered
226:197,31@b   | about the world. If there was any reason in$4$ the nature of
226:197,32@b   | things why his connection with business should have cast
226:197,33@b   | a shadow upon$4$ a connection ~~ even a connection broken
226:197,34@b   | ~~ with a woman justly proud, he was willing to$9$ sponge
226:197,35@b   | it out of his life for*ever. The thing seemed a possibility;
226:197,36@b   | he could not feel it, doubtless, as keenly as some people,
226:197,37@b   | and it hardly seemed worth while to$9$ flap his wings very
226:198,01@b   | hard to$9$ rise to$4$ the idea; but he could feel it enough to$9$
226:198,02@b   | make any sacrifice that$6#1$ still remained to$9$ be made. 
226:198,02['  ]| As
226:198,03['  ]| to$4$ what such sacrifice was now to$9$ be made to$4$, here Newman
226:198,04['  ]| stopped short before a blank wall over which$6#1$ there
226:198,05['  ]| sometimes played a shadowy imagery. He had a fancy
226:198,06['  ]| of 
226:198,06@b   | carrying out his life as he would have directed it if
226:198,07@b   | Madame*de*Cintre= had been left to$4$ him ~~ of making it a
226:198,08@b   | religion to$9$ do nothing that$6#1$ she would have disliked. In$4$
226:198,09@b   | this, certainly, there was no$2$ sacrifice; but there was a 
226:198,10@b   | pale, oblique ray of inspiration. It would be lonely
226:198,11@b   | entertainment ~~ a good deal like$4$ a man talking to$4$ himself
226:198,12@b   | in$4$ the mirror for$4$ want of better company. 
226:198,12['  ]| Yet the idea
226:198,13['  ]| yielded Newman several half-hours' dumb exaltation as he
226:198,14['  ]| sat, with his hands in$4$ his pockets and his legs stretched,
226:198,15['  ]| over the relics of an expensively poor dinner, in$4$ the undying
226:198,16['  ]| English twilight. If, however, his commercial
226:198,17['  ]| imagination was dead, he felt no$2$ contempt for$4$ the surviving
226:198,18['  ]| actualities begotten by$4$ it. 
226:198,18@b   | He was glad he had
226:198,19@b   | been prosperous and had been a great man of business
226:198,20@b   | rather than a small one; he was extremely glad he was
226:198,21@b   | rich. He felt no$2$ impulse to$9$ sell all he had and give to$4$
226:198,22@b   | the poor, or to$9$ retire into meditative economy and asceticism.
226:198,23@b   | He was glad he was rich and tolerably young; if
226:198,24@b   | it was possible to$9$ think too much about buying and selling,
226:198,25@b   | it was a gain to$9$ have a good slice of life left in$4$ which$6#1$
226:198,26@b   | not to$9$ think about them. Come, what should he think
226:198,27@b   | about now? 
226:198,27['  ]| Again and again Newman could only think
226:198,28['  ]| of one thing; his thoughts always came back to$4$ it, and
226:198,29['  ]| as they did so$5#2$, with an emotional rush which$6#1$ seemed
226:198,30['  ]| physically to$9$ express itself in$4$ a sudden upward choking,
226:198,31['  ]| he leaned forward ~~ the waiter having left the room ~
226:198,32['  ]| and, resting his arms on$4$ the table, buried his troubled
226:198,33['  ]| face.
226:198,34['  ]| He remained in$4$ England till midsummer, and spent a
226:198,35['  ]| month in$4$ the country, wandering about among cathedrals,
226:198,36['  ]| castles, and ruins. Several times, taking a walk from his
226:198,37['  ]| inn into meadows and parks, he stopped by$4$ a well-worn
226:199,01['  ]| stile, looked across through the early evening at a gray
226:199,02['  ]| church tower, with its dusky nimbus of thick-circling
226:199,03['  ]| swallows, and remembered that$3$ this might have been part
226:199,04['  ]| of the entertainment of his honeymoon. He had never
226:199,05['  ]| been so$5#1$ much alone or indulged so$5#1$ little in$4$ accidental
226:199,06['  ]| dialogue. The period of recreation appointed by$4$ Mrs%*Tristram
226:199,07['  ]| had at last expired, and he asked himself 
226:199,07@b   | what
226:199,08@b   | he should do now. Mrs%*Tristram had written to$4$ him,
226:199,09@b   | proposing to$4$ him that$3$ he should join her in$4$ the Pyrenees;
226:199,10@b   | but he was not in$4$ the humour to$9$ return to$4$ France. The
226:199,11@b   | simplest thing was to$9$ repair to$4$ Liverpool and embark on$4$
226:199,12@b   | the first American steamer. 
