They are always talking scandal in these
foreign countries you may have noticed--and I suppose they shook their
heads over Madame de Bellegarde. But after all, what could they say? The
marquis had been ill, and the marquis had died; he had as good a right
to die as any one. The doctor couldn't say he had not come honestly by
his cramps. The next year the little doctor left the place and bought a
practice in Bordeaux, and if there has been any gossip it died out. And
I don't think there could have been much gossip about my lady that any
one would listen to. My lady is so very respectable."
Newman, at this last affirmation, broke into an immense, resounding
laugh. Mrs. Bread had begun to move away from the spot where they were
sitting, and he helped her through the aperture in the wall and
along the homeward path. "Yes," he said, "my lady's respectability is
delicious; it will be a great crash!" They reached the empty space in
front of the church, where they stopped a moment, looking at each
other with something of an air of closer fellowship--like two sociable
conspirators. "But what was it," said Newman, "what was it she did to
her husband? She didn't stab him or poison him."
"I don't know, sir; no one saw it."
"Unless it was Mr. Urbain. You say he was walking up and down, outside
the room.
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