"There has been a family council," the young man continued; "my mother
and Urbain have put their heads together, and even my testimony has
not been altogether excluded. My mother and the marquis sat at a table
covered with green cloth; my sister-in-law and I were on a bench against
the wall. It was like a committee at the Corps Legislatif. We were
called up, one after the other, to testify. We spoke of you very
handsomely. Madame de Bellegarde said that if she had not been told who
you were, she would have taken you for a duke--an American duke, the
Duke of California. I said that I could warrant you grateful for the
smallest favors--modest, humble, unassuming. I was sure that you would
know your own place, always, and never give us occasion to remind you of
certain differences. After all, you couldn't help it if you were not
a duke. There were none in your country; but if there had been, it was
certain that, smart and active as you are, you would have got the pick
of the titles. At this point I was ordered to sit down, but I think I
made an impression in your favor."
M. de Bellegarde looked at his brother with dangerous coldness, and
gave a smile as thin as the edge of a knife. Then he removed a spark of
cigar-ash from the sleeve of his coat; he fixed his eyes for a while on
the cornice of the room, and at last he inserted one of his white hands
into the breast of his waistcoat.
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