beside her slowly walked her husband, with his mother on his arm.  They were a long time advancing, during which Newman sat unmoved.  Tingling as he was with passion, it was extremely characteristic of him that he was able to moderate his expression of it, as he would have turned down a flaring gas-burner.  His native coolness, shrewdness, and deliberateness, his life-long submissiveness to the sentiment that words were acts and acts were steps in life, and that in this matter of taking steps curveting and prancing were exclusively reserved for quadrupeds and foreigners—­all this admonished him that rightful wrath had no connection with being a fool and indulging in spectacular violence.  So as he rose, when old Madame de Bellegarde and her son were close to him, he only felt very tall and light.  He had been sitting beside some shrubbery, in such a way as not to be noticeable at a distance; but M. de Bellegarde had evidently already perceived him.  His mother and he were holding their course, but Newman stepped in front of them, and they were obliged to pause.  He lifted his hat slightly, and looked at them for a moment; they were pale with amazement and disgust.

“Excuse me for stopping you,” he said in a low tone, “but I must profit by the occasion.  I have ten words to say to you.  Will you listen to them?”

The marquis glared at him and then turned to his mother.  “Can Mr. Newman possibly have anything to say that is worth our listening to?”

“I assure you I have something,” said Newman, “besides, it is my duty to say it.  It’s a notification—­a warning.”

“Your duty?” said old Madame de Bellegarde, her thin lips curving like scorched paper.  “That is your affair, not ours.”

Madame Urbain meanwhile had seized her little girl by the hand, with a gesture of surprise and impatience which struck Newman, intent as he was upon his own words, with its dramatic effectiveness.  “If Mr. Newman is going to make a scene in public,” she exclaimed, “I will take my poor child out of the melee.  She is too young to see such naughtiness!” and she instantly resumed her walk.

“You had much better listen to me,” Newman went on.  “Whether you do or not, things will be disagreeable for you; but at any rate you will be prepared.”

“We have already heard something of your threats,” said the marquis, “and you know what we think of them.”

“You think a good deal more than you admit.  A moment,” Newman added in reply to an exclamation of the old lady.  “I remember perfectly that we are in a public place, and you see I am very quiet.  I am not going to tell your secret to the passers-by; I shall keep it, to begin with, for certain picked listeners.  Any one who observes us will think that we are having a friendly chat, and that I am complimenting you, madam, on your venerable virtues.”

The marquis gave three short sharp raps on the ground with his stick.  “I demand of you to step out of our path!” he hissed.