"I apologize,"
he said. "Do you understand? Here on my death-bed. I apologize for
my family. For my mother. For my brother. For the ancient house of
Bellegarde. Voila!" he added, softly.
Newman for an answer took his hand and pressed it with a world of
kindness. Valentin remained quiet, and at the end of half an hour the
doctor softly came in. Behind him, through the half-open door, Newman
saw the two questioning faces of MM. de Grosjoyaux and Ledoux. The
doctor laid his hand on Valentin's wrist and sat looking at him. He gave
no sign and the two gentlemen came in, M. Ledoux having first beckoned
to some one outside. This was M. le cure, who carried in his hand an
object unknown to Newman, and covered with a white napkin. M. le cure
was short, round, and red: he advanced, pulling off his little black cap
to Newman, and deposited his burden on the table; and then he sat down
in the best arm-chair, with his hands folded across his person. The
other gentlemen had exchanged glances which expressed unanimity as to
the timeliness of their presence. But for a long time Valentin neither
spoke nor moved. It was Newman's belief, afterwards, that M. le cure
went to sleep. At last abruptly, Valentin pronounced Newman's name. His
friend went to him, and he said in French, "You are not alone.
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