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Updated: June 8, 2025
"That will depend upon how much you let it bother you. Then I shall call it an awful bore." "I will keep it to myself," said Madame de Cintre, "It shall not bother you." And then they talked of their marriage-day, and Madame de Cintre assented unreservedly to Newman's desire to have it fixed for an early date. Newman's telegrams were answered with interest.
"I can tell you something that will make you feel duller still, if you want to feel all one way. About Madame de Cintre." "What can you tell me?" Newman demanded. "Not that you have seen her?" She shook her head. "No, indeed, sir, nor ever shall. That's the dullness of it. Nor my lady. Nor M. de Bellegarde." "You mean that she is kept so close." "Close, close," said Mrs. Bread, very softly.
He lived, however, but a short time, and after his death his family pounced upon his money, brought a lawsuit against his widow, and pushed things very hard. Their case was a good one, for M. de Cintre, who had been trustee for some of his relatives, appeared to have been guilty of some very irregular practices.
Madame de Cintre had turned her back to the circle, and had been standing for some time within the uplifted curtain of a window, with her forehead against the pane, gazing out into the deluged darkness. Suddenly she turned round toward her sister-in-law. "For Heaven's sake," she said, with peculiar eagerness, "go to the piano and play something."
My lady, she gave him up too, and if the truth must be told, she gave up gladly. When once he was out of the way she could do what she pleased with her daughter, and it was all arranged that my poor innocent child should be handed over to M. de Cintre.
Now, ye go to an Englishman, an' till him ye've a bit of land in the cintre of a lost island in the middle of the Pacific say, an' pfwhat does he do? He'll first thry to stale ut, thin thry to bully ye out of ut; but he'll ind by buyin' ut, at anny price ye've conscience to ask, an' he'll thrust to Providence to be able to find the island some day. That's wisdom.
Suffice it for the present that Claire has not slept on roses. She made at eighteen a marriage that was expected to be brilliant, but that turned out like a lamp that goes out; all smoke and bad smell. M. de Cintre was sixty years old, and an odious old gentleman.
"I am seeing you," said Madame de Cintre, slowly and gravely, "because I promised my brother I would." "Blessings on your brother's head!" cried Newman. "What I told him last evening was this: that I admired you more than any woman I had ever seen, and that I should like immensely to make you my wife." He uttered these words with great directness and firmness, and without any sense of confusion.
She wore, moreover, a look which he eagerly interpreted as expectancy. "I have been coming to see you for six months, now," he said, "and I have never spoken to you a second time of marriage. That was what you asked me; I obeyed. Could any man have done better?" "You have acted with great delicacy," said Madame de Cintre. "Well, I'm going to change, now," said Newman.
"You know I have never had such good luck before." "But you have seemed before very well contented with your luck," said Madame de Cintre. "You have sat and watched my visitors with an air of quiet amusement. What have you thought of them?" "Oh, I have thought the ladies were very elegant and very graceful, and wonderfully quick at repartee.
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