"You never will understand--you never
will know," he said; "and if you succeed, and I turn out to have helped
you, you will never be grateful, not as I shall deserve you should be.
You will be an excellent fellow always, but you will not be grateful.
But it doesn't matter, for I shall get my own fun out of it." And he
broke into an extravagant laugh. "You look puzzled," he added; "you look
almost frightened."

"It IS a pity," said Newman, "that I don't understand you. I shall lose
some very good jokes."

"I told you, you remember, that we were very strange people," Bellegarde
went on. "I give you warning again. We are! My mother is strange, my
brother is strange, and I verily believe that I am stranger than either.
You will even find my sister a little strange. Old trees have crooked
branches, old houses have queer cracks, old races have odd secrets.
Remember that we are eight hundred years old!"

"Very good," said Newman; "that's the sort of thing I came to Europe
for. You come into my programme."

"Touchez-la, then," said Bellegarde, putting out his hand. "It's a
bargain: I accept you; I espouse your cause. It's because I like you, in
a great measure; but that is not the only reason!" And he stood holding
Newman's hand and looking at him askance.

"What is the other one?"

"I am in the Opposition. I dislike some one else."

"Your brother?" asked Newman, in his unmodulated voice.

Bellegarde laid his fingers upon his lips with a whispered HUSH! "Old
races have strange secrets!" he said. "Put yourself into motion, come
and see my sister, and be assured of my sympathy!" And on this he took
his leave.

Newman dropped into a chair before his fire, and sat a long time staring
into the blaze.

CHAPTER IX

He went to see Madame de Cintre the next day, and was informed by the
servant that she was at home. He passed as usual up the large, cold
staircase and through a spacious vestibule above, where the walls seemed
all composed of small door panels, touched with long-faded gilding;
whence he was ushered into the sitting-room in which he had already been
received. It was empty, and the servant told him that Madame la Comtesse
would presently appear. He had time, while he waited, to wonder whether
Bellegarde had seen his sister since the evening before, and whether
in this case he had spoken to her of their talk. In this case Madame
de Cintre's receiving him was an encouragement. He felt a certain
trepidation