The young man put down his candlestick with mock solemnity, and, shaking his head, Ah, you have defeated a great scheme, sir! he said.
A scheme? I dont understand, said Newman.
You would have played your part in it all the better. Perhaps some day I shall have a chance to explain it.
Be quiet, and ring for the tea, said Madame de Cintré.
The young man obeyed, and presently a servant brought in the tea, placed the tray on a small table, and departed. Madame de Cintré, from her place, busied herself with making it. She had but just begun when the door was thrown open and a lady rushed in, making a loud rustling sound. She stared at Newman, gave a little nod and a Monsieur! and then quickly approached Madame de Cintré and presented her forehead to be kissed. Madame de Cintré saluted her, and continued to make tea. The new-comer was young and pretty, it seemed to Newman; she wore her bonnet and cloak, and a train of royal proportions. She began to talk rapidly in French. Oh, give me some tea, my beautiful one, for the love of God! Im exhausted, mangled, massacred. Newman found himself quite unable to follow her; she spoke much less distinctly than M. Nioche.
That is my sister-in-law, said the Count Valentin, leaning towards him.
She is very pretty, said Newman.
Exquisite, answered the young man, and this time, again, Newman suspected him of irony.
His sister-in-law came round to the other side of the fire with her cup of tea in her hand, holding it out at arms-length, so that she might not spill it on her dress, and uttering little cries of alarm. She placed the cup on the mantel-shelf and begun to unpin her veil and pull off her gloves, looking meanwhile at Newman.
Is there anything I can do for you, my dear lady? the Count Valentin asked, in a sort of mock-caressing tone.
Present monsieur, said his sister-in-law.
The young man answered, Mr. Newman!
I cant courtesy to you, monsieur, or I shall spill my tea, said the lady. So Claire receives strangers, like that? she added, in a low voice, in French, to her brother-in-law.
Apparently! he answered with a smile. Newman stood a moment, and then he approached Madame de Cintré. She looked up at him as if she were thinking of something to say. But she seemed to think of nothing; so she simply smiled. He sat down near her and she handed him a cup of tea. For a few moments they talked about that, and meanwhile he looked at her. He remembered what Mrs. Tristram had told him of her perfection and of her having, in combination, all the brilliant things that he dreamed of finding. This made him observe her not only without mistrust, but without uneasy conjectures; the presumption, from the first moment he looked at her, had been in her favor. And yet, if she was beautiful, it was not a dazzling beauty. She was tall and moulded in long lines; she had thick fair hair, a wide forehead, and features with a sort of harmonious irregularity. Her clear gray eyes were strikingly expressive; they were both gentle and intelligent, and Newman liked them immensely; but they had not those depths of splendorthose many-colored rayswhich illumine the brows of famous beauties. Madame de Cintré was rather thin, and she looked younger than probably she was. In her whole person there was something both youthful and subdued, slender and yet ample, tranquil yet shy; a mixture of immaturity and repose, of innocence and dignity. What had Tristram meant, Newman wondered, by calling her proud? She was certainly not proud now, to him; or if she was, it was of no use, it was lost upon him; she must pile it up higher if she expected him to mind it. She was a beautiful woman, and it was very easy to get on with her. Was she a countess, a marquise, a kind of historical formation? Newman, who had rarely heard these words used, had never been at pains to attach any particular image to them; but they occurred to him now and seemed charged with a sort of melodious meaning. They signified something fair and softly bright, that had easy motions and spoke very agreeably.
Have you many friends in Paris; do you go out? asked Madame de Cintré, who had at last thought of something to say.
Do you mean do I dance, and all that?
Do you go dans le monde , as we say?
I have seen a good many people. Mrs. Tristram has taken me about. I do whatever she tells me.
By yourself, you are not fond of amusements?
Oh yes, of some sorts. I am not fond of dancing, and that sort of thing; I am too old and sober. But I want to be amused; I came to Europe for that.
But you can be amused in America, too.
I couldnt; I was always at work. But after all, that was my amusement.
At this moment Madame de Bellegarde came back for another cup of tea, accompanied by the Count Valentin. Madame de Cintré, when she had served her, began to talk again with Newman, and recalling what he had last said, In your own country you were very much occupied? she asked.
I was in business. I have been in business since I was fifteen years old.
And what was your business? asked Madame de Bellegarde, who was decidedly not so pretty as Madame de Cintré.
I have been in everything, said Newman. At one time I sold leather; at one time I manufactured wash-tubs.
Madame de Bellegarde made a little grimace. Leather? I dont like that. Wash-tubs are better. I prefer the smell of soap. I hope at least they made your fortune. She rattled this off with the air of a woman who had the reputation of saying everything that came into her head, and with a strong French accent.
Newman had spoken with cheerful seriousness, but Madame de Bellegardes tone made him go on, after a meditative pause, with a certain light grimness of jocularity. No, I lost money on wash-tubs, but I came out pretty square on leather.
I have made up my mind, after all, said Madame de Bellegarde, that the great point ishow do you call it?to come out square. I am on my knees to money; I dont deny it. If you have it, I ask no questions. For that I am a real democratlike you, monsieur. Madame de Cintré is very proud; but I find that one gets much more pleasure in this sad life if one doesnt look too close.
Just Heaven, dear madam, how you go at it, said the Count Valentin, lowering his voice.
Hes a man one can speak to, I suppose, since my sister receives him, the lady answered. Besides, its very true; those are my ideas.
Ah, you call them ideas, murmured the young man.
But Mrs. Tristram told me you had been in the armyin your war, said Madame de Cintré.
Yes, but that is not business! said Newman.
