It is to marry my dear daughter to M. de Cintre. With all my
soul I protest,--I forbid it. I am not insane,--ask the doctors, ask
Mrs. B----. It was alone with me here, to-night; she attacked me and put
me to death. It is murder, if murder ever was. Ask the doctors.
"HENRI-URBAIN DE BELLEGARDE"
CHAPTER XXIII
Newman returned to Paris the second day after his interview with Mrs.
Bread. The morrow he had spent at Poitiers, reading over and over again
the little document which he had lodged in his pocket-book, and thinking
what he would do in the circumstances and how he would do it. He would
not have said that Poitiers was an amusing place; yet the day seemed
very short. Domiciled once more in the Boulevard Haussmann, he walked
over to the Rue de l'Universite and inquired of Madame de Bellegarde's
portress whether the marquise had come back. The portress told him that
she had arrived, with M. le Marquis, on the preceding day, and further
informed him that if he desired to enter, Madame de Bellegarde and her
son were both at home. As she said these words the little white-faced
old woman who peered out of the dusky gate-house of the Hotel de
Bellegarde gave a small wicked smile--a smile which seemed to Newman
to mean, "Go in if you dare!" She was evidently versed in the current
domestic history; she was placed where she could feel the pulse of the
house.
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