“I suppose you want to congratulate me,” said Newman.  “I am greatly obliged.”  And then he added, “You gave me much pleasure the other day.”

She turned around, apparently reassured.  “You are not to think that I have been told anything,” she said; “I have only guessed.  But when I looked at you, as you came in, I was sure I had guessed aright.”

“You are very sharp,” said Newman.  “I am sure that in your quiet way you see everything.”

“I am not a fool, sir, thank God.  I have guessed something else beside,” said Mrs. Bread.

“What’s that?”

“I needn’t tell you that, sir; I don’t think you would believe it.  At any rate it wouldn’t please you.”

“Oh, tell me nothing but what will please me,” laughed Newman.  “That is the way you began.”

“Well, sir, I suppose you won’t be vexed to hear that the sooner everything is over the better.”

“The sooner we are married, you mean?  The better for me, certainly.”

“The better for every one.”

“The better for you, perhaps.  You know you are coming to live with us,” said Newman.

“I’m extremely obliged to you, sir, but it is not of myself I was thinking.  I only wanted, if I might take the liberty, to recommend you to lose no time.”

“Whom are you afraid of?”

Mrs. Bread looked up the staircase and then down and then she looked at the undusted nymph, as if she possibly had sentient ears.  “I am afraid of every one,” she said.

“What an uncomfortable state of mind!” said Newman.  “Does ‘every one’ wish to prevent my marriage?”

“I am afraid of already having said too much,” Mrs. Bread replied.  “I won’t take it back, but I won’t say any more.”  And she took her way up the staircase again and led him into Madame de Cintre’s salon.

Newman indulged in a brief and silent imprecation when he found that Madame de Cintre was not alone.  With her sat her mother, and in the middle of the room stood young Madame de Bellegarde, in her bonnet and mantle.  The old marquise, who was leaning back in her chair with a hand clasping the knob of each arm, looked at him fixedly without moving.  She seemed barely conscious of his greeting; she appeared to be musing intently.  Newman said to himself that her daughter had been announcing her engagement and that the old lady found the morsel hard to swallow.  But Madame de Cintre, as she gave him her hand gave him also a look by which she appeared to mean that he should understand something.  Was it a warning or a request?  Did she wish to enjoin speech or silence?  He was puzzled, and young Madame de Bellegarde’s pretty grin gave him no information.

“I have not told my mother,” said Madame de Cintre abruptly, looking at him.

“Told me what?” demanded the marquise.  “You tell me too little; you should tell me everything.”

“That is what I do,” said Madame Urbain, with a little laugh.