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Updated: June 8, 2025
The marquise and her two daughters were at the top of the staircase, where the sallow old nymph in the angle peeped out from a bower of plants. Madame de Bellegarde, in purple and fine laces, looked like an old lady painted by Vandyke; Madame de Cintre was dressed in white.
He had not the least doubt of it himself, but he had already begun to value the world's admiration of Madame de Cintre, as adding to the prospective glory of possession. It was immediately after this conversation that Valentin de Bellegarde came to conduct his friend to the Rue de l'Universite to present him to the other members of his family.
Newman knew that the marquise disliked his telegrams, though he could see no sufficient reason for it. Madame de Cintre, on the other hand, liked them, and, most of them being of a humorous cast, laughed at them immoderately, and inquired into the character of their authors. Newman, now that his prize was gained, felt a peculiar desire that his triumph should be manifest.
In the course of the day Newman received three lines from him, saying that it had been decided that he should cross the frontier, with his adversary, and that he was to take the night express to Geneva. He should have time, however, to dine with Newman. In the afternoon Newman called upon Madame de Cintre, but his visit was brief.
"What have you done to her what does it mean?" he asked with the same effort at calmness, the fruit of his constant practice in taking things easily. He was excited, but excitement with him was only an intenser deliberateness; it was the swimmer stripped. "It means that I have given you up," said Madame de Cintre. "It means that."
"It was but three days ago, when I asked you, as a particular favor to myself, to go to the Duchess de Lusignan's, that you told me you were going nowhere and that one must be consistent. Is this your consistency? Why should you distinguish Madame Robineau? Who is it you wish to please to-night?" "I wish to please myself, dear mother," said Madame de Cintre.
She looked at Newman a moment, both intently and timidly, and then she dropped a short, straight English curtsey. "Madame de Cintre begs you will kindly wait," she said. "She has just come in; she will soon have finished dressing." "Oh, I will wait as long as she wants," said Newman. "Pray tell her not to hurry."
"Let ME tell your mother," said Newman. The old lady stared at him again, and then turned to her daughter. "You are going to marry him?" she cried, softly. "Oui ma mere," said Madame de Cintre. "Your daughter has consented, to my great happiness," said Newman. "And when was this arrangement made?" asked Madame de Bellegarde. "I seem to be picking up the news by chance!"
"I am very sure of it," said Newman. "Don't be too sure. If you like Madame de Cintre so much, perhaps you will not like me. We are as different as blue and pink. But you and I have something in common. I have come into this family by marriage; you want to come into it in the same way." "Oh no, I don't!" interrupted Newman. "I only want to take Madame de Cintre out of it."
"Very well, I promise." "Good-by, then," she said, and extended her hand. He held it a moment, as if he were going to say something more. But he only looked at her; then he took his departure. That evening, on the Boulevard, he met Valentin de Bellegarde. After they had exchanged greetings, Newman told him that he had seen Madame de Cintre a few hours before. "I know it," said Bellegarde.
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