ked them immensely;
but they had not those depths of splendor--those many-colored
rays--which illumine the brows of famous beauties. Madame de Cintre was
rather thin, and she looked younger than probably she was. In her whole
person there was something both youthful and subdued, slender and
yet ample, tranquil yet shy; a mixture of immaturity and repose, of
innocence and dignity. What had Tristram meant, Newman wondered, by
calling her proud? She was certainly not proud now, to him; or if she
was, it was of no use, it was lost upon him; she must pile it up higher
if she expected him to mind it. She was a beautiful woman, and it was
very easy to get on with her. Was she a countess, a marquise, a kind of
historical formation? Newman, who had rarely heard these words used,
had never been at pains to attach any particular image to them; but they
occurred to him now and seemed charged with a sort of melodious meaning.
They signified something fair and softly bright, that had easy motions
and spoke very agreeably.

"Have you many friends in Paris; do you go out?" asked Madame de Cintre,
who had at last thought of something to say.

"Do you mean do I dance, and all that?"

"Do you go dans le monde, as we say?"

"I have seen a good many people. Mrs. Tristram has taken me about. I do
whatever she tells me."

"By yourself, you are not fond of amusements?"

"Oh yes, of some sorts. I am not fond of dancing, and that sort of
thing; I am too old and sober. But I want to be amused; I came to Europe
for that."

"But you can be amused in America, too."

"I couldn't; I was always at work. But after all, that was my
amusement."

At this moment Madame de Bellegarde came back for another cup of tea,
accompanied by the Count Valentin. Madame de Cintre, when she had served
her, began to talk again with Newman, and recalling what he had last
said, "In your own country you were very much occupied?" she asked.

"I was in business. I have been in business since I was fifteen years
old."

"And what was your business?" asked Madame de Bellegarde, who was
decidedly not so pretty as Madame de Cintre.

"I have been in everything," said Newman. "At one time I sold leather;
at one time I manufactured wash-tubs."

Madame de Bellegarde made a little grimace. "Leather? I don't like that.
Wash-tubs are better. I prefer the smell of soap. I hope at least they
made your fortune." She rattled this off with the air of a woman who had
the reput