“Well, you must not be discouraged,” said M. de Bellegarde, with vague urbanity.

“Oh, I don’t mean to be.  I have a project which gives me plenty to think about, and that is an occupation.”  And then Newman was silent a moment, hesitating, yet thinking rapidly; he wished to make his point, and yet to do so forced him to speak out in a way that was disagreeable to him.  Nevertheless he continued, addressing himself to old Madame de Bellegarde, “I will tell you my project; perhaps you can help me.  I want to take a wife.”

“It is a very good project, but I am no matchmaker,” said the old lady.

Newman looked at her an instant, and then, with perfect sincerity, “I should have thought you were,” he declared.

Madame de Bellegarde appeared to think him too sincere.  She murmured something sharply in French, and fixed her eyes on her son.  At this moment the door of the room was thrown open, and with a rapid step Valentin reappeared.

“I have a message for you,” he said to his sister-in-law.  “Claire bids me to request you not to start for your ball.  She will go with you.”

“Claire will go with us!” cried the young marquise.  “En voila, du nouveau!”

“She has changed her mind; she decided half an hour ago, and she is sticking the last diamond into her hair,” said Valentin.

“What has taken possession of my daughter?” demanded Madame de Bellegarde, sternly.  “She has not been into the world these three years.  Does she take such a step at half an hour’s notice, and without consulting me?”

“She consulted me, dear mother, five minutes since,” said Valentin, “and I told her that such a beautiful woman—­she is beautiful, you will see—­had no right to bury herself alive.”

“You should have referred Claire to her mother, my brother,” said M. de Bellegarde, in French.  “This is very strange.”

“I refer her to the whole company!” said Valentin.  “Here she comes!” And he went to the open door, met Madame de Cintre on the threshold, took her by the hand, and led her into the room.  She was dressed in white; but a long blue cloak, which hung almost to her feet, was fastened across her shoulders by a silver clasp.  She had tossed it back, however, and her long white arms were uncovered.  In her dense, fair hair there glittered a dozen diamonds.  She looked serious and, Newman thought, rather pale; but she glanced round her, and, when she saw him, smiled and put out her hand.  He thought her tremendously handsome.  He had a chance to look at her full in the face, for she stood a moment in the centre of the room, hesitating, apparently, what she should do, without meeting his eyes.  Then she went up to her mother, who sat in her deep chair by the fire, looking at Madame de Cintre almost fiercely.  With her back turned to the others, Madame de Cintre held her cloak apart to show her dress.

“What do you think of me?” she asked.