“I am very certain that she has not; she will keep her own counsel.  Meanwhile you must make your way with the rest of the family.  Thus much is known about you:  you have made a great fortune in trade, you are a little eccentric, and you frankly admire our dear Claire.  My sister-in-law, whom you remember seeing in Madame de Cintre’s sitting-room, took, it appears, a fancy to you; she has described you as having beaucoup de cachet.  My mother, therefore, is curious to see you.”

“She expects to laugh at me, eh?” said Newman.

“She never laughs.  If she does not like you, don’t hope to purchase favor by being amusing.  Take warning by me!”

This conversation took place in the evening, and half an hour later Valentin ushered his companion into an apartment of the house of the Rue de l’Universite into which he had not yet penetrated, the salon of the dowager Marquise de Bellegarde.  It was a vast, high room, with elaborate and ponderous mouldings, painted a whitish gray, along the upper portion of the walls and the ceiling; with a great deal of faded and carefully repaired tapestry in the doorways and chair-backs; a Turkey carpet in light colors, still soft and deep, in spite of great antiquity, on the floor, and portraits of each of Madame de Bellegarde’s children, at the age of ten, suspended against an old screen of red silk.  The room was illumined, exactly enough for conversation, by half a dozen candles, placed in odd corners, at a great distance apart.  In a deep armchair, near the fire, sat an old lady in black; at the other end of the room another person was seated at the piano, playing a very expressive waltz.  In this latter person Newman recognized the young Marquise de Bellegarde.

Valentin presented his friend, and Newman walked up to the old lady by the fire and shook hands with her.  He received a rapid impression of a white, delicate, aged face, with a high forehead, a small mouth, and a pair of cold blue eyes which had kept much of the freshness of youth.  Madame de Bellegarde looked hard at him, and returned his hand-shake with a sort of British positiveness which reminded him that she was the daughter of the Earl of St. Dunstan’s.  Her daughter-in-law stopped playing and gave him an agreeable smile.  Newman sat down and looked about him, while Valentin went and kissed the hand of the young marquise.

“I ought to have seen you before,” said Madame de Bellegarde.  “You have paid several visits to my daughter.”

“Oh, yes,” said Newman, smiling; “Madame de Cintre and I are old friends by this time.”

“You have gone fast,” said Madame de Bellegarde.

“Not so fast as I should like,” said Newman, bravely.

“Oh, you are very ambitious,” answered the old lady.

“Yes, I confess I am,” said Newman, smiling.

Madame de Bellegarde looked at him with her cold fine eyes, and he returned her gaze, reflecting that she was a possible adversary and trying to take her measure.  Their eyes remained in contact for some moments.  Then Madame de Bellegarde looked away, and without smiling, “I am very ambitious, too,” she said.