226:199,12['  ]| Newman made his way to$4$
226:199,13['  ]| the great seaport and secured his berth; and the night
226:199,14['  ]| before sailing he sat in$4$ his room at the hotel, staring
226:199,15['  ]| down, vacantly and wearily, at an open portmanteau. A
226:199,16['  ]| number of papers were lying upon$4$ it, which$6#1$ he had been
226:199,17['  ]| meaning to$9$ look over; some of them might conveniently
226:199,18['  ]| be destroyed. But at last he shuffled them roughly together,
226:199,19['  ]| and pushed them into a corner of the valise;
226:199,20['  ]| they were business papers, and he was in$4$ no$2$ humour for$4$
226:199,21['  ]| sifting them. Then he drew forth his pocket-book and
226:199,22['  ]| took out a paper of smaller size than those he had dismissed.
226:199,23['  ]| He did not unfold it; he simply sat looking at
226:199,24['  ]| the back of it. If he had momentarily entertained the
226:199,25['  ]| idea of destroying it, the idea quickly expired. What
226:199,26['  ]| the paper suggested was the feeling that$6#1$ lay in$4$ his innermost
226:199,27['  ]| heart and that$6#1$ no$2$ reviving cheerfulness could long
226:199,28['  ]| quench ~~ the feeling that$3$, 
226:199,28@b   | after all and above all, he was a
226:199,29@b   | good fellow wronged. 
226:199,29['  ]| With it came a hearty hope that$3$
226:199,30@b   | the Bellegardes were enjoying their suspense as to$4$ what
226:199,31@b   | he would do yet. The more it was prolonged the more
226:199,32@b   | they would enjoy it! He had hung fire once, yes; perhaps,
226:199,33@b   | in$4$ his present queer state of mind, he might hang
226:199,34@b   | fire again. 
226:199,34['  ]| But he restored the little paper to$4$ his pocket-book
226:199,35['  ]| very tenderly, and felt better for$4$ thinking of the
226:199,36['  ]| suspense of the Bellegardes. He felt better every time
226:199,37['  ]| he thought of it after that$6#2$, as he sailed the summer seas.
226:200,01['  ]| He landed in$4$ New*York and journeyed across the continent
226:200,02['  ]| to$4$ San*Francisco, and nothing that$6#1$ he observed
226:200,03['  ]| by$4$ the way contributed to$9$ mitigate his sense of being a
226:200,04['  ]| good fellow wronged.
226:200,05['  ]| He saw a great many other good fellows ~~ his old
226:200,06['  ]| friends ~~ but he told none of them of the trick that$6#1$ had
226:200,07['  ]| been played him. He said simply that$3$ 
226:200,07@b   | the lady he was
226:200,08@b   | to$9$ have married had changed her mind, 
226:200,08['  ]| and when he
226:200,09['  ]| was asked if he had changed his own, he said, 
226:200,09[B  ]| "Suppose
226:200,10[B  ]| we change the subject." 
226:200,10['  ]| He told his friends that$3$ 
226:200,10@b   | he had
226:200,11@b   | brought home no$2$ "new ideas" from Europe, 
226:200,11['  ]| and his
226:200,12['  ]| conduct probably struck them as an eloquent proof of
226:200,13['  ]| failing invention. He took no$2$ interest in$4$ chatting about
226:200,14['  ]| his affairs, and manifested no$2$ desire to$9$ look over his
226:200,15['  ]| accounts. He asked half a dozen questions which$6#1$, like$4$
226:200,16['  ]| those of an eminent physician inquiring for$4$ particular
226:200,17['  ]| symptoms, showed that$3$ he still knew what he was talking
226:200,18['  ]| about; but he made no$2$ comments, and gave no$2$ directions.
