"
"Oh, I never go to extremes," said his sister-in-law. And then, turning
to Madame de Bellegarde, "What were you calling me just now, madame?"
"I called you a gad-about," said the old lady. "But I might call you
something else, too."
"A gad-about? What an ugly word! What does it mean?"
"A very beautiful person," Newman ventured to say, seeing that it was in
French.
"That is a pretty compliment but a bad translation," said the young
marquise. And then, looking at him a moment, "Do you dance?"
"Not a step."
"You are very wrong," she said, simply. And with another look at her
back in the mirror she turned away.
"Do you like Paris?" asked the old lady, who was apparently wondering
what was the proper way to talk to an American.
"Yes, rather," said Newman. And then he added with a friendly
intonation, "Don't you?"
"I can't say I know it. I know my house--I know my friends--I don't know
Paris."
"Oh, you lose a great deal," said Newman, sympathetically.
Madame de Bellegarde stared; it was presumably the first time she had
been condoled with on her losses.
"I am content with what I have," she said with dignity.
Newman's eyes, at this moment, were wandering round the room, which
struck him as rather sad and shabby; passing from the high casements,
with their small, thickly-framed panes, to the sallow tints of two or
three portraits in pastel, of the last century, which hung between
them.
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