Very true! said M. de Bellegarde. Otherwise perhaps I should not be penniless.
Is it true, asked Newman in a moment, that you are so proud? I had already heard it.
Madame de Cintré smiled. Do you find me so?
Oh, said Newman, I am no judge. If you are proud with me, you will have to tell me. Otherwise I shall not know it.
Madame de Cintré began to laugh. That would be pride in a sad position! she said.
It would be partly, Newman went on, because I shouldnt want to know it. I want you to treat me well.
Madame de Cintré, whose laugh had ceased, looked at him with her head half averted, as if she feared what he was going to say.
Mrs. Tristram told you the literal truth, he went on; I want very much to know you. I didnt come here simply to call to-day; I came in the hope that you might ask me to come again.
Oh, pray come often, said Madame de Cintré.
But will you be at home? Newman insisted. Even to himself he seemed a trifle pushing, but he was, in truth, a trifle excited.
I hope so! said Madame de Cintré.
Newman got up. Well, we shall see, he said smoothing his hat with his coat-cuff.
Brother, said Madame de Cintré, invite Mr. Newman to come again.
The Count Valentin looked at our hero from head to foot with his peculiar smile, in which impudence and urbanity seemed perplexingly commingled. Are you a brave man? he asked, eying him askance.
Well, I hope so, said Newman.
I rather suspect so. In that case, come again.
Ah, what an invitation! murmured Madame de Cintré, with something painful in her smile.
Oh, I want Mr. Newman to comeparticularly, said the young man. It will give me great pleasure. I shall be desolate if I miss one of his visits. But I maintain he must be brave. A stout heart, sir! And he offered Newman his hand.
I shall not come to see you; I shall come to see Madame de Cintré, said Newman.
You will need all the more courage.
Ah, Valentin! said Madame de Cintré, appealingly.
Decidedly, cried Madame de Bellegarde, I am the only person here capable of saying something polite! Come to see me; you will need no courage, she said.
Newman gave a laugh which was not altogether an assent, and took his leave. Madame de Cintré did not take up her sisters challenge to be gracious, but she looked with a certain troubled air at the retreating guest.
CHAPTER VII
One evening very late, about a week after his visit to Madame de Cintré, Newmans servant brought him a card. It was that of young M. de Bellegarde. When, a few moments later, he went to receive his visitor, he found him standing in the middle of his great gilded parlor and eying it from cornice to carpet. M. de Bellegardes face, it seemed to Newman, expressed a sense of lively entertainment. What the devil is he laughing at now? our hero asked himself. But he put the question without acrimony, for he felt that Madame de Cintrés brother was a good fellow, and he had a presentiment that on this basis of good fellowship they were destined to understand each other. Only, if there was anything to laugh at, he wished to have a glimpse of it too.
To begin with, said the young man, as he extended his hand, have I come too late?
Too late for what? asked Newman.
To smoke a cigar with you.
You would have to come early to do that, said Newman. I dont smoke.
Ah, you are a strong man!
But I keep cigars, Newman added. Sit down.
Surely, I may not smoke here, said M. de Bellegarde.
What is the matter? Is the room too small?
It is too large. It is like smoking in a ball-room, or a church.
That is what you were laughing at just now? Newman asked; the size of my room?
It is not size only, replied M. de Bellegarde, but splendor, and harmony, and beauty of detail. It was the smile of admiration.
Newman looked at him a moment, and then, So it is very ugly? he inquired.
Ugly, my dear sir? It is magnificent.
That is the same thing, I suppose, said Newman. Make yourself comfortable. Your coming to see me, I take it, is an act of friendship. You were not obliged to. Therefore, if anything around here amuses you, it will be all in a pleasant way. Laugh as loud as you please; I like to see my visitors cheerful. Only, I must make this request: that you explain the joke to me as soon as you can speak. I dont want to lose anything, myself.
M. de Bellegarde stared, with a look of unresentful perplexity. He laid his hand on Newmans sleeve and seemed on the point of saying something, but he suddenly checked himself, leaned back in his chair, and puffed at his cigar. At last, however, breaking silence,Certainly, he said, my coming to see you is an act of friendship. Nevertheless I was in a measure obliged to do so. My sister asked me to come, and a request from my sister is, for me, a law. I was near you, and I observed lights in what I supposed were your rooms. It was not a ceremonious hour for making a call, but I was not sorry to do something that would show I was not performing a mere ceremony.
Well, here I am as large as life, said Newman, extending his legs.
I dont know what you mean, the young man went on by giving me unlimited leave to laugh. Certainly I am a great laugher, and it is better to laugh too much than too little. But it is not in order that we may laugh togetheror separatelythat I have, I may say, sought your acquaintance. To speak with almost impudent frankness, you interest me! All this was uttered by M. de Bellegarde with the modulated smoothness of the man of the world, and in spite of his excellent English, of the Frenchman; but Newman, at the same time that he sat noting its harmonious flow, perceived that it was not mere mechanical urbanity. Decidedly, there was something in his visitor that he liked. M. de Bellegarde was a foreigner to his finger-tips, and if Newman had met him on a Western prairie he would have felt it proper to address him with a How-dye-do, Mosseer? But there was something in his physiognomy which seemed to cast a sort of aerial bridge over the impassable gulf produced by difference of race. He was below the middle height, and robust and agile in figure. Valentin de Bellegarde, Newman afterwards learned, had a mortal dread of the robustness overtaking the agility; he was afraid of growing stout; he was too short, as he said, to afford a belly. He rode and fenced and practiced gymnastics with unremitting zeal, and if you greeted him with a How well you are looking he started and turned pale. In your well