He went home, and feeling rather tired--nursing a
vengeance was, it must be confessed, a rather fatiguing process; it
took a good deal out of one--flung himself into one of his brocaded
fauteuils, stretched his legs, thrust his hands into his pockets, and,
while he watched the reflected sunset fading from the ornate house-tops
on the opposite side of the Boulevard, began mentally to compose a cool
epistle to Madame de Bellegarde. While he was so occupied his servant
threw open the door and announced ceremoniously, "Madame Brett!"
Newman roused himself, expectantly, and in a few moments perceived upon
his threshold the worthy woman with whom he had conversed to such good
purpose on the starlit hill-top of Fleurieres. Mrs. Bread had made for
this visit the same toilet as for her former expedition. Newman was
struck with her distinguished appearance. His lamp was not lit, and as
her large, grave face gazed at him through the light dusk from under
the shadow of her ample bonnet, he felt the incongruity of such a person
presenting herself as a servant. He greeted her with high geniality and
bade her come in and sit down and make herself comfortable. There was
something which might have touched the springs both of mirth and of
melancholy in the ancient maidenliness with which Mrs.
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