very quiet," said Madame de Cintre; "but we like that."

"Ah, you like that," repeated Newman, slowly.

"Besides, I have lived here all my life."

"Lived here all your life," said Newman, in the same way.

"I was born here, and my father was born here before me, and my
grandfather, and my great-grandfathers. Were they not, Valentin?" and
she appealed to her brother.

"Yes, it's a family habit to be born here!" the young man said with a
laugh, and rose and threw the remnant of his cigarette into the fire,
and then remained leaning against the chimney-piece. An observer would
have perceived that he wished to take a better look at Newman, whom he
covertly examined, while he stood stroking his mustache.

"Your house is tremendously old, then," said Newman.

"How old is it, brother?" asked Madame de Cintre.

The young man took the two candles from the mantel-shelf, lifted one
high in each hand, and looked up toward the cornice of the room, above
the chimney-piece. This latter feature of the apartment was of white
marble, and in the familiar rococo style of the last century; but above
it was a paneling of an earlier date, quaintly carved, painted white,
and gilded here and there. The white had turned to yellow, and the
gilding was tarnished. On the top, the figures ranged themselves into
a sort of shield, on which an armorial device was cut. Above it, in
relief, was a date--1627. "There you have it," said the young man. "That
is old or new, according to your point of view."

"Well, over here," said Newman, "one's point of view gets shifted round
considerably." And he threw back his head and looked about the room.
"Your house is of a very curious style of architecture," he said.

"Are you interested in architecture?" asked the young man at the
chimney-piece.

"Well, I took the trouble, this summer," said Newman, "to examine--as
well as I can calculate--some four hundred and seventy churches. Do you
call that interested?"

"Perhaps you are interested in theology," said the young man.

"Not particularly. Are you a Roman Catholic, madam?" And he turned to
Madame de Cintre.

"Yes, sir," she answered, gravely.

Newman was struck with the gravity of her tone; he threw back his head
and began to look round the room again. "Had you never noticed that
number up there?" he presently asked.

She hesitated a moment, and then, "In former years," she said.

Her brother had been watching Newman's movement. "Perhaps you w