“She is immensely tickled,” he said.  “She says we will make her fortune.  I don’t want to be fatuous, but I think it is very possible.”

“So you are going to fight?” said Newman.

“My dear fellow, don’t look so mortally disgusted.  It was not my choice.  The thing is all arranged.”

“I told you so!” groaned Newman.

“I told him so,” said Valentin, smiling.

“What did he do to you?”

“My good friend, it doesn’t matter what.  He used an expression—­I took it up.”

“But I insist upon knowing; I can’t, as your elder brother, have you rushing into this sort of nonsense.”

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Valentin.  “I have nothing to conceal, but I can’t go into particulars now and here.”

“We will leave this place, then.  You can tell me outside.”

“Oh no, I can’t leave this place, why should I hurry away?  I will go to my orchestra-stall and sit out the opera.”

“You will not enjoy it; you will be preoccupied.”

Valentin looked at him a moment, colored a little, smiled, and patted him on the arm.  “You are delightfully simple!  Before an affair a man is quiet.  The quietest thing I can do is to go straight to my place.”

“Ah,” said Newman, “you want her to see you there—­you and your quietness.  I am not so simple!  It is a poor business.”

Valentin remained, and the two men, in their respective places, sat out the rest of the performance, which was also enjoyed by Mademoiselle Nioche and her truculent admirer.  At the end Newman joined Valentin again, and they went into the street together.  Valentin shook his head at his friend’s proposal that he should get into Newman’s own vehicle, and stopped on the edge of the pavement.  “I must go off alone,” he said; “I must look up a couple of friends who will take charge of this matter.”

“I will take charge of it,” Newman declared.  “Put it into my hands.”

“You are very kind, but that is hardly possible.  In the first place, you are, as you said just now, almost my brother; you are about to marry my sister.  That alone disqualifies you; it casts doubts on your impartiality.  And if it didn’t, it would be enough for me that I strongly suspect you of disapproving of the affair.  You would try to prevent a meeting.”

“Of course I should,” said Newman.  “Whoever your friends are, I hope they will do that.”

“Unquestionably they will.  They will urge that excuses be made, proper excuses.  But you would be too good-natured.  You won’t do.”

Newman was silent a moment.  He was keenly annoyed, but he saw it was useless to attempt interference.  “When is this precious performance to come off?” he asked.

“The sooner the better,” said Valentin.  “The day after to-morrow, I hope.”

“Well,” said Newman, “I have certainly a claim to know the facts.  I can’t consent to shut my eyes to the matter.”