226:200,19['  ]| He not only puzzled the gentlemen on$4$ the Stock*Exchange,
226:200,20['  ]| but he was himself surprised at the extent of
226:200,21['  ]| his indifference. As it seemed only to$9$ increase, he made
226:200,22['  ]| an effort to$9$ combat it; he tried to$9$ interest himself, and
226:200,23['  ]| to$9$ take up$5$ his old occupations. But they appeared unreal
226:200,24['  ]| to$4$ him; do what he would, he somehow could not
226:200,25['  ]| believe in$4$ them. Sometimes he began to$9$ fear that$3$ 
226:200,25@b   | there
226:200,26@b   | was something the matter with his head; that$3$ his brain,
226:200,27@b   | perhaps, had softened, and that$3$ the end of his strong
226:200,28@b   | activities had come. 
226:200,28['  ]| This idea came back to$4$ him with
226:200,29['  ]| an exasperating force. 
226:200,29@b   | A hopeless, helpless loafer, useful
226:200,30@b   | to$4$ no*one and detestable to$4$ himself ~~ this was what
226:200,31@b   | the treachery of the Bellegardes had made of him. 
226:200,31['  ]| In$4$
226:200,32['  ]| his restless idleness he came back from San*Francisco
226:200,33['  ]| to$4$ New*York, and sat for$4$ three days in$4$ the lobby of his
226:200,34['  ]| hotel, looking out through a huge wall of plate-glass at
226:200,35['  ]| the unceasing stream of pretty girls in$4$ Parisian-looking
226:200,36['  ]| dresses, undulating past with little parcels nursed against
226:200,37['  ]| their neat figures. At the end of three days he returned
226:201,01['  ]| to$4$ San*Francisco, and having arrived there he wished he
226:201,02['  ]| had stayed away. He had nothing to$9$ do, his occupation
226:201,03['  ]| was gone, and it seemed to$4$ him that$3$ 
226:201,03@b   | he should never find
226:201,04@b   | it again. He had nothing to$9$ do \here\, 
226:201,04['  ]| he sometimes said
226:201,05['  ]| to$4$ himself; 
226:201,05@b   | but there was something beyond the ocean
226:201,06@b   | that$6#1$ he was still to$9$ do; something that$6#1$ he had left 
226:201,07@b   | undone experimentally and speculatively, to$9$ see if it
226:201,08@b   | could content itself to$9$ remain undone. But it was not
226:201,09@b   | content; it kept pulling at his heart-strings and thumping
226:201,10@b   | at his reason; it murmured in$4$ his ears and hovered
226:201,11@b   | perpetually before his eyes. It interposed between all
226:201,12@b   | new resolutions and their fulfilment; it seemed like$4$ a
226:201,13@b   | stubborn ghost, dumbly entreating to$9$ be laid. Till that$6#2$ 
226:201,14@b   | was done he should never be able to$9$ do anything else.
226:201,15['  ]| One day, toward the end of the winter, after a long
226:201,16['  ]| interval, he received a letter from Mrs%*Tristram, who$6#1$
226:201,17['  ]| apparently was animated by$4$ a charitable desire to$9$ amuse
226:201,18['  ]| and distract her correspondent. She gave him much
226:201,19['  ]| Paris gossip, talked of General*Packard and Miss*Kitty*Upjohn,
226:201,20['  ]| enumerated the new plays at the theatre, and
226:201,21['  ]| enclosed a note from her husband, who$6#1$ had gone down
226:201,22['  ]| to$9$ spend a month at Nice. Then came her signature,
226:201,23['  ]| and after this her postscript. The latter consisted of
226:201,24['  ]| these few lines: 
226:201,24[I  ]| "I heard three days since from my
226:201,25[I  ]| friend the Abbe=*Aubert, that$3$ Madame*de*Cintre= last
226:201,26[I  ]| week took the veil at the Carmelites. It was on$4$ her
226:201,27[I  ]| twenty-seventh birthday, and she took the name of her
226:201,28[I  ]| patroness, St%*Veronica. Sister*Veronican has a lifetime
226:201,29[I  ]| before her!"
226:201,30['  ]| This letter came to$4$ Newman in$4$ the morning; in$4$ the
226:201,31['  ]| evening he started for$4$ Paris. His wound began to$9$
226:201,32['  ]| ache with its first fierceness, and during his long bleak
226:201,33['  ]| journey the thought of Madame*de*Cintre='s "lifetime,"
226:201,34['  ]| passed within prison walls on$4$ whose outer side he might
226:201,35['  ]| stand, kept him perpetual company. 
