If I ought to
go and tell your mother, why I will go and tell her. I will go and tell
your brother, even. I will go and tell any one you please. As I don't
know any one else, I begin by telling you. But that, if it is a social
obligation, is a pleasure as well."
"Yes, I see--I see," said Bellegarde, lightly stroking his chin. "You
have a very right feeling about it, but I'm glad you have begun with
me." He paused, hesitated, and then turned away and walked slowly
the length of the room. Newman got up and stood leaning against the
mantel-shelf, with his hands in his pockets, watching Bellegarde's
promenade. The young Frenchman came back and stopped in front of him.
"I give it up," he said; "I will not pretend I am not surprised. I
am--hugely! Ouf! It's a relief."
"That sort of news is always a surprise," said Newman. "No matter what
you have done, people are never prepared. But if you are so surprised, I
hope at least you are pleased."
"Come!" said Bellegarde. "I am going to be tremendously frank. I don't
know whether I am pleased or horrified."
"If you are pleased, I shall be glad," said Newman, "and I shall
be--encouraged. If you are horrified, I shall be sorry, but I shall not
be discouraged. You must make the best of it."
"That is quite right--that is your only possible attitude.
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