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Updated: June 8, 2025
He had an eye-glass pinned to his face an' he niver even smiled whin a young gintleman fr'm Harvard threw a sledge hammer wan mile, two inches. A fine la-ad, that Harvard man, but if throwin' th' hammer's spoort, thin th' rowlin' mills is th' athletic cintre iv our belovid counthry.
"I know your secret," she said, in her bad but charming English; "you need make no mystery of it. You wish to marry my sister-in-law. C'est un beau choix. A man like you ought to marry a tall, thin woman. You must know that I have spoken in your favor; you owe me a famous taper!" "You have spoken to Madame de Cintre?" said Newman. "Oh no, not that.
On the Friday, as soon as he came in, she asked him to please to tell her why he disliked her family. "Dislike your family?" he exclaimed. "That has a horrid sound. I didn't say so, did I? I didn't mean it, if I did." "I wish you would tell me what you think of them," said Madame de Cintre. "I don't think of any of them but you." "That is because you dislike them.
It admitted him into a wide, graveled court, surrounded on three sides with closed windows, and with a doorway facing the street, approached by three steps and surmounted by a tin canopy. The place was all in the shade; it answered to Newman's conception of a convent. The portress could not tell him whether Madame de Cintre was visible; he would please to apply at the farther door.
She stared at Newman, gave a little nod and a "Monsieur!" and then quickly approached Madame de Cintre and presented her forehead to be kissed. Madame de Cintre 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.
Besides besides, I shall always think of you." "I don't care for that!" cried Newman. "You are cruel you are terribly cruel. God forgive you! You may have the best reasons and the finest feelings in the world; that makes no difference. You are a mystery to me; I don't see how such hardness can go with such loveliness." Madame de Cintre fixed him a moment with her swimming eyes.
Upon what he deemed the unblushing treachery of the Bellegardes Newman wasted little thought; he consigned it, once for all, to eternal perdition. But the treachery of Madame de Cintre herself amazed and confounded him; there was a key to the mystery, of course, but he groped for it in vain.
When Newman's hostess had gone in to receive her friends, Tom Tristram approached his guest. "Don't put your foot into THIS, my boy," he said, puffing the last whiffs of his cigar. "There's nothing in it!" Newman looked askance at him, inquisitive. "You tell another story, eh?" "I say simply that Madame de Cintre is a great white doll of a woman, who cultivates quiet haughtiness."
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."
"I ought to have seen you before," said Madame de Bellegarde. "You have paid several visits to my daughter." "Oh, yes," said Newman, smiling; "Madame de Cintre and I are old friends by this time." "You have gone fast," said Madame de Bellegarde. "Not so fast as I should like," said Newman, bravely. "Oh, you are very ambitious," answered the old lady. "Yes, I confess I am," said Newman, smiling.
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