226:201,35@b   | Now he would fix
226:201,36@b   | himself in$4$ Paris for*ever; he would extort a sort of happiness
226:201,37@b   | from the knowledge that$3$ if she was not there, at
226:202,01@b   | least the stony sepulchre that$6#1$ held her was. 
226:202,01['  ]| He descended,
226:202,02['  ]| unannounced, upon$4$ Mrs%*Bread, whom he found
226:202,03['  ]| keeping lonely watch in$4$ his great empty saloons on$4$ the
226:202,04['  ]| Boulevard*Haussmann. They were as neat as a Dutch
226:202,05['  ]| village; Mrs%*Bread's only occupation had been removing
226:202,06['  ]| individual dust-particles. She made no$2$ complaint,
226:202,07['  ]| however, of her loneliness, for$3$ in$4$ her philosophy a servant
226:202,08['  ]| was but a mysteriously projected machine, and it would
226:202,09['  ]| be as fantastic for$4$ a housekeeper to$9$ comment upon$4$ a
226:202,10['  ]| gentleman's absences as for$4$ a clock to$9$ remark upon$4$ not
226:202,11['  ]| being wound up$5$. 
226:202,11@j   | No$2$ particular clock, 
226:202,11['  ]| Mrs%*Bread supposed,
226:202,12@j   | kept all the time, and no$2$ particular servant could
226:202,13@j   | enjoy all the sunshine diffused by$4$ the career of an exacting
226:202,14@j   | master. 
226:202,14['  ]| She ventured, nevertheless, to$9$ express a
226:202,15['  ]| modest hope that$3$ 
226:202,15@j   | Newman meant to$9$ remain a while in$4$
226:202,16@j   | Paris. 
226:202,16['  ]| Newman laid his hand on$4$ hers and shook it
226:202,17['  ]| gently. 
226:202,17[B  ]| "I mean to$9$ remain for*ever," 
226:202,17['  ]| he said.
226:202,18['  ]| He went after this to$9$ see Mrs%*Tristram, to$4$ whom he
226:202,19['  ]| had telegraphed, and who$6#1$ expected him. She looked
226:202,20['  ]| at him a moment and shook her head. 
226:202,20[I  ]| "This will$1$ not
226:202,21[I  ]| do," 
226:202,21['  ]| she said; 
226:202,21[I  ]| "you have come back too soon." 
226:202,21['  ]| He sat
226:202,22['  ]| down and asked about her husband and her children, tried
226:202,23['  ]| even to$9$ inquire about Miss*Dora*Finch. In$4$ the midst of
226:202,24['  ]| this ~~ 
226:202,24[B  ]| "Do you know where she is?" 
226:202,24['  ]| he asked, abruptly.
226:202,25['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram hesitated a moment; 
226:202,25@i   | of course he
226:202,26@i   | could not mean Miss*Dora*Finch. 
226:202,26['  ]| Then she answered,
226:202,27['  ]| properly: 
226:202,27[I  ]| "She has gone to$4$ the other house ~~ in$4$ the
226:202,28[I  ]| Rue*d'Enfer." 
226:202,28['  ]| After Newman had sat a while longer,
226:202,29['  ]| looking very sombre, she went on$5$: 
226:202,29[I  ]| "You are not so$5#1$
226:202,30[I  ]| good a man as I thought. You are more ~~ you are
226:202,31[I  ]| more~~"
226:202,32[B  ]| "More what?" 
226:202,32['  ]| Newman asked.
226:202,33[I  ]| "More unforgiving."
226:202,34[B  ]| "Good God!" 
226:202,34['  ]| cried Newman; 
226:202,34[B  ]| "do you expect me
226:202,35[B  ]| to$9$ forgive?"
226:202,36[I  ]| "No$7$, not that$6#2$. I have not forgiven, so$3$ of course you
226:202,37[I  ]| can not. But you might forget! You have a worse temper
227:203,01[I  ]| about it than I should have expected. You look wicked
227:203,02[I  ]| ~~ you look dangerous."
227:203,03[B  ]| "I may be dangerous," 
227:203,03['  ]| he said; 
227:203,03[B  ]| "but I am not
227:203,04[B  ]| wicked. No$7$, I am not wicked." 
227:203,04['  ]| And he got up$5$ to$9$ go.
