"
"You simply misunderstood him," said the marquis, beginning to rally.
"You affirm the impossible!"
"Oh, I don't care for poor Valentin's apology," said Newman. "It was
far more painful than pleasant to me. This atrocious thing was not his
fault; he never hurt me, or any one else; he was the soul of honor. But
it shows how he took it."
"If you wish to prove that my poor brother, in his last moments, was
out of his head, we can only say that under the melancholy circumstances
nothing was more possible. But confine yourself to that."
"He was quite in his right mind," said Newman, with gentle but dangerous
doggedness; "I have never seen him so bright and clever. It was terrible
to see that witty, capable fellow dying such a death. You know I was
very fond of your brother. And I have further proof of his sanity,"
Newman concluded.
The marquise gathered herself together majestically. "This is too
gross!" she cried. "We decline to accept your story, sir--we repudiate
it. Urbain, open the door." She turned away, with an imperious motion
to her son, and passed rapidly down the length of the room. The marquis
went with her and held the door open. Newman was left standing.
He lifted his finger, as a sign to M. de Bellegarde, who closed the
door behind his mother and stood waiting.
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