it! Why
should you take such an interest in my marriage?"

"My interest was in your father. I hold to my offer; do what you can,
and I will buy what you paint."

She stood for some time, meditating, with her eyes on the ground.
At last, looking up, "What sort of a husband can you get for twelve
thousand francs?" she asked.

"Your father tells me he knows some very good young men."

"Grocers and butchers and little maitres de cafes! I will not marry at
all if I can't marry well."

"I would advise you not to be too fastidious," said Newman. "That's all
the advice I can give you."

"I am very much vexed at what I have said!" cried the young girl. "It
has done me no good. But I couldn't help it."

"What good did you expect it to do you?"

"I couldn't help it, simply."

Newman looked at her a moment. "Well, your pictures may be bad," he
said, "but you are too clever for me, nevertheless. I don't understand
you. Good-by!" And he put out his hand.

She made no response, and offered him no farewell. She turned away and
seated herself sidewise on a bench, leaning her head on the back of her
hand, which clasped the rail in front of the pictures. Newman stood a
moment and then turned on his heel and retreated. He had understood her
better than he confessed; this singular scene was a practical commentary
upon her father's statement that she was a frank coquette.

CHAPTER V

When Newman related to Mrs. Tristram his fruitless visit to Madame de
Cintre, she urged him not to be discouraged, but to carry out his plan
of "seeing Europe" during the summer, and return to Paris in the autumn
and settle down comfortably for the winter. "Madame de Cintre will
keep," she said; "she is not a woman who will marry from one day to
another." 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. This circumstance was at variance with his habitual
frankness, and may perhaps be regarded as characteristic of the
incipient stage of that passion which is more particularly known as the
mysterious one. The truth is that the expression of a pair of eyes that
were at once brilliant and mild had become very familiar to his memory,
and he would not easily have resigned himself to the prospect of never
looking into them again. He communicated to Mrs. Tristram a number of
other facts, of gre