227:203,05['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram asked him to$9$ come back to$4$ dinner; but
227:203,06['  ]| he answered that$3$ 
227:302,06@b   | he did not feel like$4$ pledging himself to$9$
227:203,07@b   | be present at an entertainment, even as a solitary guest.
227:203,08@b   | Later in$4$ the evening, if he should be able, he would
227:203,09@b   | come.
227:203,10['  ]| He walked away through the city, beside the Seine
227:203,11['  ]| and over it, and took the direction of the Rue*d'Enfer.
227:203,12['  ]| The day had the softness of early spring; but the weather
227:203,13['  ]| was gray and humid. Newman found himself in$4$ a part
227:203,14['  ]| of Paris which$6#1$ he little knew ~~ a region of convents and
227:203,15['  ]| prisons, of streets bordered by$4$ long dead walls and traversed
227:203,16['  ]| by$4$ few wayfarers. At the intersection of two of
227:203,17['  ]| these streets stood the house of the Carmelites ~~ a dull,
227:203,18['  ]| plain edifice, with a high-shouldered blank wall all round
227:203,19['  ]| it. From without Newman could see its upper windows,
227:203,20['  ]| its steep roof and its chimneys. But these things revealed,
227:203,21['  ]| no$2$ symptoms of human life; the place looked dumb,
227:203,22['  ]| deaf, inanimate. The pale, dead, discoloured wall
227:203,23['  ]| stretched beneath it far down the empty side street ~
227:203,24['  ]| a vista without a human figure. Newman stood there a
227:203,25['  ]| long time; there were no$2$ passers; he was free to$9$ gaze
227:203,26['  ]| his fill. This seemed the goal of his journey; 
227:203,26@b   | it was
227:203,27@b   | what he had come for$4$. It was a strange satisfaction,
227:203,28@b   | and yet it was a satisfaction; the barren stillness of the
227:203,29@b   | place seemed to$9$ be his own release from ineffectual longing.
227:203,30['  ]| It told him that$3$ 
227:203,30@b   | the woman within was lost beyond
227:203,31@b   | recall, and that$3$ the days and years of the future
227:203,32@b   | would pile themselves above her like$4$ the huge immovable
227:203,33@b   | slab of a tomb. These days and years, in$4$ this place,
227:203,34@b   | would always be just so$5#1$ gray and silent. 
227:203,34['  ]| Suddenly, from
227:203,35['  ]| the thought of their seeing him stand there, again the
227:203,36['  ]| charm utterly departed. 
227:203,36@b   | He would never stand there
227:203,37@b   | again; it was gratuitous dreariness. 
227:203,37['  ]| He turned away
227:204,01['  ]| with a heavy heart, but with a heart lighter than the one
227:204,02['  ]| he had brought.
227:204,03@b   | Everything was over, and he too at last could rest.
227:204,04['  ]| He walked down through narrow, winding streets to$4$ the
227:204,05['  ]| edge of the Seine again, and there he saw, close above
227:204,06['  ]| him, the soft, vast towers of Notre*Dame. He crossed
227:204,07['  ]| one of the bridges and stood a moment in$4$ the empty
227:204,08['  ]| place before the great cathedral; then he went in$5$ beneath
227:204,09['  ]| the grossly imaged portals. He wandered some distance
227:204,10['  ]| up$4$ the nave and sat down in$4$ the splendid dimness. He
227:204,11['  ]| was a long time; he heard far-away bells chiming off, at
227:204,12['  ]| long intervals, to$4$ the rest of the world. 
227:204,12@b   | He was very
227:204,13@b   | tired; this was the best place he could be in$4$. 
227:204,13['  ]| He said
227:204,14['  ]| no$2$ prayers; 
227:204,14@b   | he had no$2$ prayers to$9$ say. He had nothing
227:204,15@b   | to$9$ be thankful for$4$, and he had nothing to$9$ ask; nothing
227:204,16@b   | to$9$ ask, because now he must take care of himself. 
227:204,16['  ]| But
227:204,17['  ]| a great cathedral offers a very various hospitality, and
227:204,18['  ]| Newman sat in$4$ his place, because while he was there he
227:204,19['  ]| was out of the world. The most unpleasant thing that$6#1$
227:204,20['  ]| had ever happened to$4$ him had reached its formal conclusion,
227:204,21['  ]| as it were; 
227:204,21@b   | he could close the book and put it
227:204,22@b   | away. 
