Newman slowly advanced, more
silent, for the moment, than life. The two men stood face to face. Then
Newman had a singular sensation; he felt his sense of injury almost
brimming over into jocularity. "Come," he said, "you don't treat me
well; at least admit that."
M. de Bellegarde looked at him from head to foot, and then, in the most
delicate, best-bred voice, "I detest you, personally," he said.
"That's the way I feel to you, but for politeness sake I don't say
it," said Newman. "It's singular I should want so much to be your
brother-in-law, but I can't give it up. Let me try once more." And he
paused a moment. "You have a secret--you have a skeleton in the closet."
M. de Bellegarde continued to look at him hard, but Newman could not see
whether his eyes betrayed anything; the look of his eyes was always so
strange. Newman paused again, and then went on. "You and your mother
have committed a crime." At this M. de Bellegarde's eyes certainly did
change; they seemed to flicker, like blown candles. Newman could see
that he was profoundly startled; but there was something admirable in
his self-control.
"Continue," said M. de Bellegarde.
Newman lifted a finger and made it waver a little in the air. "Need I
continue? You are trembling."
"Pray where did you obtain this interesting information?" M.
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