"
"They would have said I was a queer monster, eh?" said Newman.
"They would have said I could never be happy with you--you were too
different; and I would have said it was just BECAUSE you were so
different that I might be happy. But they would have given better
reasons than I. My only reason"--and she paused again.
But this time, in the midst of his golden sunrise, Newman felt the
impulse to grasp at a rosy cloud. "Your only reason is that you love
me!" he murmured with an eloquent gesture, and for want of a better
reason Madame de Cintre reconciled herself to this one.
Newman came back the next day, and in the vestibule, as he entered the
house, he encountered his friend Mrs. Bread. She was wandering about in
honorable idleness, and when his eyes fell upon her she delivered him
one of her curtsies. Then turning to the servant who had admitted him,
she said, with the combined majesty of her native superiority and of
a rugged English accent, "You may retire; I will have the honor of
conducting monsieur. In spite of this combination, however, it appeared
to Newman that her voice had a slight quaver, as if the tone of command
were not habitual to it. The man gave her an impertinent stare, but he
walked slowly away, and she led Newman up-stairs. At half its course the
staircase gave a bend, forming a little platform.
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