“Bless your quiet imagination,” said Valentin, “I have been to see her—­three times in five days.  She is a charming hostess; we talk of Shakespeare and the musical glasses.  She is extremely clever and a very curious type; not at all coarse or wanting to be coarse; determined not to be.  She means to take very good care of herself.  She is extremely perfect; she is as hard and clear-cut as some little figure of a sea-nymph in an antique intaglio, and I will warrant that she has not a grain more of sentiment or heart than if she was scooped out of a big amethyst.  You can’t scratch her even with a diamond.  Extremely pretty,—­really, when you know her, she is wonderfully pretty,—­intelligent, determined, ambitious, unscrupulous, capable of looking at a man strangled without changing color, she is upon my honor, extremely entertaining.”

“It’s a fine list of attractions,” said Newman; “they would serve as a police-detective’s description of a favorite criminal.  I should sum them up by another word than ‘entertaining.’”

“Why, that is just the word to use.  I don’t say she is laudable or lovable.  I don’t want her as my wife or my sister.  But she is a very curious and ingenious piece of machinery; I like to see it in operation.”

“Well, I have seen some very curious machines too,” said Newman; “and once, in a needle factory, I saw a gentleman from the city, who had stopped too near one of them, picked up as neatly as if he had been prodded by a fork, swallowed down straight, and ground into small pieces.”

Reentering his domicile, late in the evening, three days after Madame de Bellegarde had made her bargain with him—­the expression is sufficiently correct—­touching the entertainment at which she was to present him to the world, he found on his table a card of goodly dimensions bearing an announcement that this lady would be at home on the 27th of the month, at ten o’clock in the evening.  He stuck it into the frame of his mirror and eyed it with some complacency; it seemed an agreeable emblem of triumph, documentary evidence that his prize was gained.  Stretched out in a chair, he was looking at it lovingly, when Valentin de Bellegarde was shown into the room.  Valentin’s glance presently followed the direction of Newman’s, and he perceived his mother’s invitation.

“And what have they put into the corner?” he asked.  “Not the customary ‘music,’ ‘dancing,’ or ‘tableaux vivants’?  They ought at least to put ‘An American.’”

“Oh, there are to be several of us,” said Newman.  “Mrs. Tristram told me to-day that she had received a card and sent an acceptance.”

“Ah, then, with Mrs. Tristram and her husband you will have support.  My mother might have put on her card ‘Three Americans.’  But I suspect you will not lack amusement.  You will see a great many of the best people in France.  I mean the long pedigrees and the high noses, and all that.  Some of them are awful idiots; I advise you to take them up cautiously.”