227:204,22['  ]| He leaned his head for$4$ a long time on$4$ the chair
227:204,23['  ]| in$4$ front of him; when he took it up$5$ he felt that$3$ 
227:204,23@b   | he was
227:204,24@b   | himself again. Somewhere in$4$ his mind a tight knot
227:204,25@b   | seemed to$9$ have loosened. 
227:204,25['  ]| He thought of the Bellegardes;
227:204,26@b   | he had almost forgotten them. He remembered
227:204,27@b   | them as people he had meant to$9$ do something to$4$.
227:204,28['  ]| He gave a groan as 
227:204,28@b   | he remembered what he had meant
227:204,29@b   | to$9$ do; he was annoyed at having meant to$9$ do it; the
227:204,30@b   | bottom, suddenly, had fallen out of his revenge. 
227:204,30['  ]| Whether
227:204,31['  ]| it was Christian charity or unregenerate good-nature ~
227:204,32['  ]| what it was, in$4$ the background of his soul ~~ I do not pretend
227:204,33['  ]| to$9$ say; but Newman's last thought was that$3$ 
227:204,33@b   | of
227:204,34@b   | course he would let the Bellegardes go.
227:204,35['  ]| If he had spoken it aloud he would have said that$3$ 
227:204,35@b   | he
227:204,36@b   | did not want to$9$ hurt them. He was ashamed of having
227:204,37@b   | wanted to$9$ hurt them. They had hurt him, but such
227:205,01@b   | things were really not his game. 
227:205,01['  ]| At last he got up$5$ and
227:205,02['  ]| came out of the darkening church; not with the elastic
227:205,03['  ]| step of a man who$6#1$ has won a victory or taken a resolve,
227:205,04['  ]| but strolling soberly, like$4$ a good-natured man who$6#1$ is
227:205,05['  ]| still a little ashamed.
227:205,06['  ]| Going home, he said to$4$ Mrs%*Bread that$3$ 
227:205,06@b   | he must
227:205,07@b   | trouble her to$9$ put back his things into the portmanteau
227:205,08@b   | she had had unpacked the evening before. 
227:205,08['  ]| His gentle
227:205,09['  ]| stewardess looked at him through eyes a trifle bedimmed.
227:205,10[J  ]| "Dear me, sir," 
227:205,10['  ]| she exclaimed, 
227:205,10[J  ]| "I thought you said
227:205,11[J  ]| that$3$ you were going to$9$ stay for*ever."
227:205,12[B  ]| "I meant that$3$ I was going to$9$ stay away for*ever," 
227:205,12['  ]| said
227:205,13['  ]| Newman, kindly. And since his departure from Paris
227:205,14['  ]| on$4$ the following day he has certainly not returned. The
227:205,15['  ]| gilded apartments I have so$5#1$ often spoken of stand ready
227:205,16['  ]| to$9$ receive him; but they serve only as a spacious residence 
227:205,17['  ]| for$4$ Mrs%*Bread, who$6#1$ wanders eternally from room
227:205,18['  ]| to$4$ room, adjusting the tassels of the curtains, and keeps
227:205,19['  ]| her wages, which$6#1$ are regularly brought her by$4$ a banker's
227:205,20['  ]| clerk, in$4$ a great pink Se`vres vase on$4$ the drawing-room 
227:205,21['  ]| mantel-shelf.
227:205,22['  ]| Late in$4$ the evening Newman went to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram's
227:205,23['  ]| and found Tom*Tristram by$4$ the domestic fireside. 
227:205,23[H  ]| "I am
227:205,24[H  ]| glad to$9$ see you back in$4$ Paris," 
227:205,24['  ]| this gentleman declared.
227:205,25[H  ]| "You know it is really the only place for$4$ a white man to$9$
227:205,26[H  ]| live." 
227:205,26['  ]| Mr%*Tristram made his friend welcome, according
227:205,27['  ]| to$4$ his own rosy light, and offered him a convenient \9re=sume=\
227:205,28['  ]| of the Franco-American gossip of the last six months.
227:205,29['  ]| Then at last he got up$5$ and said 
227:205,29@h   | he would go for$4$ half an
227:205,30@h   | hour to$4$ the club. 
