With
his long, lean face, his high-bridged nose and his small, opaque eye he
looked much like an Englishman. His whiskers were fair and glossy, and
he had a large dimple, of unmistakably British origin, in the middle of
his handsome chin. He was "distinguished" to the tips of his polished
nails, and there was not a movement of his fine, perpendicular person
that was not noble and majestic. Newman had never yet been confronted
with such an incarnation of the art of taking one's self seriously; he
felt a sort of impulse to step backward, as you do to get a view of a
great facade.
"Urbain," said young Madame de Bellegarde, who had apparently been
waiting for her husband to take her to her ball, "I call your attention
to the fact that I am dressed."
"That is a good idea," murmured Valentin.
"I am at your orders, my dear friend," said M. de Bellegarde. "Only,
you must allow me first the pleasure of a little conversation with Mr.
Newman."
"Oh, if you are going to a party, don't let me keep you," objected
Newman. "I am very sure we shall meet again. Indeed, if you would like
to converse with me I will gladly name an hour." He was eager to make
it known that he would readily answer all questions and satisfy all
exactions.
M. de Bellegarde stood in a well-balanced position before the fire,
caressing one of his fair whiskers with one of his white hands, and
looking at Newman, half askance, with eyes from which a particular ray
of observation made its way through a general meaningless smile.
Pages:
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208