With a farewell smile she sought the
complement of her consolation in the eyes of the American visitor, and
perceiving in them a certain mysterious brilliancy, it is not improbable
that she may have flattered herself she had found it.
Newman, left alone with old Madame de Bellegarde, stood before her a few
moments in silence. "Your daughter is very beautiful," he said at last.
"She is very strange," said Madame de Bellegarde.
"I am glad to hear it," Newman rejoined, smiling. "It makes me hope."
"Hope what?"
"That she will consent, some day, to marry me."
The old lady slowly rose to her feet. "That really is your project,
then?"
"Yes; will you favor it?"
"Favor it?" Madame de Bellegarde looked at him a moment and then shook
her head. "No!" she said, softly.
"Will you suffer it, then? Will you let it pass?"
"You don't know what you ask. I am a very proud and meddlesome old
woman."
"Well, I am very rich," said Newman.
Madame de Bellegarde fixed her eyes on the floor, and Newman thought
it probable she was weighing the reasons in favor of resenting the
brutality of this remark. But at last, looking up, she said simply, "How
rich?"
Newman expressed his income in a round number which had the magnificent
sound that large aggregations of dollars put on when they are translated
into francs.
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