227:205,30[H  ]| "I suppose a man who$6#1$ has been for$4$
227:205,31[H  ]| six months in$4$ California wants a little intellectual conversation.
227:205,32[H  ]| I will$1$ let my wife have a go at you."
227:205,33['  ]| Newman shook hands heartily with his host, but did
227:205,34['  ]| not ask him to$9$ remain; and then he relapsed into his
227:205,35['  ]| place on$4$ the sofa, opposite to$4$ Mrs%*Tristram. She
227:205,36['  ]| presently asked him 
227:205,36@i   | what he had done after leaving her.
227:205,37[B  ]| "Nothing particular," 
227:205,37['  ]| said Newman.
227:206,01[I  ]| You struck me," 
227:206,01['  ]| she rejoined, 
227:206,01[I  ]| "as a man with a
227:206,02[I  ]| plot in$4$ his head. You looked as if you were bent on$4$
227:206,03[I  ]| some sinister errand, and after you had left me I wondered
227:206,04[I  ]| whether I ought to$9$ have let you go."
227:206,05[B  ]| "I only went over to$4$ the other side of the river ~~ to$4$
227:206,06[B  ]| the Carmelites," 
227:206,06['  ]| said Newman.
227:206,07['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram looked at him a moment and smiled.
227:206,08[I  ]| "What did you do there? Try to$9$ scale the wall?"
227:206,09[B  ]| "I did nothing. I looked at the place for$4$ a few
227:206,10[B  ]| minutes and then came away."
227:206,11['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram gave him a sympathetic glance. 
227:206,11[I  ]| "You
227:206,12[I  ]| did not happen to$9$ meet M%*de*Bellegarde," 
227:206,12['  ]| she asked,
227:206,13[I  ]| "staring hopelessly at the convent wall as well? I am
227:206,14[I  ]| told he takes his sister's conduct very hard."
227:206,15[B  ]| "No$7$, I did not meet him, I am happy to$9$ say," 
227:206,15['  ]| Newman
227:206,16['  ]| answered, after a pause.
227:206,17[I  ]| "They are in$4$ the country," 
227:206,17['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram went on$5$;
227:206,18[I  ]| "at ~~ what is the name of the place? ~~ Fleurie`res. They
227:206,19[I  ]| returned there at the time you left Paris, and have been
227:206,20[I  ]| spending the year in$4$ extreme seclusion. The little
227:206,21[I  ]| marquise must enjoy it; I expect to$9$ hear that$3$ she has
227:206,22[I  ]| eloped with her daughter's music-master!"
227:206,23['  ]| Newman was looking at the light wood-fire; but he
227:206,24['  ]| listened to$4$ this with extreme interest. At last he spoke:
227:206,25[B  ]| "I mean never to$9$ mention the name of those people
227:206,26[B  ]| again, and I do not want to$9$ hear anything more about
227:206,27[B  ]| them." 
227:206,27['  ]| And then he took out his pocket-book and
227:206,28['  ]| drew forth a scrap of paper. He looked at it an instant,
227:206,29['  ]| then got up$5$ and stood by$4$ the fire. 
227:206,29[B  ]| "I am going to$9$ burn
227:206,30[B  ]| them up$5$," 
227:206,30['  ]| he said. 
227:206,30[B  ]| "I am glad to$9$ have you as a
227:206,31[B  ]| witness. There they go!" 
227:206,31['  ]| And he tossed the paper
227:206,32['  ]| into the flame.
227:206,33['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram sat with her embroidery-needle suspended.
227:206,34[I  ]| "What is that$6#2$ paper?" 
227:206,34['  ]| she asked.
227:206,35['  ]| Newman, leaning against the fireplace, stretched his
227:206,36['  ]| arms and drew a longer breath than usual. Then, after
227:206,37['  ]| a moment, 
227:206,37[B  ]| "I can tell you now," 
227:206,37['  ]| he said. 
227:206,37[B  ]| "It was a
227:207,01[B  ]| paper containing a secret of the Bellegardes ~~ something
227:207,02[B  ]| which$6#1$ would damn them if it were known."
227:207,03['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram dropped her embroidery with a reproachful
227:207,04['  ]| moan. 
227:207,04[I  ]| "Ah, why did not you show it to$4$ me?"
