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.
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