old mother and her
Grand Turk of a brother. They persecute her. But I can almost forgive
them, because, as I told you, she is a saint, and a persecution is all
that she needs to bring out her saintliness and make her perfect."

"That's a comfortable theory for her. I hope you will never impart it
to the old folks. Why does she let them bully her? Is she not her own
mistress?"

"Legally, yes, I suppose; but morally, no. In France you must never say
nay to your mother, whatever she requires of you. She may be the most
abominable old woman in the world, and make your life a purgatory; but,
after all, she is ma mere, and you have no right to judge her. You have
simply to obey. The thing has a fine side to it. Madame de Cintre bows
her head and folds her wings."

"Can't she at least make her brother leave off?"

"Her brother is the chef de la famille, as they say; he is the head of
the clan. With those people the family is everything; you must act, not
for your own pleasure, but for the advantage of the family."

"I wonder what my family would like me to do!" exclaimed Tristram.

"I wish you had one!" said his wife.

"But what do they want to get out of that poor lady?" Newman asked.

"Another marriage. They are not rich, and they want to bring more money
into the family."

"There's your chance, my boy!" said Tristram.

"And Madame de Cintre objects," Newman continued.

"She has been sold once; she naturally objects to being sold again.
It appears that the first time they made rather a poor bargain; M. de
Cintre left a scanty property."

"And to whom do they want to marry her now?"

"I thought it best not to ask; but you may be sure it is to some horrid
old nabob, or to some dissipated little duke."

"There's Mrs. Tristram, as large as life!" cried her husband. "Observe
the richness of her imagination. She has not a single question--it's
vulgar to ask questions--and yet she knows everything. She has the
history of Madame de Cintre's marriage at her fingers' ends. She has
seen the lovely Claire on her knees, with loosened tresses and streaming
eyes, and the rest of them standing over her with spikes and goads and
red-hot irons, ready to come down on her if she refuses the tipsy duke.
The simple truth is that they made a fuss about her milliner's bill or
refused her an opera-box."

Newman looked from Tristram to his wife with a certain mistrust in each
direction. "Do you really mean," he asked of Mrs. Tristra