She saw M. de Cintre for the first time a
month before the wedding, after everything, to the minutest detail,
had been arranged. She turned white when she looked at him, and white
remained till her wedding-day. The evening before the ceremony she
swooned away, and she spent the whole night in sobs. My mother sat
holding her two hands, and my brother walked up and down the room. I
declared it was revolting and told my sister publicly that if she would
refuse, downright, I would stand by her. I was told to go about my
business, and she became Comtesse de Cintre."
"Your brother," said Newman, reflectively, "must be a very nice young
man."
"He is very nice, though he is not young. He is upward of fifty, fifteen
years my senior. He has been a father to my sister and me. He is a
very remarkable man; he has the best manners in France. He is extremely
clever; indeed he is very learned. He is writing a history of The
Princesses of France Who Never Married." This was said by Bellegarde
with extreme gravity, looking straight at Newman, and with an eye that
betokened no mental reservation; or that, at least, almost betokened
none.
Newman perhaps discovered there what little there was, for he presently
said, "You don't love your brother."
"I beg your pardon," said Bellegarde, ceremoniously; "well-bred people
always love their brothers.
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