227:207,05[B  ]| "I thought of showing it to$4$ you ~~ I thought of showing
227:207,06[B  ]| it to$4$ every*one. I thought of paying my debt to$4$ the
227:207,07[B  ]| Bellegardes that$6#2$ way. So$3$ I told them, and I frightened
227:207,08[B  ]| them. They have been staying in$4$ the country, as you
227:207,09[B  ]| tell me, to$9$ keep out of the explosion. But I have given
227:207,10[B  ]| it up$5$."
227:207,11['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram began to$9$ take slow stitches again.
227:207,12[I  ]| "Have you quite given it up$5$?"
227:207,13[B  ]| "Oh yes."
227:207,14[I  ]| "Is it very bad, this secret?"
227:207,15[B  ]| "Yes, very bad."
227:207,16[I  ]| "For$4$ myself," 
227:207,16['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, 
227:207,16[I  ]| "I am sorry you
227:207,17[I  ]| have given it up$5$. I should have liked immensely to$9$ see
227:207,18[I  ]| your paper. They have wronged me too, you know, as
227:207,19[I  ]| your sponsor and guarantee, and it would have served
227:207,20[I  ]| for$4$ my revenge as well. How did you come into possession
227:207,21[I  ]| of your secret?"
227:207,22[B  ]| "It is a long story. But honestly, at any rate."
227:207,23[I  ]| "And they knew you were master of it?"
227:207,24[B  ]| "Oh, I told them."
227:207,25[I  ]| "Dear me, how interesting!" 
227:207,25['  ]| cried Mrs%*Tristram.
227:207,26[I  ]| "And you humbled them at your feet?"
227:207,27['  ]| Newman was silent a moment. 
227:207,27[B  ]| "No$7$, not at all.
227:207,28[B  ]| They pretended not to$9$ care ~~ not to$9$ be afraid. But I
227:207,29[B  ]| know they did care ~~ they were afraid."
227:207,30[I  ]| "Are you very sure?"
227:207,31['  ]| Newman stared a moment. 
227:207,31[B  ]| "Yes, I am sure."
227:207,32['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram resumed her slow stitches. 
227:207,32[I  ]| "They
227:207,33[I  ]| defied you, eh?"
227:207,34[B  ]| "Yes," 
227:207,34['  ]| said Newman, 
227:207,34[B  ]| "it was about that$6#2$."
227:207,35[I  ]| "You tried by$4$ the threat of exposure to$9$ make them
227:207,36[I  ]| retract?" 
227:207,36['  ]| Mrs%*Tristram pursued.
227:207,37[B  ]| "Yes, but they would not. I gave them their choice,
227:208,01[B  ]| and they chose to$9$ take their chance of bluffing off the
227:208,02[B  ]| charge and convicting me of fraud. But they \were\
227:208,03[B  ]| frightened," 
227:208,03['  ]| Newman added, 
227:208,03[B  ]| "and I have had all the
227:208,04[B  ]| vengeance I want."
227:208,05[I  ]| "It is most provoking," 
227:208,05['  ]| said Mrs%*Tristram, 
227:208,05[I  ]| "to$9$ hear
227:208,06[I  ]| you talk of the ""charge"" when the charge is burned up$5$.
227:208,07[I  ]| Is it quite consumed?" 
227:208,07['  ]| she asked, glancing at the fire.
227:208,08['  ]| Newman assured her that$3$ 
227:208,08@b   | there was nothing left of it.
227:208,09[I  ]| "Well then," 
227:208,09['  ]| she said, 
227:208,09[I  ]| "I suppose there is no$2$ harm
227:208,10[I  ]| in$4$ saying that$3$ you probably did not make them so$5#1$ very
227:208,11[I  ]| uncomfortable. My impression would be that$3$ since, as
227:208,12[I  ]| you say, they defied you, it was because they believed
227:208,13[I  ]| that$3$, after all, you would never really come to$4$ the point.
227:208,14[I  ]| Their confidence, after counsel taken of each other, was
227:208,15[I  ]| not in$4$ their innocence, nor in$4$ their talent for$4$ bluffing
227:208,16[I  ]| things off; it was in$4$ your remarkable good nature! You
227:208,17[I  ]| see they were right."
227:208,18['  ]| Newman instinctively turned to$9$ see if the little paper
227:208,19['  ]| was in$4$ fact consumed; but there was nothing left of it.