I see no connection between you. Your
brother was ashamed of you. Lying there wounded and dying, the poor
fellow apologized to me for your conduct. He apologized to me for that
of his mother."
For a moment the effect of these words was as if Newman had struck
a physical blow. A quick flush leaped into the faces of Madame de
Bellegarde and her son, and they exchanged a glance like a twinkle of
steel. Urbain uttered two words which Newman but half heard, but of
which the sense came to him as it were in the reverberation of the
sound, "Le miserable!"
"You show little respect for the living," said Madame de Bellegarde,
"but at least respect the dead. Don't profane--don't insult--the memory
of my innocent son."
"I speak the simple truth," Newman declared, "and I speak it for a
purpose. I repeat it--distinctly. Your son was utterly disgusted--your
son apologized."
Urbain de Bellegarde was frowning portentously, and Newman supposed he
was frowning at poor Valentin's invidious image. Taken by surprise,
his scant affection for his brother had made a momentary concession to
dishonor. But not for an appreciable instant did his mother lower her
flag. "You are immensely mistaken, sir," she said. "My son was sometimes
light, but he was never indecent. He died faithful to his name.
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