matched. You are both hard cases, and M. Nioche and I, I believe, are
the only virtuous men to be found in Paris."

Soon after this M. de Bellegarde, in punishment for his levity, received
a stern poke in the back from a pointed instrument. Turning quickly
round he found the weapon to be a parasol wielded by a lady in green
gauze bonnet. Valentin's English cousins had been drifting about
unpiloted, and evidently deemed that they had a grievance. Newman left
him to their mercies, but with a boundless faith in his power to plead
his cause.

CHAPTER XII

Three days after his introduction to the family of Madame de Cintre,
Newman, coming in toward evening, found upon his table the card of the
Marquis de Bellegarde. On the following day he received a note informing
him that the Marquise de Bellegarde would be grateful for the honor of
his company at dinner.

He went, of course, though he had to break another engagement to do it.
He was ushered into the room in which Madame de Bellegarde had received
him before, and here he found his venerable hostess, surrounded by her
entire family. The room was lighted only by the crackling fire, which
illuminated the very small pink slippers of a lady who, seated in a low
chair, was stretching out her toes before it. This lady was the younger
Madame de Bellegarde. Madame de Cintre was seated at the other end
of the room, holding a little girl against her knee, the child of her
brother Urbain, to whom she was apparently relating a wonderful story.
Valentin was sitting on a puff, close to his sister-in-law, into whose
ear he was certainly distilling the finest nonsense. The marquis was
stationed before the fire, with his head erect and his hands behind him,
in an attitude of formal expectancy.

Old Madame de Bellegarde stood up to give Newman her greeting, and there
was that in the way she did so which seemed to measure narrowly the
extent of her condescension. "We are all alone, you see, we have asked
no one else," she said, austerely.

"I am very glad you didn't; this is much more sociable," said Newman.
"Good evening, sir," and he offered his hand to the marquis.

M. de Bellegarde was affable, but in spite of his dignity he was
restless. He began to pace up and down the room, he looked out of the
long windows, he took up books and laid them down again. Young Madame
de Bellegarde gave Newman her hand without moving and without looking at
him.

"You may think that is coldn