of the United States, the working of various local
institutions and mercantile customs. Judging by the sequel she was
interested, but one would not have been sure of it beforehand. As
regards her own talk, Newman was very sure himself that she herself
enjoyed it: this was as a sort of amendment to the portrait that Mrs.
Tristram had drawn of her. He discovered that she had naturally an
abundance of gayety. He had been right at first in saying she was shy;
her shyness, in a woman whose circumstances and tranquil beauty afforded
every facility for well-mannered hardihood, was only a charm the more.
For Newman it had lasted some time, and even when it went it left
something behind it which for a while performed the same office. Was
this the tearful secret of which Mrs. Tristram had had a glimpse, and
of which, as of her friend's reserve, her high-breeding, and her
profundity, she had given a sketch of which the outlines were, perhaps,
rather too heavy? Newman supposed so, but he found himself wondering
less every day what Madame de Cintre's secrets might be, and more
convinced that secrets were, in themselves, hateful things to her. She
was a woman for the light, not for the shade; and her natural line was
not picturesque reserve and mysterious melancholy, but frank, joyous,
brilliant action, with just so much meditation as was necessary, and
not a grain more. To this, apparently, he had succeeded in bringing her
back. He felt, himself, that he was an antidote to oppressive secrets;
what he offered her was, in fact, above all things a vast, sunny
immunity from the need of having any.

He often passed his evenings, when Madame de Cintre had so appointed it,
at the chilly fireside of Madame de Bellegarde, contenting himself with
looking across the room, through narrowed eyelids, at his mistress, who
always made a point, before her family, of talking to some one else.
Madame de Bellegarde sat by the fire conversing neatly and coldly
with whomsoever approached her, and glancing round the room with her
slowly-restless eye, the effect of which, when it lighted upon him, was
to Newman's sense identical with that of a sudden spurt of damp air.
When he shook hands with her he always asked her with a laugh whether
she could "stand him" another evening, and she replied, without a laugh,
that thank God she had always been able to do her duty. Newman, talking
once of the marquise to Mrs. Tristram, said that after all it was very
easy t