a marriage that was expected to be brilliant, but that
turned out like a lamp that goes out; all smoke and bad smell. M. de
Cintre was sixty years old, and an odious old gentleman. He lived,
however, but a short time, and after his death his family pounced upon
his money, brought a lawsuit against his widow, and pushed things very
hard. Their case was a good one, for M. de Cintre, who had been trustee
for some of his relatives, appeared to have been guilty of some very
irregular practices. In the course of the suit some revelations were
made as to his private history which my sister found so displeasing that
she ceased to defend herself and washed her hands of the property. This
required some pluck, for she was between two fires, her husband's family
opposing her and her own family forcing her. My mother and my brother
wished her to cleave to what they regarded as her rights. But she
resisted firmly, and at last bought her freedom--obtained my mother's
assent to dropping the suit at the price of a promise."

"What was the promise?"

"To do anything else, for the next ten years, that was asked of
her--anything, that is, but marry."

"She had disliked her husband very much?"

"No one knows how much!"

"The marriage had been made in your horrible French way," Newman
continued, "made by the two families, without her having any voice?"

"It was a chapter for a novel. She saw M. de Cintre for the first time a
month before the wedding, after everything, to the minutest detail,
had been arranged. She turned white when she looked at him, and white
remained till her wedding-day. The evening before the ceremony she
swooned away, and she spent the whole night in sobs. My mother sat
holding her two hands, and my brother walked up and down the room. I
declared it was revolting and told my sister publicly that if she would
refuse, downright, I would stand by her. I was told to go about my
business, and she became Comtesse de Cintre."

"Your brother," said Newman, reflectively, "must be a very nice young
man."

"He is very nice, though he is not young. He is upward of fifty, fifteen
years my senior. He has been a father to my sister and me. He is a
very remarkable man; he has the best manners in France. He is extremely
clever; indeed he is very learned. He is writing a history of The
Princesses of France Who Never Married." This was said by Bellegarde
with extreme gravity, looking straight at Newman, and with an eye that
beto