h, I give it up," said Newman, simply.

"Then you are as bad as I!" said Bellegarde.

"No, because I don't take an 'intellectual pleasure' in her prospective
adventures. I don't in the least want to see her going down hill. I had
rather look the other way. But why," he asked, in a moment, "don't you
get your sister to go and see her?"

Bellegarde stared. "Go and see Madame Dandelard--my sister?"

"She might talk to her to very good purpose."

Bellegarde shook his head with sudden gravity. "My sister can't see that
sort of person. Madame Dandelard is nothing at all; they would never
meet."

"I should think," said Newman, "that your sister might see whom she
pleased." And he privately resolved that after he knew her a little
better he would ask Madame de Cintre to go and talk to the foolish
little Italian lady.

After his dinner with Bellegarde, on the occasion I have mentioned,
he demurred to his companion's proposal that they should go again and
listen to Madame Dandelard describe her sorrows and her bruises.

"I have something better in mind," he said; "come home with me and
finish the evening before my fire."

Bellegarde always welcomed the prospect of a long stretch of
conversation, and before long the two men sat watching the great blaze
which scattered its scintillations over the high adornments of Newman's
ball-room.

CHAPTER VIII

"Tell me something about your sister," Newman began abruptly.

Bellegarde turned and gave him a quick look. "Now that I think of it,
you have never yet asked me a question about her."

"I know that very well."

"If it is because you don't trust me, you are very right," said
Bellegarde. "I can't talk of her rationally. I admire her too much."

"Talk of her as you can," rejoined Newman. "Let yourself go."

"Well, we are very good friends; we are such a brother and sister as
have not been seen since Orestes and Electra. You have seen her; you
know what she is: tall, thin, light, imposing, and gentle, half a grande
dame and half an angel; a mixture of pride and humility, of the eagle
and the dove. She looks like a statue which had failed as stone,
resigned itself to its grave defects, and come to life as flesh and
blood, to wear white capes and long trains. All I can say is that she
really possesses every merit that her face, her glance, her smile, the
tone of her voice, lead you to expect; it is saying a great deal. As a
general thing, when a woman seems very char