“I hope she will!” said Newman.

“But you must not lose courage, sir, if she doesn’t make up her mind at once.  That is what I wanted to beg of you, sir.  Don’t give it up, sir.  You will not take it ill if I say it’s a great risk for any lady at any time; all the more when she has got rid of one bad bargain.  But if she can marry a good, kind, respectable gentleman, I think she had better make up her mind to it.  They speak very well of you, sir, in the house, and, if you will allow me to say so, I like your face.  You have a very different appearance from the late count, he wasn’t five feet high.  And they say your fortune is beyond everything.  There’s no harm in that.  So I beseech you to be patient, sir, and bide your time.  If I don’t say this to you, sir, perhaps no one will.  Of course it is not for me to make any promises.  I can answer for nothing.  But I think your chance is not so bad, sir.  I am nothing but a weary old woman in my quiet corner, but one woman understands another, and I think I make out the countess.  I received her in my arms when she came into the world and her first wedding day was the saddest of my life.  She owes it to me to show me another and a brighter one.  If you will hold firm, sir—­and you look as if you would—­I think we may see it.”

“I am much obliged to you for your encouragement,” said Newman, heartily.  “One can’t have too much.  I mean to hold firm.  And if Madame de Cintre marries me you must come and live with her.”

The old woman looked at him strangely, with her soft, lifeless eyes.  “It may seem a heartless thing to say, sir, when one has been forty years in a house, but I may tell you that I should like to leave this place.”

“Why, it’s just the time to say it,” said Newman, fervently.  “After forty years one wants a change.”

“You are very kind, sir;” and this faithful servant dropped another curtsey and seemed disposed to retire.  But she lingered a moment and gave a timid, joyless smile.  Newman was disappointed, and his fingers stole half shyly half irritably into his waistcoat-pocket.  His informant noticed the movement.  “Thank God I am not a Frenchwoman,” she said.  “If I were, I would tell you with a brazen simper, old as I am, that if you please, monsieur, my information is worth something.  Let me tell you so in my own decent English way.  It is worth something.”

“How much, please?” said Newman.

“Simply this:  a promise not to hint to the countess that I have said these things.”

“If that is all, you have it,” said Newman.

“That is all, sir.  Thank you, sir.  Good day, sir.”  And having once more slid down telescope-wise into her scanty petticoats, the old woman departed.  At the same moment Madame de Cintre came in by an opposite door.  She noticed the movement of the other portiere and asked Newman who had been entertaining him.

“The British female!” said Newman.  “An old lady in a black dress and a cap, who curtsies up and down, and expresses herself ever so well.”