“But you offered, a while ago, to make your court as we say, to my mother and my brother.”

“Damn it!” cried Newman, “I want to be polite.”

“Good!” rejoined Bellegarde; “this will go far, it will be very entertaining.  Excuse my speaking of it in that cold-blooded fashion, but the matter must, of necessity, be for me something of a spectacle.  It’s positively exciting.  But apart from that I sympathize with you, and I shall be actor, so far as I can, as well as spectator.  You are a capital fellow; I believe in you and I back you.  The simple fact that you appreciate my sister will serve as the proof I was asking for.  All men are equal—­especially men of taste!”

“Do you think,” asked Newman presently, “that Madame de Cintre is determined not to marry?”

“That is my impression.  But that is not against you; it’s for you to make her change her mind.”

“I am afraid it will be hard,” said Newman, gravely.

“I don’t think it will be easy.  In a general way I don’t see why a widow should ever marry again.  She has gained the benefits of matrimony—­freedom and consideration—­and she has got rid of the drawbacks.  Why should she put her head into the noose again?  Her usual motive is ambition:  if a man can offer her a great position, make her a princess or an ambassadress she may think the compensation sufficient.”

“And—­in that way—­is Madame de Cintre ambitious?”

“Who knows?” said Bellegarde, with a profound shrug.  “I don’t pretend to say all that she is or all that she is not.  I think she might be touched by the prospect of becoming the wife of a great man.  But in a certain way, I believe, whatever she does will be the improbable.  Don’t be too confident, but don’t absolutely doubt.  Your best chance for success will be precisely in being, to her mind, unusual, unexpected, original.  Don’t try to be any one else; be simply yourself, out and out.  Something or other can’t fail to come of it; I am very curious to see what.”

“I am much obliged to you for your advice,” said Newman.  “And,” he added with a smile, “I am glad, for your sake, I am going to be so amusing.”

“It will be more than amusing,” said Bellegarde; “it will be inspiring.  I look at it from my point of view, and you from yours.  After all, anything for a change!  And only yesterday I was yawning so as to dislocate my jaw, and declaring that there was nothing new under the sun!  If it isn’t new to see you come into the family as a suitor, I am very much mistaken.  Let me say that, my dear fellow; I won’t call it anything else, bad or good; I will simply call it new” And overcome with a sense of the novelty thus foreshadowed, Valentin de Bellegarde threw himself into a deep arm-chair before the fire, and, with a fixed, intense smile, seemed to read a vision of it in the flame of the logs.  After a while he looked up.  “Go ahead, my boy; you have my good wishes,” he said.  “But it is really a pity you don’t understand me, that you don’t know just what I am doing.”