The marquise gathered herself together majestically.  “This is too gross!” she cried.  “We decline to accept your story, sir—­we repudiate it.  Urbain, open the door.”  She turned away, with an imperious motion to her son, and passed rapidly down the length of the room.  The marquis went with her and held the door open.  Newman was left standing.

He lifted his finger, as a sign to M. de Bellegarde, who closed the door behind his mother and stood waiting.  Newman slowly advanced, more silent, for the moment, than life.  The two men stood face to face.  Then Newman had a singular sensation; he felt his sense of injury almost brimming over into jocularity.  “Come,” he said, “you don’t treat me well; at least admit that.”

M. de Bellegarde looked at him from head to foot, and then, in the most delicate, best-bred voice, “I detest you, personally,” he said.

“That’s the way I feel to you, but for politeness sake I don’t say it,” said Newman.  “It’s singular I should want so much to be your brother-in-law, but I can’t give it up.  Let me try once more.”  And he paused a moment.  “You have a secret—­you have a skeleton in the closet.”  M. de Bellegarde continued to look at him hard, but Newman could not see whether his eyes betrayed anything; the look of his eyes was always so strange.  Newman paused again, and then went on.  “You and your mother have committed a crime.”  At this M. de Bellegarde’s eyes certainly did change; they seemed to flicker, like blown candles.  Newman could see that he was profoundly startled; but there was something admirable in his self-control.

“Continue,” said M. de Bellegarde.

Newman lifted a finger and made it waver a little in the air.  “Need I continue?  You are trembling.”

“Pray where did you obtain this interesting information?” M. de Bellegarde asked, very softly.

“I shall be strictly accurate,” said Newman.  “I won’t pretend to know more than I do.  At present that is all I know.  You have done something that you must hide, something that would damn you if it were known, something that would disgrace the name you are so proud of.  I don’t know what it is, but I can find out.  Persist in your present course and I will find out.  Change it, let your sister go in peace, and I will leave you alone.  It’s a bargain?”

The marquis almost succeeded in looking untroubled; the breaking up of the ice in his handsome countenance was an operation that was necessarily gradual.  But Newman’s mildly-syllabled argumentation seemed to press, and press, and presently he averted his eyes.  He stood some moments, reflecting.

“My brother told you this,” he said, looking up.

Newman hesitated a moment.  “Yes, your brother told me.”

The marquis smiled, handsomely.  “Didn’t I say that he was out of his mind?”

“He was out of his mind if I don’t find out.  He was very much in it if I do.”