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Updated: June 21, 2025
Newman made no distinct affirmation that he would come back to Paris; he even talked about Rome and the Nile, and abstained from professing any especial interest in Madame de Cintre's continued widowhood.
"Paris is getting too warm," Madame de Cintre added, taking her friend's hand again in farewell. Mrs. Tristram seemed to have formed a sudden and somewhat venturesome resolution, and she smiled more intensely, as women do when they take such resolution. "I want Mr. Newman to know you," she said, dropping her head on one side and looking at Madame de Cintre's bonnet ribbons.
Tristram had had a glimpse, and of which, as of her friend's reserve, her high-breeding, and her profundity, she had given a sketch of which the outlines were, perhaps, rather too heavy? Newman supposed so, but he found himself wondering less every day what Madame de Cintre's secrets might be, and more convinced that secrets were, in themselves, hateful things to her.
He reflected that Valentin's friendship was older than Urbain's enmity, and that at a funeral it was easy to escape notice. Madame de Cintre's answer to his letter enabled him to time his arrival at Fleurieres. This answer was very brief; it ran as follows: "I thank you for your letter, and for your being with Valentin. It is a most inexpressible sorrow to me that I was not.
Certain of Madame de Cintre's personal qualities the luminous sweetness of her eyes, the delicate mobility of her face, the deep liquidity of her voice filled all his consciousness.
Newman, of course, was perforce tongue-tied about Valentin's projected duel, and his dramatic talent was not equal to satirizing Madame de Cintre's presentiment as pointedly as perfect security demanded. Before he went away he asked Madame de Cintre whether Valentin had seen his mother. "Yes," she said, "but he didn't make her cry."
It was, in fact, Madame de Cintre's "authority," as they say of artists, that especially impressed and fascinated Newman; he always came back to the feeling that when he should complete himself by taking a wife, that was the way he should like his wife to interpret him to the world.
But behind it there was darkness, with nothing stirring. He went back to his place, and after that a priest and two altar boys came in and began to say mass. Newman watched their genuflections and gyrations with a grim, still enmity; they seemed aids and abettors of Madame de Cintre's desertion; they were mouthing and droning out their triumph.
Something was going on, rapidly, in Madame de Cintre's thoughts; she was weighing a question there, beneath Newman's eyes, weighing it and deciding it. "From the moment I don't very respectfully beg you to leave the house and never return," she said, "I listen to you, I seem to give you hope. I HAVE listened to you against my judgment. It is because you are eloquent.
Newman stood a moment, twisting his mustache and looking at her; then he abruptly turned away. But this was not because he was afraid to go in though he doubted whether, if he did so, he should be able to make his way, unchallenged, into the presence of Madame de Cintre's relatives. Confidence excessive confidence, perhaps quite as much as timidity prompted his retreat.
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